Comfort Found in Poetry

By Donna Lowe, Oakland Community Health Network, Member OCHN Recipient Rights Advisory Council (RRAC)

I have found comfort in my poetry after I found my 36 year-old son dead.  He didn’t take drugs from a stranger; a friend gave him a Xanax that his doctor had taken him off because his attitude was getting bad on them, but they helped his insomnia.  A friend gave him 5 of the 1 mg Xanax. There were 2 ½ of them left that I gave the police.  They said he died from Fentanyl.  Police can’t even test those pills for Fentanyl, because they’re afraid to touch them.  I found him slumped against the bathroom door.  I couldn’t get to him in time.  He had no Narcan and it was too LATE even if he had.  The ambulance driver told the detective there was no brain activity.  Maybe that friend didn’t know, or he did, I don’t know.  Never take a pill UNLESS your pharmacist gives it to you.  Fentanyl deaths are very real, and people take advantage of disabled adults, so I would advise everyone to please be careful.

I wrote 2 poems I hope you enjoy.  I found comfort in writing poetry to relieve my stress.

 

I Ask Myself WHY

Why must stress be controlled with a pill

Something that will impair how I really feel

Why must the simple things be so hard

This is my true feeling staying on guard

Why does what I say come out all wrong

Then sometimes it seems hard to get along

Why do I feel unaccepted being the real me

This the image stopped me from living free

Why must this stress impair my brain too

I didn’t ask to be viewed like some shrew

Why won’t stress go away I think and sigh

Without a chemical to make me feel high

Fear of heights has always made me afraid

Living with this stress feels like an even trade

 

I Can Say You Taught Me

Grieving for 22 months it has been a while

Occasional memories pop up and I smile

Thankful for every single year you were alive

36 my son was too young to die

Pleasure in life you wanted me to know

You told me how I smiled learning to sew

You showed me who you were deep inside

Bragging you said you felt free and alive

You love to escape inside a good movie

Laughing at your own jokes that were goofy

Refusing healthy vegetables to the very end

Once I shared with you you’re my best friend

After a cancer treatment I said I am weak

You are strong as an ox you loudly shrieked

Then ten months later I find you dead

Now post-partum is growing up in my head