Recovery in Grief
Grief is part of life. It is a fundamental aspect of the human experience . Sometimes we grieve the loss of a job or a marriage. Sometimes we grieve the death of a beloved family pet. Sometimes it is over the loss of a mother, a sister, a best friend, a son. Some types of grief enter into our lives slowly as something starts to fall apart, and some types of grief come on so suddenly and unexpectedly that it buckles our knees and keeps us from being able to breathe. For this article I am going to focus on the kind of grief I encounter in my work, in hopes that my experience can help others who may be struggling.
Each of us takes our grief on a unique journey that we figure out how to weave into our everyday lives. It is always hard. Even if the grief we experience is something that society accepts as a good, wholesome reason to grieve, it is still the hardest thing in the world. If our community comes together for fundraisers and marches and does hundreds of hours of research trying to find the cure for the reason our loved one died, it is hard. If we are welcomed to talk about the sickness our loved one was facing and how badly they suffered, and how deeply that suffering impacted us, it is hard. If our neighbors bring casseroles, and our church prays for us, and we are surrounded by people who can relate through a similar experience, it is hard.
Grief is the love we feel for our person, with nowhere to send it. When our loss comes from something that we don’t feel safe expressing, the silence can subconsciously compound those feelings of despair and isolation. Substance use disorder is not always given the same compassion and understanding as other diseases. Mental illness is more difficult for some people to understand because it cannot be measured or treated in the same way as a physical condition. Many of the symptoms and behaviors around mental illness are much more harmful to other people as well, which also adds to the difficulty of acceptance. When mental illness accompanies substance use, it is often seen as a choice, and is filled with shame, guilt, and regret. This is true not only for the person who is suffering, or the person who dies from the disease, but for the people who love them, care about them, and lose them.
I have experienced both situations. I have a mental illness and struggle with the disease of addiction. In August, 2024, one of my best friends, Laura, died of an accidental overdose. We had the same sobriety date. We had been in recovery together for two and a half years. I learned so many weird things from Laura. (She was an encyclopedia of random fun facts nobody else knew).
Hearing the news of Laura’s death stole the oxygen from my lungs and made me incapable of standing. We were comrades on this most difficult journey. We had met in treatment, arriving on the same day, in the worst moment of our lives. I had walked alongside her while she healed herself, then found herself, and eventually forgave herself. WHY DIDN’T SHE TELL ME? Why did she have to suffer and die alone?
Weaving the grief from Laura’s death into my life has been a profoundly difficult task. It all just hit so close to home. I try to see it as another reason to work hard on my recovery. I remind myself of the great connection I have cultivated with her family since her death, and am grateful for all the times I got to hear her hysterical laughter.
I want to honor her life by helping individuals with substance use disorder (SUD) find community, and by showing up for other people in recovery who have lost a loved one to SUD. There is no place lonelier than the depths of addiction. And there is no place more dangerous than being alone, struggling with SUD, with nobody to call.
I am so thankful for my job with SADOD. We make space here for grief and for all the mental and emotional struggles that humans endure over the course of a lifetime. My understanding of grief and addiction makes me an asset to my team. These experiences are, in fact, what make me a perfect fit.
