On June 24, 2020, as I stepped into my mother’s home, I braced myself for the worst. Days had passed without a word from her, her phone remained silent, and my messages went unread. When I rang the doorbell, an unsettling quiet filled the air after a loud buzz from the intercom. My mother didn’t respond with her usual greeting; instead, she lay face down on her bedroom floor, barely hanging on to consciousness. The specifics of that moment are etched in my mind, but what followed deserves to be shared. My mother passed away three days later, and while cardiac arrest took her in the end, addiction had already claimed her life.
She lost a fight she had been waging for years, at just 65 years old.
If I’m truthful, I had anticipated this day. My mother, born in the same year as “Sports Illustrated,” was fiercely stubborn. Despite facing numerous hardships — losing my father in 1996 and her job in both 2001 and 2013 — she was not always the kindest person. She often expressed her frustrations with phrases like “screw him” or “forget that.” After my father’s death, grief engulfed her, and she transformed into a shadow of her former self. The turning point came in 2013 when she lost her job and, soon after, her mother-in-law. That’s when she turned to alcohol, becoming an alcoholic in her 50s.
I attempted to intervene. Two years before her death, my partner — a recovering alcoholic — and I staged an intervention, hoping to show her that she didn’t have to endure this alone. Unfortunately, her stubbornness and denial hindered any progress. She never hit rock bottom, and tragically, her lowest point turned out to be the end of her life.
We mourned her on July 3, wearing masks due to COVID-19, and buried her on July 26, still masked and alone. The pandemic complicated our grieving process, but losing a loved one to addiction adds layers of anger, guilt, sorrow, and shame. It’s not just her death that I mourn, but the life she could have lived, the moments we could have shared.
When someone dies from addiction, there is an overwhelming sense of responsibility and regret. Even though I know I couldn’t have changed her fate, I often find myself blaming myself. I shouldn’t have served her during holidays; I should have barged into her home and disposed of her alcohol. This tough love approach in her final year didn’t work, and that realization is painful. When a loved one succumbs to addiction, it feels like a theft of a future together. There’s an abundance of anger because her situation didn’t have to end this way. Help was available, yet she refused to seek it.
Amid the pain, there’s a strange sense of relief. The waiting game is over; the worst has happened. Yet, it’s crucial to understand that addiction isn’t merely a matter of weakness. It’s a complex illness that alters brain function. Recognizing this doesn’t ease the grief; it complicates it in ways I’m still learning to navigate. I attend therapy to process the trauma, guilt, and pain. I run, write, and take care of myself, and I speak openly about my mother’s struggles with addiction to help others feel less isolated.
If you or someone you know is facing challenges with alcohol or addiction, remember that help is available. For more insights, check out this blog post, and if you’re looking for authoritative guidance, visit Make a Mom or explore the resources at Cleveland Clinic.
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In summary, losing a loved one to addiction is a multifaceted experience filled with sorrow, regret, and complicated emotions. It’s a journey that requires healing and understanding, both for those left behind and for those battling their demons.