Trust

One of the things I often wonder and struggle with is why I should say anything to anyone about addiction and trying to help your loved one. Sadly, my daughter died of a fentanyl and car-fentanyl laced heroin overdose. What would I be able to tell anyone, and why would they even listen?

Several weeks ago, I think it was shortly after having helped someone get their loved one into treatment through my recovery coaching work. A quiet voice in the back of my head said “Why couldn’t that have happened with LaLa (my daughter Lauren). That happens occasionally. Just then I believe God placed a thought in me. It was comforting. The thought was “You and Nereida (my wife) helped LaLa navigate a very complicated and pain-filled life to arrive safely in My care.” I never really thought of it that way, and at that moment I felt encouraged and hope birthed in my heart. I wish I understood why her life had as much hurt as it did, but that is not for me to know in this life.

My wife, son Evan, and I do have great comfort in knowing that Lauren is safe in God’s care. No more hurting, no more anxiety or anorexia, and no more white-knuckling the wheel to try to stay in the recovery lane. She is free, and she is happier than she has ever been. To the right is one of the memorial cards we had at LaLa’s funeral, it so accurately reveals what I know she would say to us today. To read in more detail why we have this great confidence, read the post “Why We Know Lauren Is Safe.” That helps us a lot!

The other thing we find a tremendous amount of strength and comfort in is the joy of knowing that Lauren knew, in spite of the pain and chaos that addiction brings to relationships, her mom, brother and me loved her completely. I have on occasion said to people, “I know it sounds weird, but surprisingly we find comfort in knowing that Lauren died in our home where she was loved most.” It is true! I can’t help but wonder if somehow as my beautiful daughter breathed her last breath in this life, through the bizarre rush of warmth and comfort that the heroin gave her the misty haze of that euphoria parted, and she remembered: “My family loves me so much.” I hope she did because we do!

Some times in life, our only option is to trust. Trust those that we love and, for our family at least, trust God. Yes, it can be said of our family, “Your story didn’t go so well.” But the truth is that for us, the story is not over.

I can not imagine what I would feel like today if our story shifted slightly. What if we had allowed the confusion and pain of LaLa’s addiction, anxiety, and anorexia to wreck our relationship. What if we allowed ourselves to had been driven by the many moments when emotions were at their peak, to dictate our words (sometimes you say things you wish you had not), but more importantly our actions and stopped being an influence in her life? What if she ended up leaving our home and we never saw her again? Would I feel better today, I don’t think I would? Yes, for the moment I do not understand why we are temporarily separated from our “Mo Chuishle” (you can learn what that means in the post “I Want To But I Won’t”), but for now we trust. We trust that God has our future, that He understands things we do not, and that one day, In His presence, we will smile with LaLa again.

This weeks featured image is called “Faith, Trust, and a Little Pixie Dust” by Brooke Shaden. It speaks so clearly to me as to what it sometimes feels like to trust when we do not understand fully