Coping in the aftermath of drug overdose death

Losing a family member to a drug overdose can be like wearing a scarlet letter, Mary Thrasher says.

After her only son, Brian, died of a heroin overdose outside his Chicago apartment in 2001, many of her friends didn't know how to react.

People would have been more sympathetic if Brian, an ex-Marine and 1994 Schaumburg High School graduate, had died in a car crash or from cancer.

And some friends may assume parents didn't do enough to prevent the tragedy or may even think the drug abuser got what he or she deserved.

Those kinds of reactions only made it harder for Thrasher to cope. "I miss that boy more than anything," she said.

Thrasher thought being among other people who had had similar experiences would help, so she decided to find a support group.

Some groups were a bad fit. At a group for those who lost a family member to suicide, she had a hard time relating and felt uncomfortable. She eventually stopped going.

Today, though, Thrasher and three other mothers who lost sons to heroin have found each other.

Their guide through the long recovery process is Germaine Clarno, a family counselor in the SHARE program, a 75-bed Hoffman Estates clinic near St. Alexius Medical Center run by Leyden Family Service that offers services from drug rehab to gambling addictions.

The four women make up the newest Chicago-area chapter of GRASP, or Grief Recovery After a Substance Passing. It's for anyone who has lost a family member to a drug overdose.

"We believe drug addiction is a disease," Clarno said. "It's not about willpower. We treat our clients with therapy."

The women share their stories, their grief and sometimes even their guilt over 90-minute sessions the first and third Tuesdays of each month.

"I've learned that I'm not alone," Thrasher said.

Four mothers' pain

Groups like GRASP are somewhat rare.

Advocate Lutheran General Hospital in Park Ridge, for example, refers patients to Families Anonymous. But for all its good work, that group focuses more on helping people cope with a loved one who's addicted to drugs or alcohol, not as much on coping with a substance abuse-related death.

GRASP has given Thrasher a venue to share, relate and cope with feelings of helplessness and failure. The sessions are often spirited - laughter is not uncommon.

Thrasher recalls one mother revealing how she'd hid her purse from her son, hoping he'd stop stealing from her to feed his addiction. She was ashamed - until hearing that all three of the others had done the same thing. One stuck hers under her pillow while she slept.

Such candid exchanges are "part of my treatment," said another of the mothers, Maria Mills of Roselle. "I need to talk about it."

Mills raised her son, Gerome Watkins, as a single mother in Chicago before the family moved to Bensenville. Her son was 24 when he started using heroin, precipitating a decadelong descent into despair and sometimes homelessness.

Like Brian Thrasher, Watkins had been in rehab several times. Both were found dead by the Chicago police.

So despite their different backgrounds, Thrasher and Mills clicked.

Mills, a hairdresser, said she sometimes feels like an actress when talking to friends, hiding the despair her son left behind.

"This is an epidemic. This affects everyone," she said. "What I learned the past 10 years is very sad. ... It's unbelievable the destruction this causes."

Addiction is a disease

Russ Wittberger and his wife, Pat, started GRASP to cope with the death of their daughter in 1994. Jennifer Wittberger was 20 when she died from a heroin OD near San Diego.

Now, there are 18 GRASP chapters listed on the group's Web site, though some, including a listing in Buffalo Grove, are apparently no longer active.

To start the new group, Clarno contacted the Wittbergers, who've advised her on conducting counseling sessions.

"We found that unless you've experienced it, you don't really know the experience of losing a child from drugs," said Russ Wittberger, who moved with Pat to South Carolina from California in 2006 in search of a fresh start.

"Even (compared with) suicide, leukemia or a car accident, drugs have a terrible stigma."

Pat Wittberger added it's no coincidence the Hoffman Estates' group is all women.

"With men, all grief is handled differently," she said. "We're women. We would come out and search for help and want help, where, with a man, they think, 'I'm tough, and I can swallow this by myself and get by.'"

That stigma is the No. 1 barrier to coping, Clarno said, so getting the issue into the public eye is important.

While Clarno said Hollywood deserves some of the blame for making heroin hip, celebrities can have a positive reaction. Take Texas Rangers star Josh Hamilton, who pounded homer after homer in this year's All Star Game's Home Run Derby. Scouts had tagged him as a "can't miss" prospect, but his heroin addiction earned him a yearlong suspension from professional baseball that damaged his reputation, before the Cincinnati Reds took a chance on him in 2006.

Now sober, he's become one of the season's best feel-good stories, and he's talked to the media about his struggles. That helps public perceptions, which are unfairly judgmental, Clarno said.

An ongoing struggle

The Thrashers also needed a new start, which is why the family sold the Schaumburg home where Brian grew up.

Thrasher and Mills say they heal with each passing day. But they don't expect the pain ever go to away entirely.

"I know Mary and Germaine are just a phone call away," Mills said, "and if we cry together, it's easier."

For more on GRASP call SHARE at (847) 882-4181 or visit leydenfamilyservice.org.