I thought that maybe this time it would be different. My third Overdose Awareness Day March. It would be less painful. Less emotional. This journey to Washington to remember and honor you and all those who lost their struggle with opioid addiction. To take part in the discussion at the Press Club. To attend the vigil. To march holding your picture to the White House demanding immediate attention to this horrific epidemic.
I allowed my mind to trick me as this was my third time. You know that old saying, “The third times a charm”, I let myself think that returning to the place where grief screams as parents hug pictures of lost children wouldn't crush my heart as it did before. I thought I had seen enough to keep my warrior mask in place. I thought the wall I built around my heart was solid enough to not crumble at my feet.
Boarding the train, I could feel that familiar throat tightening. I told myself to stop. I told myself it was no big deal. Once again I wondered why I sat on this train heading to a place that held such painful memories. Then I felt you.
I felt you as I walked through Union Station. I felt you as the sun hit my face while I walked the streets in Washington now so familiar.
I felt you that night as I stood at the reflection pool with 60 pictures of other mother’s children hanging from my body. Three close friends supported me as I said their names under the light of a beautiful moon.
I felt you as I sat listening to the so called professionals talk about your disease. I felt you urge me to speak the truth. To tell it as it truly was and remains for those fighting the stigma. I felt your hug as I stood shaking before a crowded room.
I felt you as I stood with hundreds of other mourning parents. I felt you as I was wrapped in the pictures of beautiful children who like you were ripped from their mothers arms by the demon known as addiction. I felt you as I watched the sky turn pink as Jesus painted the background for the vigil honoring you and so many others.
I felt you as the son of another mother wrapped me in his arms when my grief became too powerful to deny. When my warrior mask shattered and my wall collapsed at my feet. You were there as I listened to a beautiful song and the tears flowed from my soul.
I felt you as I saw your name among a thousand others. Dropping me to my knees as grief grabbed my heart.
I felt you as I started to march. As I started to crumble I felt you give me that push to speak out against the stigma. To put one foot in front of the other and move forward with the crowd. I felt you as I looked at the stars and felt the soft breeze touch my cheek.
I felt you when the march was ending and I was emotionally spent. I felt you as I lay in bed thinking of everything you had been through in your struggle to live. I remembered your smiling face and your warm bear hugs. I remembered why I come back to Washington year after year. Standing side by side with other moms like me. Hugging and crying. Holding on to each other for life. Knowing that we are united by tremendous grief. Knowing that together we will never forget.
I felt you there as I boarded the train for home. I felt your gratitude and love infuse my heart for returning to honor your life and for never letting you go.