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November 2001, Vol. 3, Issue 3
On December 19, 1998, I received one of those phone calls that every
parent dreads the most. It was the hospital calling to say that our
son was very ill and we needed to come at once. We had been having
problems with our 18 year old son with drugs and suspected that he
had had an overdose.
Terrified that he may be in serious condition, we grabbed our
insurance book thinking that at least we would finally be able to
get him into rehab. We had tried previously, but since he had been
clean for 3 months our insurance company wouldn’t cover it claiming
that he wasn’t “at risk”.
Things took an even scarier turn when we arrived at the hospital and
were immediately escorted to the “Family Room”. I knew then that he
must be really sick. The only thing that I could think of was a
Plano family that had a son in a vegetative state from an overdose.
Within minutes the caseworker who had called entered the room with a
police officer. My fear deepened thinking that criminal activity may
have been involved. They were followed by a doctor. I believe the
police officer began by telling us that our son Josh had been at a
party and had apparently overdosed. His friends had supposedly tried
CPR on him and put him in the shower to no avail. When they couldn’t
revive him, they drove him to the hospital and dumped him. The
doctor told us that he had tried for over an hour to revive him and
even had a heartbeat for 7 minutes. This was the last thing that I
heard, I screamed and told them that I had my insurance book right
there and for them to find him a rehab.
I don’t remember much about the next few days or weeks. My life had
changed so completely and so quickly that my head was spinning. This
occurred over Christmas break. When I took my children back to
school, I spoke to one of the counselors and found out about the
Journey of Hope.
At that particular time they did not have a group for parents
dealing with loss of a child. I was put on a waiting list. I got the
call fairly soon and started attending in April 1999. When I
started, I could hardly cope. I had no idea what to do with my
children. I couldn’t figure out any of this on my own. My husband
was at just as much of a loss. Thankfully he agreed to join us. It
took many meetings, but finally, we felt like a huge burden was
lifted from our shoulders. We were finally able to start putting
the pieces back together, not as they were before, but our new life.
Our children looked forward to coming and had a great time there.
It is now December 2001 and we are still attending. Not for the same
reasons as before. We started to leave once, but something kept us
coming. We had seen several people come and go in our group and felt
like we could actually help some of the new ones coming in. My
husband and I are now co-facilitators.
It’s been 3 years since the death of our son. If someone had told me
in the beginning that I would laugh again and be happy, I’d never
have believed it. We are happy now and feel truly blessed for being
a part of the Journey of Hope. I have had my children’s teachers and
Sunday school teachers tell me how healthy their attitude is toward
death and that we must be great parents. We give credit where credit
is due and tell them about Journey of Hope. We feel like they saved
our lives, our marriage and family. Even though we hate to see new
people come in, we know they are on a much needed journey…a journey
of grief, anger, fear, but also a Journey of Hope. |
