Pain Walks the Streets of Our Cities

The Door Closes on yet Another Life

Tears brim in my eyes, ready to fall away and spill down my face. I found out on social media early this morning that a friend lost her son. Someone said his death was addiction related. She lost her aunt and mother not long ago, and a few years ago, she lost her soul mate. I feel so broken for her. She is sweet and tender and sensitive. She adored her son.

I wish I could do something, anything. I know I can pray, but even that feels hollow, lacking substance. I hate it that yet another life has been cut short because of this vile affliction.

It grates when I think of the millions and millions and millions wasted on this dumb-ass election—not only this sleazy sideshow of a presidential election, but all the offices, from mosquito control officer on up. That’s the true evil in this country. And we have people in Congress who have made it their purpose to do nothing except support the companies who keep drugs on the streets and the insurance companies that deny addiction treatment services to all those except the wealthy. And, unlike some things, support for Big Pharma is bipartisan. They all line their pockets with their foul gains.

Meanwhile, people are dying, like my friend’s son, for lack of treatment. People are suffering. Families and societies—counties, states, our entire country—we’re all affected by the pain of this current system.

And that pain seeps out of the space in those pockets where money hasn’t crowded it aside. That pain walks the streets of our cities. That pain rides in ambulances to emergency rooms. That pain escapes in the sighs and groans of an EMT when Narcan fails to work. That pain sits in the living rooms and at the kitchen tables of thousands of families who are brought to their knees in grief. That pain streams from my pen as I write these words.

That pain is compounded by the frustration of those who desperately want to close the door on addiction and say goodbye to it. That pain sears the psyches and hearts of those who instead say a different, gut-wrenching goodbye as the door is closed on yet another life.

That pain is echoed in the futility I feel and the frustration I feel. What—just what—are the priorities in our country? I don’t know what to do to fix this skewed, screwed system of ours regarding the most important assets of our country—our people, our youth, anyone who is suffering.

I tell myself to breathe, that I can do some things. I can make my voice heard by letters, e-mails, phone calls, And, I can do the most important thing: offer comfort to my friend and do whatever I can to ease her pain of saying goodbye.