My son was just addicted. That’s what some say. He was nothing but an addict. Like he planned this. Like he didn’t really want to live. But it was much more than his addictions. He was our son. He was someone’s brother. He was someone’s grandson, nephew and cousin. He was loved so much. He loved us. Shirley and Lloyd Nicholson laugh with their daughter Carly and son Darrell in an outdoor family portrait taken in 2014. (Submitted by Shirley Nicholson) Yes, he made some very bad choices in his life and paid dearly for them. He had spent time in both state and federal prisons. But he was paroled and started a new life. We thought we were on the right track, but addictions are insidious and confusing diseases. You just sit in the background. Stand by. Stand by. Stand by. Until you have a good day. Until you have a bad day. Until it’s every day.
Then it knocks. From everything I have learned about my son’s alcohol and drug addiction, the longing, need and desperation for him to have this solution never goes away. Some can overcome it. Some can go to Narcotics Anonymous or a rehab program and make it. The need to stay sober must be stronger than the need to get a fix. People say it’s a choice. What I saw from my son’s behavior is that addicts don’t really have a choice. Addiction has control, power, a say in whether they will use again. Darrell Nicholson was captured in this photo taken during a day fishing trip two days before he died. (Submitted by Shirley Nicholson) We lost our son six hours after he wished his dad a happy birthday. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised. But he died of an overdose early the next morning. And just like that, our family was reduced by one. Our lives changed forever. People say to me: “You are so strong.” “You are so cruel.” “You are so brave.” I am none of those things. My husband is none of these things. Our son’s sister is none of these things. We had no choice as to whether we should be brave, strong or tough. We just became the parents of a stillborn child. sister of a dead brother. We didn’t have time to choose.
Darrell Nicholson, 4, smiles for the camera. (Submitted by Shirley Nicholson) Ever since the police came to our door and gave us the horrific news, we’ve just been putting one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. Some days we pass with relative ease and only a few moments of absolute desolation. Other days, we can barely get out of bed to face the day. There was a lot of paperwork, administration and things that had to be done when a loved one dies. I treated everything like work. Sort the pictures and write the obituary. Advise car insurance. Advise the health department. Advisory Service Canada. Consult Canada Revenue Agency. I send letters. Sending forms. Please resend this, the “i” was not dotted. Send it again because the car insurance boss was stung. Just do it. But if I let myself stop and go back to that moment—the moment when the police said, “I’m sorry to tell you…”—I burst into sobs. Harsh sobs I can’t control. I cant breathe. I can’t think. If I can, I hold on to something so I don’t immediately drop to my knees. If I don’t go “there”, I can manage most days.
We spread his ashes here, there, in places we thought he would have liked, in places he liked to hang out, in places he had never been. We held his small but meaningful memorial at the Winnipeg Folk Fest camp. We went to the Dominican Republic in March. One morning at breakfast, my husband mentioned that he was scattering his ashes in the Caribbean, where our son had never been, and I broke into sobbing again. Just one mention of it, and I cry uncontrollably. One day, I might be in the condiment aisle looking at Frank’s RedHot Sauce. He laughed and recited the catchphrase, “I put this st on everything!” And I’m falling apart. He was laughing with us scattering his ashes everywhere. I know she’d be like, “What the f*, Mom! I don’t care about that!” But we do. We are just trying to show respect to his memory. A few months after he died, my daughter suggested we go somewhere for Thanksgiving. It was also Darrell’s birthday, but that was the unspoken thing. I said, “Sure!” So we left the countryside for a trip to Victoria. It was the best way for him to get through this first milestone – his first birthday without being with us on this earth. My daughter planned so many activities, we didn’t have time to think. We just enjoyed every moment with our daughter and son-in-law. You both have been our strength and our rock through these difficult times through his addiction and after his death. And we got through the terrible day. Darrell Nicholson is hugged by his sister, Carly. (Submitted by Shirley Nicholson) If love could have saved our son, he would surely be alive and well today. If love could… but it didn’t. He was our beautiful boy. Our energetic little one who could make the best friends on the playground. He was our handsome young man who could charm the girls. He had ideas, plans, dreams and an appointment for a motorcycle test next week. He didn’t plan to die at 27. It was more than his addictions. He was our son, our brother, our grandson, our nephew, our cousin and we all loved him so much. Do you have a similar experience with this first-person column? We want to hear from you. Write to us at [email protected]