Today is Tuesday, August 24, 2021. It will be 19 days until my daughter has been gone 2 years. I just reread this post and was stunned by the raw, gutteral feelings that I was able to convey to all of you who read it. Reliving that day will never be easy but I also never want to forget. Reposting this each year on September 11th might just be another way for me to continue the healing process. And if you choose to read it each year, you’ll know that we never “get over” the death of our child. Please, share this post with anyone you know who still places judgment on addicts. Let that person read the words of a grief-stricken mother who lost her child to a drug overdose. Then, maybe, they may not be so quick to judge. I can only hope…

The Day My Daughter Died

This is the story of the day my daughter died. So, how do you go about reconciling that your child has passed away of a substance use overdose? You don’t.  You just live with that fact every day for the rest of your life.  And you do the best you can to get through. 

And that’s what I’ve been doing since September 11, 2019. That was the day my daughter died and my heart stopped beating.

Tomorrow is September 11, 2020.  It’s been a year since Kelsey’s been gone.  It’s her “Angelversary.”  I found out that’s what it’s called when you lose a child.  I never knew that.  Why would I?  But I know now.  Because I’ve lost a child.  I’ve lost my daughter.  And now she’s an angel with wings. 

If you don’t want to read about the day my daughter died, I suggest you stop reading now.  Because I’m going to write about it in these next few paragraphs.  Just like everything else that I’ve written on this blog, it’s transparent, honest, and real life.  My life. 

If it’s too intense or too much to bear, I get it.  But this is what I need to do.  I need to process the most horrible day of my life by putting it in writing.  And yes, I’m choosing to do it here, on my blog.   

My Heart Stopped Beating

I retired in June of 2019.  As a retirement gift to myself, I decided to rent a house for a week in September at the Jersey shore.  I rented a house a street away from my good friends who were also renting. 

Six of us went to dinner at a seafood restaurant that night. September 10th, the last day of my daughter’s life. We enjoyed some good seafood, had a few beers, laughed and had a good time. They dropped us off at our house. I plugged in my phone to charge on the kitchen counter and went to bed.

Around 1:00am in the morning my Fitbit began to vibrate and I saw that I had a phone call.  The name scrolling across my screen I recognized immediately and I ran to get my phone. It was Kelsey’s boyfriend calling.  A missed call and voicemail from an unknown caller was also waiting for me. My heart stopped beating.

I Just Knew

The agony in his voice telling me she overdosed was when I knew.  When I heard him say they’re taking her to the hospital and it doesn’t look good, I knew. As I listened to the voicemail from the police officer 4 times so I could shakily write down the number to call, I knew.  When the police officer told my husband to call the hospital, I knew.  And, as he waited to talk to the doctor on the phone, I knew. As I paced in a circle around the living room making the sign of the cross, I knew. He came into the bathroom to tell me.  I collapsed to the ground, the guttural sobs coming from a place I didn’t recognize.  We held each other and sobbed. I was frantic.  We have to go get her, call the funeral director, go to New York NOW! We have to hold her, we have to hug her, we have to kiss her, we have to save her! I’m not there to take care of her.

My Voice Of Reason

My voice of reason stepped in and calmed me down.  He reassured me that it didn’t make sense to drive all the way to New York state, where Kelsey had been living with her boyfriend.  He sensibly explained that we’re exhausted and it’s 2:30 in the morning.  Probably not the best idea to begin a drive to New York.  We’ll call the funeral director in the morning because they’re not open now.

Okay. I was in a fog.   

There were phone calls to Kelsey’s boyfriend and his grandmother, who was with him. They were with my girl at the hospital.  They were the ones taking care of her now, holding her, hugging her, giving her a kiss from me.  And that was okay. I was grateful she was with people who loved her.

It was okay. I was in a fog.

We slept a couple of hours.  How, I have no idea. 

Heading Home To Break The News

The day creeped upon us. The sunlight peeked in the window and I felt as if I was in a bad dream. Could this possibly be the day my daughter died?

I began working in slow motion.  We gathered our things and dumped them into suitcases, totes and bags then packed the car. When we were ready to leave, I asked my friends to come over. I had to break the news.  Thus began the first of many others to whom we had to deliver this news. It was truly heartbreaking telling our friends but we welcomed their comfort.

We drove home in a stupor.  Not 24 hours before, I was lying on the beach deciding if I should text Kelsey to confirm our visit to New York in a couple of weeks. But I never did.  I thought she would be annoyed that I was bugging her. Now we were driving home and I was never going to see her ever again.  I wished I had texted her.

Telling A Brother His Sister Is Gone

My main concern was my son.  Jesse was at work so we had to wait for him to get home at around 5:30pm.  So we decided to start breaking the news to our family. We stopped at my nephew’s house and told him what happened.  Then, I needed to tell my sister-in-law so she could tell her 3 kids.  My brother was very ill and had already been in the hospital for 2 1/2 months. It was important she knew before heading to the hospital. The task of telling my brother was placed on her shoulders. And then we waited for Jesse to come home.

How do you tell your son that his sister is gone, dead from a drug overdose?  He didn’t look surprised or upset when we told him.  More resigned than anything.  He had been anticipating this outcome for the past 10 years.  They weren’t on the best of terms, never really spoke to each other much, even when she was at home. But a mother knows. Grief was buried deep in his heart and in his soul.

A Hole Ripped In My Heart

And then the food, flowers, friends and family began arriving over the next 5-6 days.  Phone calls were made, tears were shed, texts were sent, hugs were exchanged and preparations were made. 

We’ve all experienced this when we lose a loved one.  Your life turns upside down with the business of it all.  The planning, making decisions, completing paperwork and having visitors is just what has to be done.

But losing a child doesn’t feel like any other loss.  The pain rips apart your heart and leaves a gaping wound that you instinctively know will never heal. It hurts so much.

Saying Good Bye

And then I got to see my daughter again.  She was beautiful with her brown curly hair, which she hated, draped around her face.  She had that little bump on her cheek with the faintest hint of a smile across her lips. I was looking at my Kelsey and for that, I was grateful. Our funeral director snipped a large curly lock of hair which I’ve placed in my “Sacred Space.” We gave her one last kiss and told her again how much we loved her.  Her brother took a few extra moments with his sister to say a personal good-bye.

The Planning Begins

And then the planning began.  I felt an inspiration and ease in making the plans for my daughter’s send off. Decisions among the three of us were made quickly and easily. Selecting the music, flowers, items for the table and readings flowed easily. I felt inspired by Kelsey and in knowing exactly what she would have wanted.

Yes, the smiling picture of her with arms spread wide should be on her prayer card. We’ll put Van Morrison’s lyrics of “Into The Mystic” on the back of the card because the words seemed to fit her spirit beautifully.

Let’s just buy our own flowers, colorful ones and put them in vases tied with colored ribbon.

Of course, we should have music playing throughout the service since she loved music so much. 

Kelsey loved to color and took pride in her work so let’s hang up some of her pictures.

We should put that pair of Converse sneakers on the table along with the David Bowie CD, her degree from West Chester University and the sparkly crystals. Yes, let’s drape the table in her scarves and hang Jesse’s tapestry behind the table.

So, the planning was done and now we waited for the hardest day.

The Hardest Day

And then the day came. I was numb. My stomach was in a knot. My anxiety was through the roof and I began to get ready. I wore the most colorful dress I could find, Kelsey’s earrings, bracelets and necklace. She would have approved. And so it went. For hours and hours. The business of saying hello to family and friends and saying good-bye to my beautiful daughter.

A friend of Kelsey’s spoke about her. So did my niece and myself. Kelsey’s boyfriend desperately wanted to speak about Kelsey but was overcome by his grief.

A Brother’s Words To His Sister

Jesse decided to speak about his sister. It was the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever witnessed. With my head hanging low and tears streaming down my face, I listened. This is part of what he said.

“Although we had drifted apart she was always my sister. I can honestly remember probably only one time one time a couple of years ago when we had a meaningful conversation. I called her one night when things were not going so well in her life nor mine and we had a conversation about her life and how I was pulling for her to get it together because I didn’t want to see her struggle any longer. Even though neither one of us ever showed much affection for each other deep down we both knew how we felt for one another. One thing I started to feel when the news set in that she passed was that of some guilt. Maybe I should have been nicer or maybe I should have done something different to help her more or be there for her. But the more I thought about it the more I realized that it wasn’t about guilt or resentment, it on the deepest of levels was about love.” 

Garth and I hung onto each other for dear life. And then “Into The Mystic” played as friends and family filed past to say their last goodbye and give us a final hug.

Never, have I ever felt so emotionally exhausted. The hardest part was over. Now, hugs in the parking lot, loading the car with all the items then driving to the restaurant for the ‘reception.’ We ate, talked, hugged, laughed and cried. And then it was over. Done.

A Different Kind Of Life

We drove home and were left to begin a new and different existence without our daughter. And, so we did.

The day my daughter died was a story I had to tell. Thank you for allowing me to share it with you. I’m sure there are some people who may think it’s kind of crazy for me to share such intimate details of something so sacred to my family and I. But this is what feels right for me. I knew that I would write about the day my daughter died. I had to. It’s helping me process my grief. And maybe it is helping someone else.

Karen