Our last day
This as a still from the last video I took before Mike died. I remembered enjoying the calm waters and stillness of the moment. After a mostly sleepless night, I took comfort in the hazy sunrise with the gaggle of geese slowly drifting to the beach and the great blue herons swooping by.
The was in the Before. Before everything changed. It was Mike’s last day on Earth. I had no trace of a hint that in almost exactly 24 hours later I’d find him dead in our home, unable to be revived.
I didn’t know what I didn’t know
As I walked this beach, I had no idea it was Mike’s last day alive. Of course, had I known I would have done a lot of things differently.
Rewatching this video, I’m reminded of the time I saw a starfish washed up here. I put it back in the ocean and sent a snap to Mike.
“You saved a life today” he said.
I didn’t know I should have been focused on saving his life.
Looking back, in a frequently unkind way, I can berate myself for things I did not know. Moments I could have asked a different question or examined the subtext of his texts that I read so differently now. I beat myself up for things I could have, would have, should have done differently. And I will never know if it would have changed anything anyway.
I didn’t know I should have been paying more attention. And even if I did know, the drug supply is so toxic he didn’t stand a chance. Because of the way he was found, they told me he likely died instantly.
Still…
I will never know if I had done something differently if it would have made a difference.
My mind replays the details in the lead up to his death. It does this because it’s trying to comprehend something that doesn’t make any sense. It will never make sense that one morning I got up to go to work, and instead found my husband dead in our home. That will never make sense. And I didn’t know it was a risk.
The reason I didn’t know was because Mike didn’t tell me. And the reason he didn’t tell me, (which I can sadly only speculate on) is likely due to the shame and stigma around substance use.
Shame can be a driver towards using substances, and it can also be felt because of substance use. People might use drugs to numb themselves from feelings such as shame, and shame can be a result of using drugs and keeping use secret.
The shame, silence and stigma cycle feeds itself and is self-perpetuating.
Shame is powerful and thrives on secrecy
Shame is powerful. It’s amplified through silence and withholding. It thrives in secrecy and isolation.
I believe shame was present for Mike regarding his addiction, and then can imagine it was worsened by his feeling like he failed by using again and then hiding it from me.
The messed-up thing about it is that we often feel shame because we fear disconnection from the people we love. We’re scared to tell them because we’re worried they’ll think differently of us. But in holding our shame in secret, it keeps us in the disconnection we’re afraid of.
I could feel a disconnect from Mike on his last day, and I didn’t understand.
Now, knowing that he had secretly used drugs, I imagine he was feeling ashamed. He was likely worried how I would react if he told me. Maybe he thought I would leave him. I never said anything to suggest this, but I’m just speculating.
Because I didn’t know, I didn’t get the chance to show up for him in the way he needed. Nor did I get the chance to potentially set a boundary around what was acceptable to me and in our home. I wasn’t given the opportunity or choice and I’m not sure what I would have done.
While I’d known about his history, he generally kept his use a secret from most people. He worked hard to be seen as reliable and professional, and hid this part of his story.
Mike first told me about his addiction when we had been dating for about six weeks. In sharing with me, I believed it was further in his past than it was. I’m not sure whether this was an intentional omission or an incorrect presumption on my behalf. I remember trying to get clear on the timeline and details, and being met with vagueness.
I also remember asking him about the possibility of relapse. He swore there was no risk. And I believe he wanted to believe this. I know now that relapse is a part of recovery.
I could see talking about this seemed painful for him and always trod carefully. If I could get him talking about it at all, it usually wasn’t long before he shut the conversation down. I think this was because it pressed on his shame and how he felt about his drug use.
I believe he had this fear because of the stigma around addiction and substance use. Addiction can be incorrectly viewed as a moral failing, or a personal choice reflecting a lack of willpower.
If Mike wasn’t in shame, perhaps he wouldn’t have felt the need to keep his feelings from me. Maybe he wouldn’t have needed to hide his drug use. And possibly he wouldn’t have used alone in secret and died alone while I was sleeping.
Overdose Grief and Shame can lead to Disenfranchised Grief
Grieving someone dying in a stigmatized way can also lead to feelings of shame. This could be due to internalized stigma or feeling unable to share the reality of the loss due to fear of judgement, shame and blame from other people. This can result in not being able to talk about the reality of the loss, and lead to further isolation and pain.
There may also be feelings of shame related to grieving a substance use related death. I’ve felt shame in things I didn’t know, in what I’ve discovered since he died, and shame in the way I’ve grieved and coped. For example, I’ve felt shamed for not knowing he was in pain, feeling like a bad wife, feeling judged for the way he died, and in not fitting into whatever “moving on” correctly looks like for someone else.
At first, I felt like I couldn’t share my story because I was “outing” Michael. He had kept his prior drug use secret from a lot of people. I wondered if it was right for me to be open about his addiction and how he died. I wrestled with this for a long time, but concluded that he would support telling the truth if it had the potential to help others.
I also had my own internalized shame and social stigma to work through. I’ve never felt directly ashamed of how Michael died, but I have felt shame connected to it. I’ve felt shamed and judged when I told people how he died. I’ve heard varying degrees of “tsk tsk, he shouldn’t have been doing that” in response to how he died (more on that here). This can lead to disenfranchised grief, when people stop talking about their pain, and ultimately adds to stigma.
The antidote to shame is sharing
“Shame hates it when we reach out and tell our story. It hates having words wrapped around it—it can’t survive being shared. Shame loves secrecy.”
Brene Brown
I can’t write a piece about shame without referencing the expert shame and vulnerability researcher, Dr. Brene Brown. In her book Daring Greatly, Brown defines shame as something we all have, and that we’re all afraid to talk about. And importantly that the less we talk about shame, the more control it has.
She also offers a model of how to combat shame, which she refers to as shame resilience. It focuses on protecting the connection with ourselves and our loved ones. It involves first being able to recognize shame and understand its triggers, being aware of and checking shame messages, reaching out and connecting with others, and speaking our shame. I’d highly recommend reading her books1 or watching her Ted Talk for further information.
Find safe spaces to be companioned
I can’t go back in time and know things I didn’t know or change anything about that last day.
What I can do is share our story in the hopes of adding a voice to reducing the stigma and shame of drug use and overdose death. And I do what I can to create safe spaces for others to share their grief in losing a loved one to substance use.2
These types of death are preventable. One mistake shouldn’t cost a life. And, the stigma and shame keeps people silent and can lead to death.
We need to get better at sharing our shame and taking its power away. And we must also question things like internalized stigma, and how shame, blame and judgement are active in our lives. I practise this by reminding myself that I never know what’s going on for anyone else. I try to start there with empathy, curiosity and presence, and check myself when I get into assumption and judgement.3
We must find safe spaces to share our shame. Whether that’s by telling a trusted friend, through therapy, in a support group, or any safe way we can. It’s vital.
I’ll never know the truth of Mike’s shame. I can only speculate, assume, and draw best guess conclusions. And that’s a shame (pun intended) because I would have liked to know that part of him. If only we’d had more time.
I didn’t get a chance to understand Mike’s shame. If I did, that day with the geese and the sunrise could have looked quite different. Maybe it could have saved his life, maybe not. I won’t ever know for sure, but maybe in sharing our story it might help others to be aware of the power of shame. Only through sharing and empathy can we address this deadly epidemic of shame, silence and stigma.
- Brene Brown explores shame in her books I thought it was Just Me, The Gifts of Imperfection and Daring Greatly. Or is it just me that loves homework to read books about shame… !?! ↩︎
- If you’re looking for support in Canada, Healing Hearts is a great resource. Not just because I volunteer with them, but that is an added bonus! ↩︎
- Not always easy to do when someone cuts me off in traffic, but I feel a whole lot better about it if I assume they’re having their worst day and just NEEDED to be in front of me. ↩︎
