Some of you may know that I have a Bachelors in Psychology and a Masters in Social Work with a few extra certifications thrown in for added measure. I’m currently working on getting my licensure for Clinical Social Work and Substance Use Disorder Professional. The point I’m trying to make is that I’ve been in school the vast majority of my life for one thing or another, I’ve lost track of how many classes I have taken, how many chapters I have read, how many exams I have struggled through and how many research papers I have written. And if I’m being totally honest, I would do it all again and then some. I have at least 3 books in mind that I want to write and a never ending desire to get my doctorate in forensic psychology. But let me backtrack a bit before I go too far off the beaten path, because I’m throwing a lot of words at something that really only needs a sentence or two to convey.
At no point in any of my educational courses, materials or lectures was I taught about what to do, how to feel, how to process or where to turn when a client dies. Sure, sure I’ve taken courses and read books about death, grief and loss...but when it’s a client, it feels different. Not only does it feel different, each one hits you differently because of how long you knew them, the context of the relationship, how they died and what your last interaction with them was like. In the 13 years I have worked at my current position, I have purposely chosen to lose track of how many clients have passed on my watch. Yes, some have affected me more than others, but all of them I have cried over. They have died as a result of homelessness, not taking medications, refusing medical treatment, murder and suicide...and while my heart hurt for each of them, there is one I have just newly experienced and I have found myself in a very bad mental place since I learned of this clients overdose.
I fully understand, probably better than most that in social work and addictions, death isn’t too far removed at any given time. But I take no comfort in the fact that this client was not the first, and will most certainly not be the last to pass on my watch. I carry regret, anger, sorrow and guilt for each and every one of them, and each chip away at my soul...and I know that eventually I will have nothing left.
Today I attended the funeral service of a young client who as I previously mentioned died of an overdose, specifically heroine. Maybe it was a purposeful overdose, maybe it wasn’t but I and his family will never know. I sat alone in a room with about 20 people, watching photos move across the screen showing clips of his life...before he was ever a client. I learned things through stories about his childhood, what he was like as a brother, a son, a friend. I learned about how devoted he was to the people in his life, about how talented he was in everything he set his mind to and that he took young women in school to dances simply because “they didn’t have anyone else to take them.”
I tried to keep it together, I tried to be strong, I tried to be professional. But I failed at that too.
I couldn’t stop the tears from falling like angry molten lava from a desperately overloaded volcano. They stung my eyes, and I swear I could feel them burn their way down my cheeks only to be met by my mask and soaked up by the fabric, waiting for more to fall. I could hear others in the room sobbing, and I could hear the sorrow in the voices of those that spoke. But there was anger too, anger because someone so young died for seemingly no reason save it be poor choices and addiction. They talked about how he changed after a car accident, about how different his personality was, how just seemed “off” since that day and I thought to myself that I don’t remember ever hearing about that and I’ve known him for 10 years. I can’t say that having this knowledge would change my treatment of him, but it would account for much of what he was dealing with and how he presented. Maybe I would have been more patient, maybe I would have been more persistent and maybe everything would have played out exactly the same.
What I do know is that my heart hurts, and I know that my pain is nothing compared to that of his mother, father, sister and friends. Mental illness and addictions are everywhere, and I’m angry that the stigma keeps people from feeling safe to seek out treatment and services and that our society deems those suffering as less than and never equal to. My client could have been so much more, done so much more...yet even with all that said, he was suffering and not just a little. His road was arduous and fraught with danger, pitfalls and landmines. He no longer carries his burdens, no longer walks that path alone and no longer feels broken. Just as one of the speakers today said, “his pain is over, and it is now we who carry the sadness of missing someone who was taken too soon. Remember the tears that we shed in times of sorrow are made up of the same salt and water that make up happy tears and tears of joy. They come from the same place, hold the same composition and each is designed to help us heal. So cry, cry, cry and let the healing begin.”
I was too weak to say this to his parents at the time, so I will say it now.
“I knew him for 10 years, and while I didn’t know his times of joy and happiness, I did see his battle with demons and I saw how hard he tried to make something of himself even when there was little to piece together. I wish more than anything that I could take your pain away, and I am so sorry that I couldn’t fix him, I’m sorry that I didn’t try harder, push harder or insist that he do things differently...but I couldn’t make him. I couldn’t make my will his own and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
I am sorry F. I am also glad that you aren’t hurting anymore, and it’s okay that it’s my turn now. I take this moment, this responsibility and I will keep going, keep helping and doing everything I can to carry you in my heart. I miss you, and I will miss you. Please know how sorry I am that I failed you, but I will try harder.
I will see you again, but until that time, goodbye.
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