What ‘Overdose’ Means to me as an Overdose Widow

August 31st is International Overdose Awareness Day

This is my fifth International Overdose Awareness Day since Michael died. I can recall each of these awareness days, since the first one just a month after Michael died when I was still in shock and trying to comprehend how my very healthy, strong, loving husband could be dead and adjusting to my new normal. To each subsequent year where I’ve leant further into advocacy and sharing my story.

Awareness days are so strange. People who are all TOO aware are desperately trying to reach those who likely think “that’s not for me”. Before Mike died I had a vague awareness of IOAD, but I didn’t really pay attention. I thought it wasn’t for me.

I didn’t realize I should be aware.

That a bit of knowledge or research could maybe have made a difference.

In the lead up to this Overdose Awareness Day (IOAD), I looked back on this piece I published in 2024. Since I wrote this I’ve continued to reflect and noticed my feelings have shifted. So I’m sharing my updated thoughts for IOAD this year.

Shouting into the void? Perhaps. But maybe it will reach someone who needs to hear it.

The Term Overdose

I’m an overdose widow.

At one point, I recoiled from this word in relation to how Michael died.

Language is important and the way we talk about our loved ones has an impact.

The term “overdose” felt wrong to me. This was partly because it wasn’t listed as his cause of death. The coroner’s report¹ lists Michael’s cause of death as unintentional “acute fentanyl toxicity”. So when I talk about how he died, sometimes I say he died from fentanyl poisoning or drug toxicity. Or if I’m feeling fancy: accidental fentanyl toxicity due to an unregulated toxic drug supply (rolls right off the tongue).

Also, when I think of the word overdose, linguistically it implies that there is a known substance involved and that there is a correct dose to begin with. It suggests that they took too much of this dosage. Instead of one drugs, they took ten drugs! They wanted to get high, and then higher! In other words, they’re too blame. No.

Michael and other missed loved ones are often dying from unknown substances disguised as other things, with unknown strengths and capacities. There can be no correct dose from an unregulated toxic drug supply.

This is all true for me.

And… as everything in grief it evolved and shifted.

After further thought I’ve come to wonder if for me NOT using the term overdose also had stigmatizing implications.

Why did I feel the need to differentiate his death from “other” types of overdose deaths?

In some ways there might be benefits to this. It can highlight the reality of the crisis, that the unregulated drug supply is toxic and that this could happen to anyone. If people understood that people who use drugs come from all walks of life maybe there would be more capacity for compassion and empathy. And perhaps phrasing it as drug toxicity could lead to more understanding about what we can do to prevent deaths.

It’s nuanced. I then began to question whether it was my own stigma that felt the desire to make this distinction.

When the opioid crisis is being discussed sometimes you’ll see it reported that people are dying who are “housed and employed”. Again, I can see the value in this in terms of breaking down misconceptions about who is dying and this whole generation of young people who have lost their lives.

And, this also speaks to a stigma that suggests a life is less valued if the people who were dying weren’t housed and weren’t employed. It shouldn’t be the case. And it comes back to stigma. Stigma has a way of burrowing deep inside us to become internalized.²

It took some time to unpack my own internalized stigma. Did I avoid the word overdose because I felt the need to specify “he’s different, he was poisoned, he didn’t mean to take too much”? Did I think of Michael in a different way because I didn’t see him in the way I thought of “other” overdose deaths? Was it connected with internalized shame?

Maybe. Once again that dang stigma is at the root of it. Stigma that stems from decades of systemic political othering and using the “war on drugs”³ as a tool to win votes. I had to first face my own internalized stigma as part of my grieving process and get to the heart of why it felt important to use a different word.

After challenging my own internalized stigma, doing more research, and investigating my relationship to the crisis and how I can potentially be an advocate in the clearest way possible, I’ve flipped back.

I’m reclaiming this word and incorporated it into my identity as a grief advocate.

I’m an overdose widow.

Overdose Defined

An ‘overdose’ occurs when there is more of a drug – or a combination of drugs – in the system than the body can cope with, leading to harm or death. This definition does not refer to circumstance, intent, criminality, nor the type of drug implicated, but is a simple definition of a physiological response.”

Source: Overdoseday.com

While the term overdose isn’t written on Michael’s coroner’s report, the definition is accurate to how he died. He died because there was more of a drug in his system than the body could cope with. He died from overdose.

I’ve examined the internalized stigma I may have associated with the word and been challenged by it. I have also chosen to let go of some of the linguistic implications that have bumped me on using the word. Linguistics aren’t going to bring him back.

Also, the term overdose is a widely understood term used across many cultures. Overdose Awareness Day is a global movement that helped me understand and reaffirm my stance on using this word.

And if embracing this widely used word helps communicate these messages and play a part in the public conversation and tackle the stigma, then it seems worth it to go with the simplest, widely used terminology.

Whatever you call it, it’s tragic

I use the term overdose, and at times I may also say toxic drug poisoning or other variations. To me, they’re now interchangeable phrases which all have the same sad meaning. My loved one is dead and died a preventable death. It’s a tragic shame and can’t be changed.

To anyone else out there who has lost a loved one to overdose, drug poisoning, fentanyl toxicity, an unregulated drug supply, or substance use related harms of any kind (including alcohol). I’m sorry. I hope you can understand my choice of language here. No judgement if this word doesn’t sit right with you. I hope my choice doesn’t offend.

I am a widow due to overdose. My beloved husband was one of thousands who has died due to overdose. Every overdose death is significant and worthy of compassion. Every overdose death is tragic and preventable. Every overdose death matters.

And if you’re grieving someone who died due to overdose, your person mattered too. Your loss matters. Your pain matters. You matter.

Resources:

1. I truly hope you have the privilege of never having to read one of these. ↩︎
2. Burrowing like a black-legged tick that’s apparently everywhere in the province I live and I now have a healthy fear of. Anyone else? ↩︎
3. War on Drugs can be interpreted as a war on people who use drugs. ↩︎