February 13th, 2024, a piercing phone call struck my ears. It was 3 am and I wondered why anyone in their right mind would be calling me at such wee hours in the morning. That's when I realized no one was in their right mind because something was terribly and utterly wrong.
As my husband picked up the phone, my heart started to race. I'd lived these nightmares before we got married and I moved out. Most of my nights were filled with slamming doors, shouts of rage, pacing, bright lights, and cop cars showing up at our home—mainly at the expense of my two half-brother's affairs in drugs and alcohol.
By 27, the age at which I got married and moved out, I'd seen my siblings overdose and come back to life dozens of times. I saw their lifeless bodies strewn across couches, lying on the ground, or passed out in cars. The number of times I saw them incarcerated or in rehab programs far surpasses both. But on the morning of February 13th, 2024, the story wasn't the same. I was used to hearing, "Your brother overdosed and they used Narcan to bring him back." I wasn't used to hearing, "Ryan is dead, Amber. There is nothing they can do to bring him back. It's too late."
Though a year has now passed since I lost my half-brother, I still find myself attempting to pick up the pieces. Grief has come in waves when I allow it, and I do my best to feel the emotions rather than shove them down. We were never close, but the "could have been" moments often still haunt me. I could have had a healthy relationship with my half-brothers. I wonder what it would have been like to have a safe and trustworthy sibling I could rely on. I think about if they would have been sane. I think about how Ryan could have been a positive presence in my life.
While I can't go back and change time, I know that time is starting to heal this wound. Everyone in this life loses someone to death. It's inevitable with the passing of time and old age. But not everyone loses someone to addiction or overdose—and that kind of death comes with a sting of its own. If you or someone you love has lost someone to a mental illness like drug addiction or substance abuse, might I encourage you of two things?
1. You're allowed to grieve.
2. Jesus grieves with you.
You're Allowed to Grieve
On the day I lost Ryan, I thought I had to force myself to have everything together. I went to work, taught high school students for 8 hours, hurried to appointments and errands, and took a run. But by the time I stopped and paused, my heart had had enough. Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, I erupted into sobs and wails. I didn't know how to process the grief, what to do, or when I would feel better. I'd spent so much time concealing my feelings and putting on a brave face that I didn't realize I wasn't allowing myself time and space to grieve.
No matter how you lose someone, you're going to need time and space to heal. Not only that, but it's necessary that you do. Individuals who hold their emotions inside possess more anxiety, depression, and signs of struggle than those who learn to express how they are feeling inside. Why is this important?
As Christians, I think there's often a false misconception that we're not allowed to grieve. If we have Jesus in our hearts, then we should be happy, joyful, and positive period. Right? Not necessarily. While I do have Jesus in my heart, I know that God gave me emotions to feel and express my innermost being—the innermost being that He hand-crafted and created.
I think there's an even greater stigma for those who lose someone to drug overdose or addiction to feel like they can't grieve because of shame. They are embarrassed for their son, daughter, brother, sister, or whoever they lost because of how they died. But we have to understand two things here: 1. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1), and 2. This isn't your fault.
After Ryan died, I kept thinking "I should have tried to witness more. It's my fault if he didn't go to Heaven. Why wasn't I kinder? Did I live like Jesus would want me to?" I'm sure you have many of your own questions. But friends, Jesus isn't ashamed of us or them, and Jesus knows we do the best we can. There's a balance between keeping ourselves safe and caring for those we love who continue to hurt themselves. As my friend and founder of the Church on COMO for addiction and recovery told me at that moment: "I don’t think Jesus ever abandons people when they need him the most. Jesus is with them [and us] even in the addiction."
Jesus Grieves with You
The second thing we have to realize when losing someone is that it isn't our fault. Every person makes choices, and those choices have repercussions for their actions. Yes, we're called to preach the Good News, help people get saved, and live out the Gospel truth, but there is only so much we can do.
About two months after Ryan passed away, our family met for a small memorial grave service. Unlike traditional funerals, those who lose someone to overdose don't have quick-turnaround processions to attend to. They are much smaller, often much quieter, and intimate, and much later in the process.
As the rain pelted my husband and I's raincoats, the Pastor read about Ryan's life and death. It seemed so short for a man who was only thirty-four years old—a mere five years older than me. But in his address, I remember him saying it was okay to take time to grieve. I immediately thought of Jesus' words in John 11:33-35 after the death of Lazarus: "When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied. Jesus wept" (NIV).
Sweet brothers and sisters in Christ, I do not have the right words to say about the loss of my half-brother or the loss of your loved one. No matter what way I try to shape them, they still come out stuck to the roof of my mouth as I hold back deep swallows and small water-droplet-sized tears. But what I do know is that on the Anniversary of my half-brother's death, I'm learning to move on. Not because I've forgotten him, but because I've grieved and will continue to allow myself to.
Grief and the Process of Healing
Nothing can take away the pain I feel that sneaks up from time to time like a thief in the night. Nothing can take away the pain that I suspect will arise every year around this time. But I now know that it's okay to grieve and Jesus grieves with me. He doesn't expect me to get over this quickly, move on with life, or act like it didn't happen. Because this event has changed me. I suspect many events have changed you.
But if I can use this tragedy to speak hope and healing into the lives of those who are hurting, then so be it. Not because I wanted things to end this way. Not because I wanted to lose my brother. But because I want everything in my life—even the painful as-hell moments to point to Jesus Christ.
May Jesus speak through me to the places of you that feel like they will never be whole again. May His peace comfort you like the softest blanket of snow covering itself over the earth. May His spirit remind you that you're allowed to grieve, but you're also allowed to grieve and move on. May His heart show you how to heal and help you not judge yourself along the process. May His favor and goodness be with you all of your days—even in the ones too awful for words. May you know deeply and beyond understanding that you never have been and never will be alone.
Agape, Amber
Photo Credit: ©Getty Images/Darwin Brandis
