By Deborah Cross Werner
For a year I have struggled with a question: How could my smart, handsome, kind, caring, giving son give up everything he had for drugs?
In low points, I have even thought of trying them myself; maybe it would help me to understand how good something can really feel. Maybe it would help me understand what he was going through.
I had my appendix out in June of 2017 and I did feel the effects of a painkiller for a few hours: the feeling of no worries, no anxiety, no sadness. The overall sense of peace was enticing.
Jamie had it all: a loving family, a girlfriend that he loved and had so much in common with, a career path that he was excited about – as an educator, coach, and bartender…
So what happened?
What was he thinking?
I have read so much about drugs and how they take over your life. Drugs become your new lover; nothing is more important.
I was reading a novel by, of all people, Lee Child. Jamie and I loved him. We would read his novels and talk about them.
From page 290 of The Midnight Line – “It’s a world you don’t understand until you’re in it. There is no feeling better then tiptoeing all the way up to the gates of death. All the way up to the big black door, and then knocking on it. It’s a whole different zone. If I hear a new story about some other user dying, due to some batch of something showing up unexpectedly strong, I’m not feeling sorry for that guy. I’m thinking: where can I get some of that good stuff? Not because I want to kill myself. Far from it. I want the exact opposite. I want to live forever, so I can get high every day.”
To me, that says it all.