This first-person article was written by Shirley Nicholson, who lives in Winnipeg. For more information on CBC’s first-person stories, please see the FAQ.
My son was just a drug addict.
That’s what some people say. He was nothing but a junkie. It’s like he planned this. It was as if he really didn’t want to live.
But he was much more than his addictions. He was our son. He was someone’s brother. He was someone’s grandson, nephew and cousin. They loved him so much. He loved us.
Shirley and Lloyd Nicholson share a laugh with their daughter Carly and son Darrell in an outdoor family portrait taken in 2014. (Submitted by Shirley Nicholson)
Yes, he made some really bad choices in his life and paid dearly for them. He has spent time in both state and federal prisons. But he made parole and started a new life. We thought it was on its way, but addictions are cunning and puzzling diseases.
It just sits in the background.
Expectation. Expectation. Expectation.
As long as you have a good day.
Until you’re having a bad day.
Until it comes every day.
Then it hits.
From everything I’ve learned about my son’s addiction to alcohol and drugs, the craving, need, and desperation to have that solution never goes away. Some can overcome it. Some can go to Narcotics Anonymous or a rehab program and work their way through it. The need to stay sober should be stronger than the need to get better.
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 the control, the power, the say over whether they will use again.
Darrell Nicholson is captured in this photo taken on a day fishing trip two days before he died. (Submitted by Shirley Nicholson)
We lost our son six hours after he wished his father 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 went down by one. Our lives changed forever.
People tell me:
“You’re so strong.”
“You’re so tough.”
“You’re so brave.”
I am neither of those things. My husband is neither of those things. Our son’s sister is none of these things. We had no choice whether we should be brave, strong or tough. We just became the parents of a dead child; sister of a deceased brother. We didn’t have to choose.
Darrell Nicholson, 4, smiles for the camera. (Submitted by Shirley Nicholson)
From the moment the police came to our door and gave us the horrifying news, we’ve just been putting one foot in front of the other, one step at a time. Some days we get through with relative ease and only a few moments of utter despair. Other days we can barely crawl out of bed to face the day.
There was a lot of paperwork, administration and things to do when a loved one dies. I faced everything as work.
Sort the photos and write the obituary. Advise car insurance. Advise the health department. Advice Service Canada. Advise the Canada Revenue Agency. Send letters. Submit forms. Resubmit it, the “i” was not dotted. Send it back because the auto insurance supervisor was abusive. Just do it.
But if I let myself stop and go back to that moment—the moment the police said, “I’m sorry to tell you…”—I burst into sobs. Wracking sobs I can’t control. i can’t breathe i can’t think If I can, I grab onto something so I don’t end up on my knees right then and there. If I don’t go “there” I can get by most days.
We scattered his ashes here, there, in places we thought he would like, places he liked to hang out, places he had never been. We held his small but significant memorial at the Winnipeg Folk Fest campground.
In March we were in the Dominican Republic. One morning at breakfast my husband mentioned scattering his ashes in the Caribbean, where our son had never been, and I burst into heartbreaking sobs again. Just mentioning it makes me cry uncontrollably. One day I might be in the spice aisle looking at Frank’s RedHot sauce. He was laughing and reciting the ad line, “I put this f**k on everything!” And I fell apart.
He would laugh at us, scattering his ashes everywhere. I know he would say, “What the hell, Mom! I don’t care about that!’
But we do. We are just trying to show respect to his memory.
A few months after his death, my daughter suggested we go somewhere for Thanksgiving. It was also Darrell’s birthday, but that was the unspoken part. I said, “Sure!”
So we left the countryside for a trip to Victoria.
It was the best way for him to pass this first milestone – his first birthday without being with us on this earth.
My daughter had so many activities planned that we didn’t have time to think. We just enjoyed every moment with our daughter and son-in-law. They were both our strength and our rock in these difficult times through his addiction and then death.
And we passed the terrible day.
Darrell Nicholson is hugged by his sister Carly. (Submitted by Shirley Nicholson)
If love could have saved our son, he would certainly be alive and well today. If love could…but it doesn’t. He was our beautiful boy. Our energetic little boy who can make 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. He was more than his addictions. He was our son, our brother, our grandson, our nephew, our cousin and we all loved him so much.
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