A colleague spoke these 10 words during group supervision the other day.
Ten words that encompass decades. Ten words that could fill a book or a semester. Ten words that describe addiction, trauma, loss of hope, resignation, preparation, change, belief, and somewhere new. Ten words about two actions – the purchase of a suit and the sale of a suit. Two actions that describe the experiences of individuals with addiction and their loved ones.
I began reflecting upon the separate journeys of son, mother, and father. I also reflected on the dyads (son and mother, mother and father) and triad (son, mother, and father).
I was curious, so I decided to speak with the son.
Before I share about my conversation with the son, I will provide some context.
Setting – Healing Transitions is a nonprofit in Raleigh, NC that opened in 2001, having replicated the model developed by The Healing Place in Louisville, KY. Healing Transitions serves homeless, uninsured, underserved individuals with severe substance use disorders (addiction). Healing Transitions provides nonmedical detoxification, emergency shelter, a long-term, peer-based recovery program, and other recovery support services. Those who engage in our services can be characterized by high problem severity, high problem complexity, and low recovery capital.
Myself – I entered the field in September 1993. I became a credentialed addiction professional in 1998 and a Licensed Clinical Social Worker in 2002. I have worked for Healing Transitions since 2000.
The son – A few years ago, the son engaged with Healing Transitions, 32 years after his first treatment episode. Over a 4-year period, he had 54 detox admissions, 16 program admissions, and a number of nights of emergency shelter. During the times he was with us I’d think “we’re giving someone else in the community a break.” When he wasn’t with us, I’d think “Someone else is giving us a break.” The son recently marked 2 years of sobriety. He is employed. He lives in a recovery residence. And his mom sold the suit she bought for his funeral.
I spoke with the son last night while he was visiting the campus. When I asked him about his mother selling the suit she bought for his funeral, tears formed in his eyes. The pain from the harm he caused his parents is easily accessed. He recalled asking his sponsor how he could possibly make amends to them. His sponsor told him he owed one amends; an amends for causing them uncertainty.
The son disclosed new things to me about his life. When he was in 9th grade the shop teacher put him in a trash can, covered him in sawdust, and invited the other students to spit on him. For 45 minutes he was in that trash can with the lid on while students kicked the can and taunted him. The psychiatrist he sees each week told him “This is when you became a candidate for lifelong therapy.”
Let me pause at this point to quote Father Gregory Boyle.
“…the ultimate measure of health in any community might well reside in our ability to stand in awe at what folks have to carry rather than in judgment at how they carry it.”
Barking to the Choir: The Power of Radical Kinship © 2017
After we finished speaking, I give the son a hug, tell him he is a good man, and that I love him. The only details I learned about the suit is that his parents bought it about 7 years ago.
Bill White blogged about anticipatory grief. I wonder if there is a follow-up blog about the actions loved ones take when experiencing anticipatory grief. Preparatory grief, the preparations loved ones make in anticipation of the loss.
Allow me to pause again as I reflect upon a recent example of anticipatory and preparatory grief.
“I’m not paying for your funeral if you die from an overdose,” a father said to his son. “I’ve already paid for the funeral of one child, and would rather the money for another funeral go to your son.”
A father of loss x’s 2
I still had more questions about the suit, so I called him the next day. The son shared that he had been asked to speak at an A.A. meeting. His sponsor said it would be impactful if, when he spoke, he wore the suit his mother bought for his funeral. While visiting his parents, he shared his sponsor’s suggestion and inquired about the suit. To his surprise, his mother shared that after he had a year of recovery, they decided to sell the suit since he was doing so well.
Brad Stulberg, in his 2023 book Master of Change: How To Excel When Everything Is Changing – Including You, writes about allostasis, a concept coined by Peter Sterling and Joseph Eyer in the late 1980s. Stulberg writes, “Following disorder, living systems crave stability, but they achieve stability somewhere new…Whereas homeostasis describes a pattern of order, disorder, order, allostasis describes a pattern of order, disorder, reorder.” Sometimes “recovery” doesn’t accurately reflect the desired outcome for those with addiction. Many times, people want to be somewhere new.
One last pause for a quote from a person who “got clean” in 1976.
“I don’t want to ‘recover’ anything.”
Maybe the purchase and sale of a suit is a process of order, disorder, reorder. It certainly is a story of the son, the mother, and the father being somewhere new. And this makes me happy.
recoveryreview.blog 