Yesterday's
tender mercies: in Goodwill a sister walked in, (from another congregation-Winter's Run ward). She told me she had been touched by what happened to our son.
I asked, "How?"
She said she had read John's blog--his talk from memorial service--and how much it meant to her, how much it helped her. She has a brother struggling with addictions. She knows.
Big teary hugs, her telling me she loved us, is still praying for us. Last week the same thing happened at Staples, another sister from other ward, telling me she now knows what it means to continually pray, because she has been continually praying for our family.
Then later, in a craft store, a quilter buddy I haven't seen for years recognized me from the back (?) called my name, gave big hugs.
I still get teary. The hugs are still appreciated. I took a big sniff of Max's pillow this morning. Not ready to put it in the wash yet. Still smells like his hair. I miss him. I think about him often, especially when hearing music, deep voices.
And I think we are ready for this:
In less than a month we have our first gig, as parents for addiction recovery advocates. It will be a large group of Boy Scouts and parents. We are using video Emma did with music of Max singing (in racquet ball court, shortened version of funeral home video, John posted it on Facebook). Don't know how long yet they want us to speak/present. The words below take me 7 1/2 minutes to get through.
(I have appreciated Deb's & Mom's comments after they read it, and how much more it could encompass, all the other ails and problems in our communities...)
This is what I would say in a meeting of parents/students:
Sometimes it is hard to know what you want to do with your life.
Some
dreams you have might be close, almost within your reach, like
surviving high school, getting your driver's license, going to a school
game or dance, or just being brave enough to talk to someone you have a
crush on and have them pay attention to you.
Some of your
dreams may feel impossible or too far away, like getting a job that pays
you enough to buy a decent car, or moving out and getting your own
place, finding a group of friends who really understand you and get you,
people who have your back, would bail you out if you're in trouble,
people you can call at 2 am to pick you up from anywhere.
If
you feel like you don't have someone who would do that, I encourage you
to look around, find a support system, a trusted teacher or maybe
someone at your church, someone in your neighborhood, maybe it's a
family member you get along with, someone who cares about you and your
future, someone that you can trust, and look up to.
Maybe
you have been betrayed in the past, or lost respect for someone who
isn't living the way they expect you to live. Maybe they are telling
you "Don't get drunk, don't smoke" "Don't be stupid about drugs" or
maybe they are saying "Just don't get caught."
Find someone else
to look up to. Find someone who is living the way you want to turn out
like, a hero who has the kind of family life you dream about having,
someone who has a good time because they are happy and safe and sober.
Not
everyone needs to go to college. Not everyone ends up famous and
wealthy. You may be a star in the making, and if that is true, I want
you to come back to ________ (Aberdeen) and tell me "Mrs.Landbeck, I
want to help someone!" because you made it big and you want to support
one of our anti-drug seminars or a Defiance concert with your fancy
money!
Find someone to look up to who is satisfied and happy with their life. Trust them. Listen to them.
For 5 more minutes I want you to listen to me. Trust me.
I
am a mom, married to my husband for 25 years. We still date. We go to
Church every Sunday. We have 6 children, because we wanted to be
parents, raised them the way we were raised.
I have a son
who was an addict. He got straight A's. He was smart. He wanted to
teach music, or maybe use music and psychology to help patients. Music
therapy. Something.
Max was friendly, involved, a boyscout, went to church with us, clean-cut, big smile.
But
he had some secrets. One of them was a homemade bong he would light up
in the bathroom, fan on, supposedly taking a shower. What mom
complains when her son wants to take a shower?! A shower, yes, take a
shower. He liked using the shower upstairs because of the fan.
Maybe
you think your parents don't know what marijuana smells like? That
they won't notice? That they are clue-less, or too busy to pay
attention?
Pot smells like sadness to me. Loneliness. It
smells like "I am confused and not sure what is going on in my life and
my friend at school told me this will feel better than sex and nobody
likes me anyway and I don't think I'll ever get to have sex so maybe
just inhaling a little--it's not real smoking--this will make all the
pain and hurt go away, and I can just relax, chill for an hour or
so...It's not hurting anyone..."
I am here to tell you
DRUGS HURT. I am not talking about medication prescribed by a doctor
for legitimate medical reasons--which can also be abused. DRUGS HURT
YOU. They hurt your brain, they hurt your feelings, they hurt your
friends--your real friends who protect your future-you, who you want to
be. Drugs hurt your family. Using drugs will make your momma cry.
Drugs will scare your siblings. Drugs will hurt your bank account--turn
you into a thief as the family's grocery money disappears from the
kitchen counter. Drugs hurt the trust your family has in you. Drugs
hurt your grades. They confuse you and take away goals and dreams.
Drugs will get you arrested. Drugs will put you in front of a judge.
Drugs will make it so you can't be an eagle scout. Drugs will put you
in rehab--if you are lucky. Drugs will make you a sneak. Drugs will
ruin friendship. Drugs will waste your life.
Drugs will kill you.
2
and 1/2 years ago I sat in the room listening to Joe's lecture. I had
insisted that Max come along with us. He was a senior in high school.
Like I mentioned earlier, he was clean-cut, intelligent, went to church
every week. Handsome lad. As Joe listed off different names for drugs,
Max sitting next to me whispered more street names for the same things,
like I would be impressed he knew so much about it. He had a barely
patient grin on his face, thinking he was capable of smoking pot and
controlling it, no big deal. He thought he was special, an exception,
that it wasn't hurting him. I had cleaned his room that week, found a
bong and his baggie stash, calmly talked to him about it. He wanted it
back. He wasn't ready to stop. He thought he was in control. Coming
to a lecture like this was a condition of me not turning him in to the
cops right then.
He got cleaned up, or so we thought,
swearing to us that he had stopped. Drugs made him a liar. At an out-of-state college he
escalated, started ordering things on-line that were technically at the
time not illegal, are now, thankfully. He abused over the counter
decongestants. He shoplifted cough syrup to try and get high. He
scared his sister and aunt and cousins at a family gathering, with
loopy, dreamy weird talk. And when he came home for Christmas, we knew
something was wrong.
Worse feeling in the world: knowing your baby is hurt, and not knowing how to help them feel better.
I thought he was going to die right then, his body temperature was too
high, he couldn't stop shaking, huge dilated pupils, things you know to look
for--right?
You parents here today, you can't blame
yourself. You can't love them sober. They have to choose. And scaring
them doesn't work. Begging them, reasoning, bribing them--nahh, none
of that works.
Pot quickly wasn't enough to get him as high as he wanted. He escalated. Using acid killed brain cells in
Max. His personality changed. He lost his sense of humor, and he used
to be really funny, witty.
So, to condense the next years of
our family life: 4+ rehab programs, 5+ trips to emergency room, yes an
arrest. I am an advocate of tough-love, not enabling a drug user.
NEVER give them money. We changed the locks on house. He tried and got
kicked out of other family member's homes by breaking the agreed upon
rules. Applied for and briefly worked for many jobs. Tried living with
friends, but kept getting high. We kept inviting him over for dinner,
no matter where he lived. He picked up smoking cigarettes through AA
meetings, exchanging vices. And he kept relapsing.
He kept trying to quit.
He
kept trying, and seemed to be in a good place. He was scheduled to
take a college class to learn how to be a radio/talking book reader,
using his amazing voice for a career.
He was over at our
home for birthday cake for his little sister's party, put in his order
for what he wanted for his birthday in 2 weeks, made plans to go to a
concert with me. He hugged me, like he always did, saying good-bye and
that he loved me. My husband dropped Max off at his rehab house.
By midnight he was dead, hit by a freight train as he stepped out onto the tracks.
How
much of what he was feeling that full moon night was from the drug
damage in his weakened brain? Or how much of his suicide was the
drug-induced psychosis that would happen every time he used? We don't
know.
But I do know that drugs hurt him.
If
you know someone in trouble, get them help. Don't ignore it or just
hope it goes away. Don't shame them, but don't stay quiet. If you are
that person
using drugs, stop now, before it gets harder and you are deeper. Talk
to
someone, an adult in charge somewhere. There is help. Don't feel
judged or shamed for needing help. You can't get out alone. It is
never to late to change.
Make a
pledge to be sober, and stay clean or get clean. It will make all the
difference in your life. I can promise you, if you say "No thanks" or
"That's not my thing" or just run away from the invitation to take a
hit, you will be better off. I know it.
I invite you
to live! Help stop the drug problem in this county. Find hope, be a
good friend, watch out for each other. Look for a hero or someone you
admire to pattern your life after. Know that you aren't alone in your
struggles to be loved and be happy. I want you to live. I want you to
reach your goals and dreams. I want Max's stupid decision to use pot to
be a voice of warning, an example of a wasted life and I want you to
choose to be sober.
Thank you.
