During his active addiction to drugs and alcohol from age 14 to 24, our son, Alex, presented to the hospital emergency room twice, shoplifted, was arrested, dismissed from every grade in high school at some point in the school year, failed out of college, physically fought me, entered three stints in rehab, stole money from me, and wrecked his car twice. Such behavior can lead to a parent, especially a father, becoming very angry. Anger can possess you like an evil demon. Persistent anger affects every aspect of one’s life – relationships, work, the ability to experience joy, and it tests one’s faith – if you let it.
Tragically, I let it. Anger so clouded my relationship with Alex during his struggle that I was unable to give him the support he needed. Anger shrouded my ability to understand his disease of substance use disorder, and I failed to see the world through Alex’s eyes.
Even though I dearly loved Alex, anger made it impossible to look past Alex’s behavior. My expression of love toward Alex could best be described as inconsistent. Some mornings he would bound down the stairs for breakfast, and I would enthusiastically greet him with a hug and ask how he slept as I placed an extra strip of bacon on his plate. Some mornings he would be greeted with silence as I stared into my coffee.
Alex decided to move to Colorado. He planned to leave one Sunday. When I returned from church that day, I found him still at home and his car was not packed. “What are you still doing here?” was all I could muster. I think I wanted him to leave so I could have peace.
On June 11, 2016, at age 24, carrying a straight A semester average and only six months from graduating from college, Alex died of an accidental drug overdose. When you learn more about your son from speakers at his funeral than you did from actually knowing him, you fail as a parent.
My demon was anger. Alex’s demon was addiction. Throughout that time, I did not understand either of our demons. Through his addiction, Alex heard my inconsistent love toward him as, “Dad doesn’t love me.” That realization breaks my heart.
Alex was the best friend anyone could have. He was uplifting and supportive. He experienced personal joy in the joy felt by others. I wished he had loved himself as much as he loved others. I blame myself for that.
A few days after his death, I went down to the basement to work off some grief. The light was on. Nobody had been in the basement for days. Even in my intense grief, I saw the light in my sanctuary as a sign that Alex was reaching out to me from the Other Side. I sat on my bench and talked to him. I wept as I apologized for how I had treated him on so many occasions, professed that I always dearly loved him, and begged for his forgiveness for my treatment toward him. I bared my soul and prayed that God and Alex would hear me.
Every Sunday, I am reminded during the Assurance of Pardon during worship that God forgives us of our sins. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that if God can forgive me, then so can Alex. I know that because that was who he was. Believing that he forgives me, I turned my life toward honoring Alex and his forgiveness by community advocacy so no other parent will have to go through the experience of trying to revive their lifeless son.
And so, I to the world, I preach the exercise of unconditional love for, instead of anger at, your loved one who is struggling through addiction or mental health issues. Doing so will deliver to the one struggling the message that you love them. It will also make you as a caregiver stronger and more patient and understanding to provide them with support. We are told before every airplane flight that, in case of emergency, parents should put their oxygen masks on first, before putting one on their young child. You cannot fix someone’s addiction. But I implore anyone who cares for someone struggling to breathe in unconditional love. It is the best you can do for your loved one and yourself.
-Yarnell Beatty
Breaking the Silence Co-Coordinator
