Life, Unfinished

They say the opposite of love is hate. Or perhaps indifference. I say the opposite of love is grief. Both are powerful forces that come unbidden and overwhelm you when you least expect it, doing the most mundane of daily tasks. Driving to work you hear a song, in a sunset you see a favorite color, when out in public you glimpse someone who in dress, or stature, or sound of voice you swear for one glorious second, is your loved one— back on earth again.

In love or grief when these moments take you, you are helpless against the emotion; it floods your heart with pure uplifting joy, or an unbearable crushing pain. You must simply endure until the moment passes.

If you’re lucky, your dark grief will be flecked with bits of light, sweetened with cotton candy memories. At the very least, you will have comfort in the knowledge they lived a long and full life, their exit a natural and awaited conclusion. For some, their grief is marred by the most torturous and illogical complexities a human should never know; the ugly life of addiction.

For those who have had a loved one afflicted with addiction, they know it is a greedy thief who may eventually rob you of everything. At first, it comes in secret, lurking in inky corners, quiet as smoke. For the true addict, the false balm of stealth will not suffice for long. In short order, the addiction will boldly stand in broad daylight, demanding every ray, forcing your beloved to be living in the inky corners, quiet as smoke, denying the warmth of the sun.

The twisted life of an addict, and those who love them, is a wretched and all-consuming existence. For those who must witness this harrowing demise, it is a perpetual cycle: the hope of recovery, the belief and then the discovery of lies, and the constant bedmates of anger, guilt, and helplessness. Instead of morning coffee, they drink cups of What Ifs that taste like remorse and strangled dreams.

Adam West is like countless others. In pictures, you see a typical All-American story; the chubby baby with a tuft of light hair in diapers, the toddler on sturdy legs flashing a toothy grin, the shy lanky teenager in braces, and finally the young adult—looking relaxed and happy lounging at the kitchen table in a flannel shirt and woolen grey hat. Here the pictures stop abruptly. He will never have any more because he was found dead in his home by his mother and younger brother less than a week ago.

His sister, Cortne, said best what is often forgotten about addicts: Adam was more than his addiction. And he was. Adam was a charming guy, one who could talk to just about anyone (and often did!) and made friends easily. It didn’t hurt that he was also very good-looking, being granted a megawatt smile, deep blue eyes and shaggy brown hair (it is rumored that a visiting European once commented that he looked just like a movie star). He had an aura about him that revealed a gentle soul and a great big heart. Very much like his beautiful mother.

While working at The Swedish Crown Bakery in Anoka (his all-time favorite job), he made popovers to perfection, diced carrots and onions in a wild fury (yet they always managed to be evenly cut), and frequently had a line of smartly dressed, white haired ladies at the counter vying to chat with him. His prized possession and favorite pastime was riding a shiny green Harley Davidson motorcycle that he would later exchange for a car in an attempt to hold down the last job he would ever have.

Adam was more than his addiction, yet it was his addiction that would control most of his life. It was his addiction that would bring him in and out of court, cost him employment and relationships, and ultimately take his life. For Adam, this sad progression started at the age of 13, first with a little pot, then later some alcohol, and finally graduating to heroin and prescription drugs. In his final years he would replace heroin with the legal drug of methadone.

Methadone, a synthetic opioid, was introduced to help addicts wean off heroin. It is a widespread drug that is given through our current legal system. According to Adam’s family, the methadone program does not encourage nor provide an exit strategy plan for patients, resulting in prolonged use and the inability to enter into serious rehab programs like Minnesota Adult & Teen Challenge. As a synthetic opioid, common side effects include dizziness, sleepiness, vomiting, and sweating. Other serious risks are opioid abuse, or a decreased effort to breathe and heart arrhythmia. (1)

Adam was on prescribed methadone for the past five years, starting at a 50 mg dosage. Before he died, his prescribed dosage was 220 mg. His family is convinced that methadone was a major factor to his continued addiction and untimely death.

For the outsider, addiction can be a black and white issue, easy to judge and hard to have compassion towards. It is simple to dismiss the value of an addict’s life because it is self-inflicted, and therefore holds an element of (perceived) justice for their suffering.

Heroin specifically is a drug that has grabbed hold of Anoka County with a blind fierceness that has demolished countless families. It does not care about race, or socio-economic status, or how many people love them. It will take the son of a single working mother as cruelly as the daughter of a prominent community leader.

Like love, the sharpness and power of grief will dull over time. Like love, grief will never entirely leave your heart. Your grief will live there forever, sometimes as a heavy stone, sometimes as a hundred delicate pinpricks, but always for you to bear.

And there is a particular kind of mourning for all untimely deaths, be it disease or accident, suicide—or addiction. It is the robbery of all their could-have-beens.

It is the misery of knowing your Dear One will always and only have a life, unfinished.

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BLOGGER’S NOTE: Thank you for reading this. This article was sorrowful to write for multiple reasons, but mainly for personal ones. Heroin addiction, and the complications associated with it, has become an epidemic in Minnesota, explicitly in Anoka County. I’ve read about too many deaths recently. Like anything, it is always different when the statistics come to your own front door. Adam’s mother, Tammi Kousoulos, is someone I love very much, and seeing her devastation has been an exercise in impotence and complete aching for another— as I know many of you can relate.

Perhaps you were moved by this piece, and that’s all well and fine, but I am not interested in writing anymore premature obituaries. What I’m interested in is bringing awareness to addiction issues, and inspiring action to give others a life that will be lived in full.

If you live in the North Metro, I am part of serious fundraising efforts for Mental Health and Addiction Services provided by Allina Health through the Mercy Unity Hospitals Foundation. Please ask me how you can help. You can. I also know community leaders are brainstorming as you read this to find solutions and support for addiction, I would be happy to connect you to them.

Lastly, there appears to be a lot of questions around the Methadone Program, of which I am ill-informed and cannot give an opinion at this time. However, I would be happy to connect you to others who want to learn more. I can be reached at Fridley Patch .

Special thanks to artist Penny Ward Marcus who took time (while ill) to help me curate a perfect image in the last frantic hours because I was determined to have something beautiful to go along with this important story.

(1) Sourced from Wikipedia.