Overdose Awareness Month: Say Their Names, Tell Their Stories

This month is about remembering and honoring lives lost, telling their stories, and raising awareness about addiction in an effort to end overdoses. Today, that includes educating people on the dangers of fentanyl and its presence in street drugs. You don’t have to be an addict to overdose. It can happen to anyone who uses any foreign substance, especially if it is your first time. You are never prepared for it. No one is exempt.

Many years ago, this would have been unheard of. If someone had an addiction or died from an overdose, it was very secretive. There was a stigma around addiction. Families were very embarrassed and fearful. The stigma was real. Families would worry about what people would think about their children or them as parents. They withdrew from their friends and made up stories to cover the truth. Support for families was scarce, and resources were minimal.

About 20 years ago, things started to change. Young kids started dying more often. If you think parents were protective about their child’s life, you can only imagine how protective they were about their deaths. It was adding salt to the wound. Very seldom was a family forthcoming about the cause of the death – they had a right to privacy, as families still have today. But many times, people didn’t make it any easier to share the truth because of the whispers, the rumors, the lack of community support, and the judgment they experienced from their own families and friends.

As this started happening with more regularity between 2006 and 2012 due to the widespread availability of fentanyl and as the numbers of overdoses began to soar in 2016, this could no longer be kept swept under the rug. It was our children dying, our nephews and nieces, brothers and sisters, classmates and coworkers. It was hard to find a family or community that was left unscathed. Parents started to speak out, advocates began to emerge, programs were initiated, and communities were no longer silent or ashamed. Vigils were held, awareness committees were established, and purple ribbons were worn. Death notices started to read that the cause of death was an overdose, that the deceased battled addiction, and that contributions be made to foundations, treatment centers, and non-profits that assisted those living with addictions.

People were rising up, holding town hall meetings, providing training for the use of Narcan, debating issues like medication maintenance/assisted treatment programs, harm reduction, alternatives to the traditional 12-step programs, the definition of “clean time,” and language to use when talking about those who are addicted. What mattered most at this time was that the people who were at risk for overdose mattered; they had value inherent in their human dignity. Those who overdosed and died mattered – their lives were precious to many. And families living with addiction or grief were recognized and supported.

Say Their Names

When we are born, we are given a name. We grow into that name, which evokes responses from those who know us. As with many national memorials, the listing of names on a wall, on a marble stone, or in the steel of a fallen building, has become powerful. They are powerful because each name represents a person. Until recently, no one ever memorialized the names of people who died from an overdose. They were not viewed as heroes or victims. Their deaths were viewed as an extension of their failed lives. The name they were given was junkie. The goal was usually to forget their actual names and the cause of their death. They were grieved only by those who loved them most.

See Their Faces

The stigma of drug addiction was part of a prejudice towards who people pictured these individuals were. If one were asked to describe what a person who overdosed looked like, they would more than likely describe a homeless person who appears malnourished, unkept, and unwashed. Through the many vigils across the country and the many initiatives to break the stigma, showing the faces of those who have overdosed has become powerful. They look no different than anyone else. They are good-looking, vibrant, smiling, and seemingly full of life.

Tell Their Stories

After hearing their names and seeing their faces, we tell their stories. Learning their story enables us to grow in appreciation of the loss and makes it real for us. They had families and friends, personalities and passions, ambitions and hopes. However, their names are on a memorial because their life had been cut short, their voices silenced, their futures unrealized. Many stories portray a child who was sensitive and affectionate, a person who could make everyone laugh so easily, the one who was first to help someone in need, the athlete whose talent for a sport was well known, or the person who readily listened to someone who needed an ear to hear them. Their stories reveal that the only thing that separates them from the others is one wrong, impulsive decision that was part of a life fueled by attempts to fill a black hole of emotions.

For years, people believed that those who used and abused drugs were self-centered people who didn’t want to work or face life, so they actively used drugs because it was their choice, and they didn’t want to stop. These individuals, for the most part, desperately want to stop but are crippled by fear, overwhelmed with shame, and lacking any semblance of self-esteem. That is the reality on the inside. What they are judged on, however, is what most see on the outside: the defensive, argumentative, uncooperative person actively using substances, isolating, absent, and pushing away people who love them most. It is only when the pain becomes great enough that the desperation exceeds the comfort, and surrender becomes the unavoidable consequence. If a person is lucky, they get that opportunity to go to treatment or meetings and get a reprieve from the chaotic life of a person in active addiction.

For others, before a surrender occurs, their life is taken. There are no more chances. The heart has stopped and the body has died. They may finally be at peace, but that is certainly not what their family and friends are feeling. For their parents, their life as they know it has ceased, forever changed, never to go back. They are missed by family and friends more than they could have ever imagined. For those who find their lifeless bodies, the images will forever haunt their minds.

This month, we raise awareness to help prevent overdose from taking the lives of those we hold dear. For the ones who have lost the battle, we shall forever Say Their Names, Show Their Faces, and Tell Their Stories. Their death need not be in vain. After all, they are our children – and always will be.