When something unspeakably tragic happens, good people naturally gather around the affected family to show their support. I experienced this after my daughter Emily’s death in 2018. Six years later, I’ve observed significant changes in how people respond to my ongoing advocacy to end overdose and fentanyl poisoning deaths. Advocacy can be lonely work, especially as time passes and people’s lives continue. Yet, I feel just as strongly today as I did six years ago about stopping these senseless deaths and the immense pain they cause. I understand “compassion fatigue,” not in myself, but in others—their capacity to continue caring and supporting the cause I fight so hard for every day.
I’ve noticed it among friends and acquaintances who were once eager to help the charity and even within my own circle of family and friends. The initial enthusiasm to support a cause is often strong, especially when it stems from a fresh wound. But as time goes on, people drift away, following different paths. Meanwhile, I’m still here, still grieving the loss of my daughter, and compelled to dedicate my life to the mission of Emily’s Hope.
This reality hit me as I sat on a panel at the White House for Overdose Awareness Day, sharing Emily’s story yet again. I realized that some people might be tired of hearing me tell her story, weary of facing the overwhelming issue of overdose and fentanyl poisoning deaths, and perhaps even wishing I would stop talking about it. But I can’t help but think about the parents who just lost their child a month ago, six months ago, a year ago—they are looking to someone like me to model that survival is possible, that grief is a form of love that never fades. I will never stop loving my daughter, and I will never stop trying to save other people’s children in her name.
As we prepared for our International Overdose Awareness Day Candlelight Vigil in my community, I wondered who would show up. I thought about all the problems in the world, and how this one, in particular, seems so daunting, so unsolvable. Yet, there is a glimmer of hope nationally—overdose deaths fell nearly eight percent last year, likely due to the efforts of organizations like Emily’s Hope, which is distributing naloxone to save lives. However, in my community, overdose deaths have risen by 71 percent from last year. While fentanyl is a major factor, methamphetamine overdoses have also surged.
I often wonder who will continue to walk beside me in the effort to stop stigma and save lives. I rely on my husband, who is loyal, true, and present at every event and talk I give. I’m blessed with a small, dedicated staff at our charity who share our mission. But I am most grateful to the parents I’ve met along the way—the parents who, like me, have lost a child to drugs. There are so many of us now, and the death toll in the United States remains staggering, with over 100,000 lives lost each year to this epidemic. It’s these parents and their supporters who keep showing up at events like the candlelight vigil, and I know they won’t leave my side. They will carry their loss with them for the rest of their lives. No one can truly understand the loss of a child like another parent who has endured the same. There is an unspoken bond formed out of that shared loss.
Of course, there are also other advocates for mental health and substance use disorder treatment who, like me, return year after year. Each person has their own reason for being involved, but this work is never “just a job.” It must be a calling.
There is so much wrong in the world, competing for people’s attention, money, and time. But for those of us who have lost someone to overdose or fentanyl poisoning, there is only one cause we can be devoted to—ending the drug epidemic that continues to take our children at record rates. Life can change in an instant, and mine changed forever on May 16, 2018. There is no going back to the old me or my old life. Advocacy is my path forward, and I carry Emily in my heart every step of the way. This can be a lonely and misunderstood path at times, but I will walk it. When I falter, I will remember my “why” and carry on.
Faith, Hope & Courage,
Angela
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