When Life Doesn’t Go As Planned

The book that had the most powerful impact on me after Emily’s death, was Victor Fankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. If Frankl, a concentration camp survivor, could go on and even find meaning after experiencing so much horror, I could live by the very same words as well:

“…everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

My way was to try to make meaning out of my daughter’s senseless death and help others in the process. I had no idea that life would expect even more. I would eventually find myself called to devote 100 percent of myself to saving lives in this overdose/fentanyl poisoning epidemic we face in the United States. I had never imagined doing anything else in my life other than working as a journalist; especially as a visual storyteller. Now life is asking me to use the skills I have developed over the last four decades to fulfill a different purpose. 

When I was five, my grandfather gave me a tape recorder and I recorded interviews with all my relatives. At the age of 10, I thought a lot about what I wanted to be when I grew up, as kids often do. For girls of my generation, the answer to that question that was most acceptable was “teacher” or “nurse.” However,  even at that young age, I knew I wasn’t going to fit into that mold. I loved to write, a gift fostered in me by my mother, who was a teacher and a writer. While most girls were playing with dolls, my mother was giving me writing assignments and grading them. I’ve often thought that my love for journalism comes from fulfilling a dream that was not my own, but rather my mother’s. She had wanted to be a journalist, but found herself pregnant with me, while still in college, and became a teacher instead because it was a more dependable job. 

The turning point in my young life came when I was watching The Barbara Walter’s Special on TV at age 12. As I watched Barbara interview the stars and public figures of the day, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I did not want to be the interviewee in the hot seat, whom Barbara almost always made cry or confess some deep, dark secret. I wanted to be the one asking the questions and I wanted to do it on TV. After that, everything in my life was directed toward obtaining the job I have now held for more than three decades. I wrote for my town newspaper, interviewed journalists for every school assignment possible, was editor of my high school newspaper and majored in journalism in college. After obtaining my master’s degree, I thought I might teach journalism full-time, but found that while I love mentoring young journalists, I enjoy practicing the craft of storytelling and documenting current events too much. 

I could never think of any other profession I wanted to work in as much as I did TV news, despite its incessant deadlines, crazy hours, horrendous competition, and often soul-crushing response by the audience. That last part has been especially brutal with the advent of social media and the political climate that demonizes journalists and has polarized people in our nation. But even that didn’t sway me from my love of journalism, with a capital J. 

However, on March 16, 2018, my life was turned upside down with the death of my oldest child, Emily, to fentanyl poisoning. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I could use the platform I had to raise awareness about this horrible epidemic, and the danger to all of our children, as well as educate people on substance use disorder. On top of all that, I could be a voice for parents just like me. There are hundreds of thousands of us and most suffer the loss of their children in silence, not to mention shame. Not only could I represent all of us, but I could also give them a voice, through my podcasts and try to destroy the stigma surrounding fentanly poisoning deaths. 

Life kept expecting more. I was raising funds, along with the help of an amazing community, to get people into treatment. I was speaking across the region and the country to students and parents. Plus, I was developing a prevention curriculum for elementary school students, thanks to the dedicated input of educators administrators, doctors, and counselors. Between my demanding TV job and running Emily’s Hope, I was stretched too thin. In January my health suffered. Something had to give. I knew it couldn’t be Emily’s Hope. Lives were at stake. I made the difficult decision to step away from TV news. I still love reporting. I will miss digging into stories and bringing new information to light. I will miss the camaraderie of the newsroom. I loved knowing that sometimes my stories truly made a difference. 

Now, I know everything I do for Emily’s Hope will have an impact. Even if one kid chooses not to experiment with drugs, I will have made a difference. Even if one person gets into treatment with the nudge of an Emily’s Hope Treatment Scholarship, I will have done my part. Even if one person comes to understand addiction, not as a moral failing, but as a disease of the brain, our mission is fulfilled. Even if one other parent knows they are not alone in their anguish and grief, it’s all worth it. 

I say “goodbye” to TV news with a knot in my stomach. Change is scary. But I take a deep breath and say “hello” to expanding the mission of Emily’s Hope with an open heart and desire to serve. That’s all it’s really ever been about anyway. 

Faith, Hope & Courage,

Angela