overdose

Wetting the shoulders of others.

Jacob and Emily

I know far too many parents who have lost children.

It’s been nearly 8 years since our son Jacob died of an overdose. Over those years we have been called upon a number of times to comfort parents that are new members to the club.

I remember the faces, the tears and the comfort provided by bereaved parents when we suddenly entered into our sorrows in late March 2014.

We received that phone call again on November 30th. A call from a bereaved sister to another bereaved sister to share the news that their cousin had just joined the club.

You know the journey all to well. You know what is ahead of them. You know the healing process and you know nothing but time will ease the endless pain.

You’re taken back when those calls come. Back to a time and place that you know all to well. A place of surreal numbness and unbelievable pain and a place you don’t want to return to but you must.

So we went to them. It’s best that words be few in these times. It’s a time to be silent and mostly listen to the hearts of the grieving. A time to embrace and wet each other’s shoulders.

I remember their joy when they discovered that they were going to be grandparents. We were so happy for them. Now that child is without a father. Their daughter in law is a widow and they are without their only son.

It’s easy to rejoice with those who rejoice. It’s not so easy to enter into familiar pain and weep with those who weep. But we go gladly remembering the club members who came to us in our first hours.

For those of us who are unfortunately familiar with the grief of losing a child it’s different. We have words of knowledge but for the most part they are better left unsaid. In time the bereaved will learn what we know and those comforting discussions will happen later down the road.

Perhaps the most common thing stated in the early stages of these horrific days is, “I don’t know what to say.” And we don’t. So I suppose it’s not even necessary to say that. But we do. And that’s OK too.

So we left to enter into the joys and sorrows of those we love and to, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” Romans 12:15

Sometimes, especially in these times, letting our shoulders become tissues is the best and only thing we can do.

Wrestling with why

Why? The unanswered question of a bereaved parent.

Jacob was 22 and struggled with anxiety, depression and drugs.

We raised Jake in a Christian home with biblical teaching and values. But like many young people with the same upbringing he seemed to turn his heart away from the faith.

This grieves the heart of parents who endeavor to raise their kids in the faith only to watch them walk away.

Thankfully, not all who wander are lost.

Wrestling with the why question is exhausting. It’s a treadmill that must be turned off and walked away from.

I find myself back on the machine once in a while however.

I am a simple man. I believe there are knowable, but partial, answers to the why did my child die question.

Rarely it is black and white. Most of the time it’s unclear.

Jake died of a prescription drug overdose. He did something stupid and paid the ultimate price for it.

This answers some of the why questions. Bad choices lead to deadly ends. That’s simple and true.

Sometimes the why question is answered in the black and white of the scriptures.

1 My son, do not forget my teaching, but let your heart keep my commandments,
2 for length of days and years of life and peace they will add to you. – Proverbs 3:1-2

Why Jake died is not fully known. But I do know this. Jacob failed to remember and apply the wisdom and instruction we gave him.

Jacob lost his peace and his days on earth were shortened to 22 years.

It didn’t have to end this way. But it did and I understand why.

Partially

Seasons of silence

My wife had her heart set on a pretty dress she found last Friday but didn’t buy it. She mentioned it to me and I thought it would make her a great early birthday gift. We decided to go the next morning and left for the local Saint Patrick’s day activities.

Saturday morning we walked out of the condo into the salty south Florida air to get Stacey’s dress. Three blocks into our walk a twenty something young man was slumped over himself on a city bench. My wife and I walked by, she looked away and I looked on as the two officers attempted to wake him and feel for a pulse. It was an apparent overdose.

We walked on and didn’t speak about what we had just seen. The boutique door was open and I purchased for my wife the cute black dress for her to wear to the Kenny Chesney concert. The silence continued as we took a different route home. Nothing was said, nothing needed to be said, what is unsaid is always understood between us.

I am not sure if he became a Palm Beach county overdose death statistic or not. On average 600 people die in this beautiful place each year. A cold dark reality in such a warm and sunny paradise. Seeing this triggered some horrible memories which were immediately discarded to avoid unnecessary pain.

I guess it’s time to write again. It has been 61 days since my last post, and that is a good thing. When I am not writing it’s a safe bet that I am doing OK in my journey with grief.

I have never wanted to write about grief just to write about grief. In this blog I have endeavored to express my faith and my struggle with grief in a real and practical way. These 100 or so posts have been closely connected to my day-to-day experiences. My experience with grief in the last two months has been, well, uneventful and nothing to write home about.

Thinking about this, and having nothing to say, nor anything to write, it dawned on me that I should explain to my readers why I get silent.

In the early days of the blog when grief was so intense it was easy to communicate what was happening because it was all fresh and new. But now, living life without Jake feels normal and I have accepted this reality now. It’s not without pain and discomfort but the shock is gone and this no longer feels like a bad dream.

Jake left us 4 years ago on the 26th of this month. Early in my journey I remember having a conversation with parents who were 5 years into their journey. I recall them describing their healing and wished I could fast forward to the place they were. Now that I have arrived to that place I have less to write about because grief is no longer the dominant thing in my life.

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There was a time it felt as though the pain would never subside. But it does, the seasons change and life goes on without the one I love. You take a walk, you remember, you buy a pretty black dress, you celebrate a birthday, you go to a concert and a Saint Patrick’s day parade. You move on and you live life.

Obviously I have my difficult moments and days but the healing has given me less to write about. I have considered ending this blog on a few occasions but realized there will always be something to write about in my grief journey. Grief doesn’t end for me until my life ends, but I have a hunch there will be less and less to write about as time goes by.

Enjoying my season of silence in sunny south Florida.

 

A parental view on pain management

My son Jacob Michael Fekete died of an opiate prescription drug overdose on March 26th, 2014. He was 22. The epidemic is a topic I have not written on or discussed very often. But today is different, I feel compelled given President Trump’s declaration about the national heath emergency on opiate addiction.

Unbeknownst to my wife and I Jacob’s addiction began at 16 after having 2 medical procedures. The roots of addiction grew from there on this naive small town parent. By the time he had finished his second year in college Jacob got clean on his own. We learned of the depth of his problem after he came home for the summer between his sophomore and junior year. He opened up to us, confessed his addiction and made peace with his conscience. We were there to lovingly guide him through the summer and beyond but we were always concerned about a relapse.

Jacob chose not to return to Grand Valley State University that fall and opted to enroll in the Maritime Academy in Traverse City Michigan. IMG_0653Things were going well for him there and he was about a year away from completing the program. He lived with us at home and the signs of drug use were not evident, at least not to my wife and I. We were taken off guard, shocked beyond measure because we didn’t see the signs that accompany drug use.

Jacob relapsed during a particularly stressful time in his life. I said good night to him on the 25th of March and Stacey would discover him on the basement floor the following morning. All this only ten months after Jacob’s first cousin Justin Smith died of a heroin overdose. Justins drug dealer now sits in prison.

I don’t know where Jake got the drugs. His death was big news in our small community (as was Justins) and I am sure the dealer knows of his demise. A prisoner of his tormented conscience I have often hoped. I feel no anger towards whomever gave him the drugs that would take his life. Jake did something stupid, it was his choice. We live with those choices but I know he never would wish on us any of the pain we have endured. He loved us.

When I think of drug dealers I rarely envision a thug. I see a professional in a white overcoat with a dignified MD after his name. I recall people speaking the name of a local physician as a pill pusher and snicker about it. It was common knowledge in my community whom to visit if you wanted opiates for pain management. These are the dignified dealers who should be prosecuted in my view. Medical doctors who have betrayed their oaths and hurt their patients and communities, all behind a professional veil.

I guess if I could give advice to parents it would be the following. If your kid has real need of pain control you need to take control of their pain management. Life is full of pain, surgery recovery hurts. Let them feel some pain, use the Tylenol, be careful with the opiates. Keep track of what is used, keep it in a secure location and discard of all unused scripts as directed. It might just save you and your kid a whole lot of deeper pain in the future.

There is no deeper pain than losing a child and there is no pain reliever for those who have suffered the loss. Only time can dull the sharp edge of grief but the ache never goes away. I live with pain and manage it the best I can. One day at a time and presciption free.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grace in the dark place

Jacob Michael Fekete would have been 25 on March 3rd but instead he is forever 22. On March 26th we will have completed our third cycle around the sun without our son.image

This path is not one that any parent would choose to walk. Yet in this journey there is wisdom that I have gleaned that could have only been acquired by walking it.

I have learned more about God and about myself in the last three years than I had in the previous 45. There are innumerable topics I could write about but today I will lightly touch on just one. Grace in the dark place.

Grace

I have a deeper knowledge and experience of the grace of God in my life because of my son’s death. However, I sometimes wish I were still ignorant of the depth of this grace because it took me places I never wanted to go. But when plunged into the depth of sorrow I have found a surplus of grace in the sometimes overwhelming pain of grief. This all-sufficient grace is only experienced in the deep and dark places of life. Grace is precious and it is needed to persevere through the pain.

Most of the weakest moments of my life have been in the last three years. I can say that in those moments of despair, and having nowhere to look but up, that grace has sustained and strengthened me. Jesus said to Paul and also has assured me of the abundant supply of this all sufficient grace. “And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9a)

 I have discovered the hidden treasure of his grace in the deepest darkest places of my life. Jesus is the treasure, He is the diamond discovered in a mineshaft without light. No treasure is ever discovered unless one descends into the mine. I didn’t want to go but God sent me anyway and I would not trade the treasure I have discovered in the shaft. I discovered Jesus in the mine and we became much better acquainted. It was there that he uncovered for me the precious abundant treasures of his grace. It was there also that he showed me the immense value of faith in him. He has disclosed for me the jewel of his hope diamond and the endless golden vein of his love found only in darkest places I never wanted to go.

I can say that the pain is worth enduring because the payout is priceless. I lost intimacy with my son but I gained intimacy with Jesus in the experience. Jesus is the treasure.

 There is pain involved in growing in the grace and knowledge of God. The maturing process cuts to the bone but I have clung to the following verse through it all-knowing its purposeful end. Peter said, “And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.” (1 Peter 5:10) Jesus never hid himself to me in the darkness. No, rather he revealed himself to me. He himself is restoring my life, he himself is confirming me till the end, he himself is giving me strength in my weakness and he himself is establishing me for every good word and work.

The darkness of the mineshaft is discomforting but there is grace and treasure to be discovered in the deep pit. Jesus is there, yes, I would even say that Jesus is more easily found in the darkness rather than in the light. His value is discovered in dark places and I would not exchange this intimacy for the world. No, I would not exchange this even for my beloved Jacob. Why? Because apart from Jesus I would never had my son nor would I ever get to be in his presence again. I will see my son again but that was only made possible by the immeasurable grace of God found in his only Son.

When the mountain is on top of me and the weight of the world is on my shoulders my burden is made light because of Jesus. I cannot carry this burden and am thankful that I can cast my cares on him because he cares for me. What a marvelous Savior. What amazing grace. What a priceless treasure he is.