Drugs created the pain

By: Michael Markels

To my one and only

Before I begin, I would like to say I will never understand you; I will never know how you feel; but what I know is I will always love you.

My name is Benjamin Kurtz and I am the father of a teenager that overdosed on drugs and passed away last Tuesday. He was in the ER when he passed away. It is said that a parent should never see their child die. A memory so indelible, I am reminded of it every moment of my life. When he was a kid he used to say he wanted to be an astronaut, flying in space, jumping off the different planets. I told him he could be anything he wants but, now it’s too late.

Drugs destroyed our life. I am writing to you now as a howl in the wilderness, will you hear me; I don’t know, will you understand me, I don’t know. Will this howl, so hard to bear when we hear it, make any difference in the world… your world. I never would have guessed it was him. I couldn’t believe drugs were being used in our house. Weeks went on like this. He started to not answer my calls. He failed his classes. Got into fights at school. I once had to go and get him out of jail. He used to be an honor student before all this. Prepared and ready for his bright future. He blind sighted me, like a deer in headlights.

DENIAL: If I spent more time with you when you were younger none of this would have happened. This is all my fault. If I had just been more aware, seen the desperation in your eyes, and shown you the love that I truly felt, you would be sitting next to me today. Now I can’t even get out of bed in the morning. I have no purpose. The trauma I am dealing with is unthinkable. When I heard your heart beat go silent I screamed uncontrollably. I ran out of the hospital and then ran back in to make sure you weren’t still alive. I fell apart. The school told me that two out of five houses in America either distribute drugs or use drugs. One in ten individuals aged 12 or older have participated in illegal drug use in the past month. You stopped talking to your friends. You started missing classes and sleeping in, staying up late. I thought you were just turning into a cranky young adult. I used to call you and ask about it. You would say that you were sick and you would go to class the next day. You never did. I never saw through you. I didn’t see the pain in your eyes, the trauma. You got skinnier, I could barely recognize you. Your eyes turned into a dark red, almost bloodshot. I brought in counselors. Any ideas that people had that could help me were valuable because for the first few weeks I didn’t care if I was alive. Nothing mattered. My life was empty without my son.

ANGER: My guts were on fire. Those who were different from me, especially those who were indigent, were I got angry I either hurt myself or I hurt others. Anger consumed me like a virus. Changed my mind. Twists bad thoughts and ideas into me. I now realize I was no better than the people I was angry at. I was the one who was indigent now. I was the one that turned heads. I was the one nobody understood.

When I saw you in the ER I thought that you would get better. I visited every day, to see you, lying there in that hospital bed. Begging that you would stand up, and give me a hug.

Over the years my heart started to fill with anger and hatred and I’m sorry…

ACCEPTANCE:I finally agreed to talk to a therapist who showed me that I was becoming angry at the people that I have turned into myself. She also opened my mind to reconciling with my son and perhaps it would be a good idea to meet new people. My howl in the wilderness may be for good after all. Drugs take you to hell, disguised as heaven but, just maybe that hell is reality.

From yours truly,

Dad