Eclipsed

August 21, 2017. A partial solar eclipse, a part of the sun seeming to have disappeared only to leave a black void. August 24, 2017. Another soul gone too soon. This one a freak motorcycle accident. Steve, the barber, who was just getting excited about recovery, excited for his daily meetings, attending and being a positive member of his small group and a way to ply his trade and make money; his motorcycle. Quick, easy and cheap transportation. The final piece had just been procured. He bought a new battery and he was ambulatory at long last. He didn't have a license but he did need to work. It was late August and everyone wanted their hair cut or colored.

Steve left around 6:45 pm to attend a local Narcotics Anonymous meeting and never came home. His mother, Rose, waited (waits) for him. He was her only child. He was her companion and caregiver. His ex, their daughter and grandson lost an important figure in their collective lives. People who knew him from active recovery were dealt a blow, sometimes an all too familiar theme for them. Addicts are at such a great risk of accidental overdose nowadays. Between the unknown, and known, chemicals sold on the streets and the relatively low tolerance to a relapsing individual, sudden death becomes a way of life, so to speak. But people with a noticeable zest for a new day to start again are not supposed to die this way. It's not fair. It's akin to a soldier winning a war only to be killed after returning to the safety of home.

Steve attended his group therapy session that morning and had a noticeable zeal for his recovery. He had been on Suboxone maintenance for a few months with encouraging results. He had not touched any other opioids, which was his primary substance use disorder, since he began treatment, although he had used his secondary in a few times of weakness. It did not seem to wear on him negatively. Ninety meetings in ninety days is usually a positive benchmark for people in recovery and Steve was almost a full week in to meeting that goal. His first attempt was derailed but he was determined to reach this trajectory, going to some meetings twice a day. Everyone was encouraged to see such progress.

Suboxone played an important role in his sobriety. Many have misconceptions about medication assisted recovery. While it is indeed a narcotic, it doesn't inebriate or intoxicate. It fills the void that prolonged substance use disorder causes. When opioids are abused, the brain stops dealing with pain naturally. It relies on the chemicals from the substance. That is why withdrawal sickness occurs. The body and brain become so dependant on outside chemicals it literally forgets that it has the tools to deal with the absence of pain killers. It craves the opiates and punishes itself until it can figure out how to remember what occurred before the drugs. Feelings of extreme nausea, flu-like symptoms (runny nose, diarrhea, various aches and pain) are the norm during detox from opioids. Suboxone abates those symptoms and blocks any other opiates from affecting the brain. In a perfect world, Suboxone would be used for detoxification only, but here in the real world, the ego and neural pathways crave the very thing that made life so difficult. Everyone is different from everyone else, so what works for one probably won't work for the next. Medication, prescribed and monitored by a physician, coupled with counseling are sometimes the best shot habitually recovering individuals have for the long term.

So, after Steve completed his rehabilitation center stay, he elected to give Suboxone maintenance a try. Maybe this was the last chance that he would get. Tomorrow is promised to no one. Here was his chance to stay clean for the rest his life. And he succeeded. He was in active recovery when he reached the clearing at the end of his path. The people that he left behind would grieve and be in pain and miss him, some longer and more intensely to be sure, but he got to go out on top. Substance use disorder has claimed many a soul but it would not claim this one. That is a small comfort to us who do not fully understand death. But we will, one day. And on that day, Steve will be there, with that easy smile of his, waiting to give you that fresh hair cut and style that will last you eternity.

Dedicated to the Murphy and DeFalco family and the group members of room 456.