Saving Eric: A Mother’s Journey Through Her Son’s Addiction

By Mary Burns

Mary's nightmare began when her seven-year-old adopted son inexplicably screamed before dinner one night. From that point on, her son's struggle became her struggle. Mental and physical illness, along with drug addiction, turned her life upside down. The love Mary had for her son, though, never waned as she desperately tried to save him from his demons. "Wonderfully written and moving. I can't recommend this book enough to any family who shares the experience of adoption or a struggle with a child's unpredictable, often violent mental health, along with the journey alongside an addiction."
* -- Annie Highwater, "Unhooked" "A meaningful exploration of mental illness and addiction - two present-day tragedies."
* -- Charles Rubin, "Don't Let Your Kids Kill You"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645751007

Mary Burns

Mary Burns is a mother of three, a teacher, and has become involved in addiction advocacy since her son's death. She helped spearhead a walk called 'Changing the Face of Addiction,' to help change the stigma of addiction. She has also brought her advocacy to her local state senator and addressed the New Jersey Senate Budget Appropriations Committee about the need for a change to the addiction treatment protocol. She was honored as an Advocacy Leader in 2017 by the New Jersey chapter of the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence.

Book preview

Words

About The Author

Mary Burns is a mother of three, a teacher, and has become involved in addiction advocacy since her son’s death. She helped spearhead a walk called ‘Changing the Face of Addiction,’ to help change the stigma of addiction. She has also brought her advocacy to her local state senator and addressed the New Jersey Senate Budget Appropriations Committee about the need for a change to the addiction treatment protocol.

She was honored as an Advocacy Leader in 2017 by the New Jersey chapter of the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my son, Eric, who always wanted to write a book about his struggle.

Copyright Information ©

Mary Burns (2020)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of creative nonfiction. The events are portrayed to the best of author’s memory. While all the stories in this book are true, some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved.

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Burns, Mary

Saving Eric

ISBN 9781645750987 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781645750994 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645751007(ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020904749

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgments

I want to thank the many people who encouraged me to move forward with this book. This includes my friend, Sandy, who read my first manuscript and insisted that my story should be told. I also want to thank my mother, who read all of my manuscripts many times and encouraged me to have this story published.

I want to thank the Montclair Write Group, who welcomed me and advised me on how to improve my writing. I want to thank my editor, Lorraine Ash, who believed in this project and in me.

Last but not least, I want to thank my children, Jessica and Matthew, for supporting my decision to publish this story.

Author’s Note

I focused this narrative on my son’s, Eric’s, battle with addiction and how he and I fought that struggle together. In consideration of my husband’s feelings, I included family members only in certain parts. From the beginning, however, we all lived the story together.

Prologue

June 2009

As soon as Eric signed into the emergency room, the triage nurse took us into her office. Eric leaned forward, gripping his stomach, and answering questions.

In no time, he was in a bed, all one hundred seventy-five pounds of him, doubled over and turning from side to side to get comfortable.

Before we admit him into detox, a nurse said, We need to rule out any other possible causes for his pain.

A phlebotomist drew Eric’s blood. As he left, a doctor asked questions.

What do you take? he asked.

OxyContin, Eric replied.

How much?

Half a pill.

How many?

Two.

A day?

Yeah, he paused, Or three.

Sitting quietly, I listened, his every answer, paining me.

OxyContin? An opioid. My nineteen-year-old son is addicted to drugs. How did this happen? He’s such a smart kid. What is he thinking?

I wiped my eyes. He partied. He made bad decisions. I knew that. I’d tried talking to him.

Stop doing drugs, I told him, Stop partying every night. But I never got far before he argued and, most of the time, spun himself into a rage.

I was concerned but I’d grown up in the seventies and knew many kids who smoked pot. Most turned out just fine. I thought smoking pot was a phase. I thought Eric would get over it.

I looked at my son, lying on the bed, writhing in pain, and clenching his jaw.

As the doctor asked more questions, the whirring in my mind subsided.

We’re not sure your insurance company will approve admitting him into the detox unit, he said.

The nurse must have seen the confusion on my face.

His drug habit may not be bad enough, she explained.

What do you mean? How can his drug habit not be bad enough? I asked, I thought you were addicted to a substance or not addicted to a substance. How could Eric not be addicted badly enough?

When the blood work results arrived near midnight, the doctor concluded Eric’s pain was due to drug withdrawal.

The next step: calling the insurance company.

Eric was visibly worse. He tossed and turned and moaned.

We’re almost certain the insurance company will not approve his admittance into the detox unit, said a second nurse, You can wait, if you like or leave. The insurance company should have a final decision in a few hours.

Eric clutched his stomach, his eyes glowing in anger.

What? he yelled.

We’ll leave the decision up to you, the nurse told him.

He looked at me.

Mom, what should I do?

I don’t know, Eric. I was expecting you would be admitted. I don’t know what to tell you.

I didn’t want to waste a few hours, if the hospital wasn’t going to admit him, but what would we do, if we left?

It’s up to you, Eric, I said.

Let’s get out of here, he said.

He’d taken a brave step. He’d admitted he had a problem. He asked for help, but the hospital, equipped to detox people, wouldn’t admit him.

I helped him off the bed. We walked out, Eric walking slowly. As we passed the security station, he spit at the window. A gob of phlegm slid down the glass.

Eric, no! Stop it! I yelled, What are you doing?

The next day I stayed home from work, thinking I could, somehow, help my son detox. I had absolutely no idea about drug withdrawal or how painful and potentially dangerous it could be.

The two of us stayed in the family room. He lay on the couch, tossing and turning. I sat on the chair next to the couch, watching him, and holding his hand from time to time.

I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I opened the phone book and looked under ‘Drug Abuse & Addiction Information & Treatment.’

Over the years, my son had faced so many challenges. I’d helped him through a lot. That morning, for the first time, we were locked in a battle larger than both of us. I prayed that my love would be able to save him.

1. Just Amazing

1990–1997

I first laid eyes on my beautiful boy at JFK Airport at 9 a.m. January 9, 1990.

A snowstorm had delayed Korean Air Flight 206. My husband and I waited three hours for its arrival with our daughter, Jessica, who’d also been born in South Korea. She found a balloon in the airport that read ‘Welcome’ and held it patiently.

We’d been told that Eric weighed only five pounds at birth. So, when the guardians wheeled in two baby boys in gray strollers, I went straight to the smaller one. But I was wrong. He was the bigger one wearing a light blue fleece outfit with white lambs.

The guardians told us the babies had been changed. I tried to feed Eric, so he wouldn’t cry on the way home, but he didn’t take a bottle.

We buckled him into the back seat of our car next to Jessica. Excited, I sat in front and could hardly wait until we stopped at my mother-in-law’s house on the way home, just to show him off. Since she lives with my sister-in-law, Eric also met his three cousins, who came downstairs to see him.

While I changed his diaper, all of them bent over him, talking and trying to get him to smile. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law held him. He didn’t fuss.

Just like that, Eric was part of our family.

As he grew, his brilliance impressed us. We only had to tell him something once, maybe twice, and he remembered it.

As a toddler, he sat in front of the television, rocking to videos with songs such as ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm.’

We also admired his imagination, during his preschool years. He loved his pretend kitchen. He gathered all his VELCRO® food and set up elaborate dinners and lunch spreads on the cement hearth by the fireplace. Once he was done cooking, he and I pretended to eat and, of course, everything he made was always delicious.

We played games like Memory. He beat me almost every time.

The two of us also pretended to be Power Rangers. I was Kimberly. He was Tommy. All day long, he’d say, Oh, Mom, Rita Repulsa is coming. We have to fight her off.

I’d be, right there, fighting alongside Eric.

In nursery school, my amazing boy made many good friends, who played at our house. Often their parents invited Eric to their houses. We were busy. Eric seemed happy, excelled at every activity he tried, and took naturally to sports. He started karate lessons at five years old and earned his black belt in Tang Soo Do at eight-and-a-half. He played soccer, basketball, and baseball and was always a starter.

Playing baseball in spring and summer, he was almost always an all-star. When his coaches started a fall ball team, he played eight months of the year. By middle school, he made the Babe Ruth team.

For two summers, he played on the county all-star team. Twice, he played at the local minor league stadium as an all-star. We traveled all over northern and central New Jersey to cheer Eric on.

In elementary school, Eric earned straight As, learning easily and doing homework quickly and willingly. Halfway through third grade, he came home crying of boredom because he finished his in-class assignments so quickly; he had a lot of downtime.

His fourth-grade teacher occupied him during those downtimes, making Eric her Internet ‘expert.’ When his assignments were done, he looked up information for her on the worldwide web; then, a new phenomenon. She motivated him and made him feel important. I was grateful.

During a parent-teacher conference, she asked an unusual question.

Is there anything going on at home?

Why do you ask? Is Eric having problems in school?

She shrugged her shoulders.

I just get a feeling something is wrong, she said.

I meet her gaze, wondering why she thought that. Eric had never gotten in trouble at school and I’d never received a phone call about his behavior from any of his teachers or the principal.

I was diagnosed with skin cancer last year, I said. It’s possible Eric is upset about that.

I assured her I’d speak to him.

I left the conference shocked but amazed at how perceptive she was. Eric had begun to show troubling behavior at home. I felt it was a private matter, though, and wasn’t sure what to tell her. But she was correct; something was very wrong.

2. Screaming

1997

The first time I realized something wasn’t right was a night like any other. I heated up the tomato sauce I’d made earlier that day, as I cooked pasta for dinner. My two sons, Eric and Matthew, put away their art supplies when their sister returned home from her dance lesson.

Can I hang my new picture on the refrigerator? Matthew asked.

Of course, I replied.

Using a magnet, he proudly hung his latest masterpiece amid others.

Eric ran upstairs to put his picture in his room. Sometimes, he tacked his pictures on the bulletin board on the desk in his room or placed them in one of his desk drawers. He liked to save his drawings, which was fun. Sometimes, we took them out to see how they’d changed over the years.

My kitchen smelled delicious. Thursday was pasta night in my family, since my childhood. As a kid, I walked home from school anticipating the aroma and delicious meal that awaited me that evening. I still looked forward to Thursdays as that night’s menu featured my family’s favorite; spaghetti and meatballs.

Dinner is ready, I told Jessica and Matthew, Wash your hands.

They took turns using the sink in the bathroom off of the kitchen.

I walked to the bottom of the stairs.

Eric, dinner is ready. Wash your hands and come downstairs!

As I turned back toward the kitchen, I heard, Aaaah! Aaaah! Aaaah!

Eric was screaming.

My heart skipped a beat. I raced up the stairs, thinking he was hurt. When I reached his room, he stood in the middle, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Aaaah! Aaaah! Aaaah!

He didn’t appear hurt. When I moved closer, he extended his hands in front of him, palms toward me, and backed away. He didn’t seem to focus on anything in particular. He stared straight ahead with a detached, vacant look in his eyes.

Scared, I wondered if he even knew who I was.

Again, I approached.

Again, he put out his hands and backed away.

Aaaah! Aaaah!

My heart pounded. I didn’t understand. A few minutes earlier, he quietly played downstairs with his brother. What could have happened in that small amount of time?

Aaaah!

Eric, what’s happening? I yelled, Eric!

He didn’t seem to hear me. He continued to stare and scream and not let me anywhere near him. I quickly looked around the room. Is anything out of the ordinary? The room was neat. The beds were made and the windows, closed. No toys were on the floor.

What’s the matter? What’s the matter? I asked.

He didn’t answer. He just stared and screamed. A sick feeling came over me. I didn’t know what to do. The screaming went on and on.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. He cried and let me hug him. I held him close and rubbed his back.

What’s the matter? I asked, What happened? Are you hurt? Why were you screaming like that?

He didn’t answer. He just sobbed and let me hold him.

Finally, the sobbing subsided. He was calm. I loosened my hold.

Why were you screaming? What happened?

He returned my gaze but didn’t answer.

I pulled him close to me as we walked down the hallway with my hand on his shoulder. We stopped at the top of the staircase. Jessica and Matthew stared at us from the foot of the stairs. They looked confused.

Did Eric get hurt? Jessica asked.

No, he was just upset about something, I said.

I looked at Eric and kissed him. We walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

What happened? Jessica asked Eric, Why were you crying?

What’s wrong? Matthew added.

Eric shrugged his shoulders.

They all sat at the table as I brought over the food. While we ate, I turned to Jessica and Eric.

Did anything different happen today in school? I asked, Did anything exciting happen in school?

We didn’t do anything today, Jessica said.

We are doing a project in language arts, Eric said.

I perked up, happy to hear him talk.

What’s the project about?

We needed to make a book cover for the story that we just read.

Still trying to figure out what made him scream, I pressed the issue.

Who did you work with on the project?

I worked with Joey, Kyle, and Tom.

Did you agree on what to do or did you argue about how to do the project?

No, we didn’t fight and we made a cool cover we all liked.

What did you do on the playground? I continued.

We played tag on the playground like we always do, he said, I was ‘it’ but not for long because I’m a fast runner.

He smiled.

I believe that because you are a fast runner! Who did you play tag with?

He shrugged his shoulders.

Just my friends that I always play with.

I kept asking questions, hoping Eric would say something that clued me in on why he screamed.

Later that night, I looked through his backpack in case I’d missed something during my usual afternoon check for returned papers and homework. I found a few graded papers; all with one-hundreds on them.