Write Team: So young to have left us

My son, who works and lives in South America, called with news that an old friend of his from the states died of an overdose. We were shocked. He was a nice young man.

And smart. He easily got good jobs helping organizations improve their office functions and communications systems. But his addiction got in the way. He lost jobs, faced evictions, went from one financial crisis to another. Once when my son heard nothing from him for too long, he asked our daughter to go to his apartment to check on him. His friend seemed surprised someone would be that concerned.

My son urged him to get treatment. He knew others who found success through professional treatment followed by positive relationships with others in recovery. But his friend never chose treatment. It was as if his problem was apparent to others but not him. Though their friendship never ended, he and my son had less and less contact.

My son was not shocked to get the news. It was something he feared. Because his friend’s relationship with his family was tenuous, a funeral was in doubt. But at the last minute he learned of a short service followed by a private internment. He was upset he couldn’t attend. My wife and I offered to go in his place.

And that’s how we came to attend a funeral out of town where the only person we knew there was deceased. We walked into a roomful of strangers.

The first person we met was the deceased’s mother, who was divorced from her son’s father. She was overwhelmed. It was an open casket service, and she could not handle seeing her son. So, she stayed in a break room near the entrance. We met her first. My wife told her how we knew her son and how much we liked him. She struggled to respond.

In another room more people gathered. We went to the person standing nearest the casket and introduced ourselves. It was his stepmother. We told her more of how we came to know her stepson.

Years ago, we needed help carrying a heavy bed upstairs. My son came home with this friend, and they did the job for us. We cooked them dinner. Later that year, our son’s friend joined our family Thanksgiving in the city. Too much food and too many people in a small apartment.

After dinner we all played Cards Against Humanity. We laughed and laughed. The 37-year-old man lying so still before us, who had lived his last day on earth, was so witty that night years ago. And happy. It is still surreal that he is gone.

I was doing well until I met his father. I repeated what we told his wife. And then I decided to ad lib how I felt.

“I mean, we both have sons the same age, but yours is gone. I’ve imagined that possibility for myself before and was terribly scared. And now you’re living out that fear. I feel so bad for you. I try to imagine how you must feel, but I know I can’t.”

“You’re right. I wish no one would have to experience this. I hope you never know how it feels.”

I couldn’t respond. I wanted to hug him, but instead we shook hands.

A large group of young people were outside, going in and out randomly. It was like no one knew where to go or what to do. So much grief. We introduced ourselves to the deceased’s surviving brothers. They thanked us for coming. One of them also knew our son. Such nice kids.

We can all hope no one experiences the profound grief overdose deaths bring, but they will. Overdose deaths happen much too often. We have to find better ways to make those among us with addictions whole and healthy.

Dave McClure lives in Ottawa. He is a long-retired director of a local private agency. He is also a blogger. You can read more of Dave at Daveintheshack.blogger.com