...
By Craig Mindrum
0
Share
Newsweek is a Trust Project member
See more of our trusted coverage when you search.Prefer Newsweek on Googleto see more of our trusted coverage when you search.
On January 24, 2024, my son was having a blast on the dance floor of a Caribbean cruise ship—without warning, he collapsed and died. Efforts to revive him were futile. Narcan did nothing, so we presume fentanyl or other opioids were not involved—an MDMA (Molly) probably so.
But why him, when millions of people are taking party drugs everywhere around the world every night? We do not know yet. Results of the autopsy have yet to come in—even after all this time. We are investigating.
Maybe I should be embarrassed or think it scandalous to admit he died from recreational drugs—but that's not how I feel. There is some value to my own soul in writing about it—and perhaps some value in letting others taking these drugs know that people are never exactly "safe." The number of deaths is low, but is not zero. It's Russian roulette each time—especially if the drugs come from an unknown, unreliable source.
Read More on My Turn
My son was among the smartest people I've ever known. I say this with a father's biased pride, of course—but based on experience as well. Because of my parades through various universities, I met countless brilliant people with deep domain knowledge—knowledge of their niche subject. But it was my son's ability to bring together apparently disparate pieces of knowledge and experience—knit them together and perform a new synthesis—that really set him apart for me.
He seemed to know something about everything. Tell him news about astronomers discovering a planet light years away that seemed conducive to supporting life and he would give you 20 minutes on it. Talk about the complexities of the Ukraine war and he'd give you 20 minutes.
That's what I miss the most. I can't tell you how much I need those 20 minutes with him.
My academicized theology does not hold with a God who numbers the hairs on our heads or is aware of the fall of a sparrow—no Santa Claus God who rewards and punishes us according to our beliefs and actions. God did not cause or allow my son to die.
...
I can't blame anything or anyone—it's just my wife and I, our family, friends, and community looking tragedy in the eye, knowing there is no "reason" for his death, and deciding to band together to make our way into the future.
One thing I decided to do after my son's death was to forego all the many books available about grief. Something in me reviled at reading many books on the subject. What I want is my grief—my experience, my feelings, my sorrow, my words. Not colored by someone else's experience and words. When I feel something, I want to know it's my observation—raw and unfiltered—not someone else's.
Don't get me wrong. Some titles intrigue me—one being It's OK That You're Not OK by Megan Devine. I feel I didn't even need to read the book—just the title is enough. Because soon it will be a year since my son's death and—don't tell anyone—but I'm still not great. I'm still not OK.
The best analogy I have heard for the experience of losing a child—or any loved one—is being in an accident and losing a limb. Over time, you will adjust to this and learn to move on. But you will never again be whole. And that's really what I, and we, have to live with.
Craig Mindrum, Ph.D., is a writer and business consultant in Chicago. He received his doctorate from the University of Chicago Divinity School.
All views expressed are the author's own.
Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? See our Reader Submissions Guide and then email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com.
View 0 Comments
Submit Correction
View Editorial & AI Guidelines