It has been 6 years since my son Ben died from a heroin overdose. I would like to say things have got better, but the truth is the sadness is always there, the grief ready to pounce at any moment. The only thing time has given me is acceptance, and ways to deal with the many emotions grief brings with it. I swing from profound sadness, tears and guilt, to smiling, being ok, and full of happy thoughts and memories. The ‘what ifs’ haunt me; What if I had sought help earlier? What if I had talked to him more? Did I make him feel he had to hide away? Am I somehow responsible for Ben’s addiction, these thoughts and feelings plague me every day. 

I was – to my embarrassment – at times ashamed of my son, the lengths and lies he would tell to obtain his drugs, the way he self neglected himself. I was also humiliated by the extent I would go to try to help him, paying off drug debts, lying for him, and as if that wasn’t hard enough, I also faced judgement from others. I felt I always had to protect him, but didn’t know how. The way society looked at my son – crack head, druggie, waster, loser – broke my heart. Addiction is an illness, but I don’t feel others accepted this, it’s almost as though they thought he could somehow control his behaviour, that it was his choice. And current legislation only reinforces this view. I know it isn’t true. My son was desperate to stop using drugs. He didn’t like the person he had become, and he tried many times to get out of his situation. I also tried many different ways to help him, he once said to me, “I just want to be normal”. It broke my heart; as a parent you just want your child to be happy, confident and to thrive, I didn’t understand why drugs took over his life, he knew they were making him ill and stopping him from experiencing so many wonderful things, yet he couldn’t give them up and I didn’t know how to help him. 

For me, there was a strange relief when he died; relief that he was out of pain; relief that we are no longer living this nightmare; relief that I’m no longer lying awake at night worrying where he is, crying, constantly tired from the rollercoaster of emotions, swinging from hope to despair, then I feel guilty for feeling this way and start to wonder, what life might have been if he had recovered? One nightmare has ended and another has begun: the reality that my son is never going to come home. I can never hug him, I will never see his face again, never see him grow, become a dad or get married, he will never join another family event. But I will never ever regret having Ben, I will be forever grateful for having the privilege of being his mum. He taught me about unconditional love, he taught me about being a mum, I will forever cherish our time together and for as long as I live, it will never be over. Death has taken him physically but love never dies. I just have to learn how to be a mum in a different way.

One of my ways to still be Ben’s mum is to try and prevent this happening to others, and to improve outcomes and lives for those living under the cloud of drug dependency. At present not only are our laws and policies outdated, so too are attitudes. The total cost of drugs to society runs into billions, from policing, criminal justice systems, crime and health – not to mention lives and communities suffering and living in fear. Drugs are big business and the fact they are illegal makes this business more profitable, and lucrative, because there is a demand, but with no other choice people are forced to purchase from criminals who care little for the person, or their safety, but only about profits. Drugs will not go away just because they are illegal. The only way to dent this business and reduce harm is to offer alternative, legal, regulated ways of obtaining drugs, while supporting people into recovery so they no longer need them, and addressing the reasons why people take them. 

Ben was forced into a lot of very dangerous and often unsanitary situations to obtain the drugs and use them. He faced judgement, stigma, fear, and much of this is due to current policies and attitudes. We have to accept – like I have had to accept Ben’s death – that drugs are here to stay, people will experiment, they will take them to ease pain emotionally as well as physically, and some will become dependent. Making them illegal doesn’t stop this, so therefore wouldn’t it be better to reduce risks, educate and regulate the market. Measures such as drug testing, not only at festivals but also in city centres; overdose prevention centres that allow people to use drugs in a safe, caring and nonjudgmental environment; spaces that young people are able to talk openly and honestly about drugs, instead of criminalising those that use them, try and engage them and find out the reasons why they are and address this. 

Most people I talk to know someone that has a problem with drugs, it is on epidemic levels, yet still policies and law tread the same path. If my son had somewhere safe and caring to go to take his drugs, or had a legal alternative, I believe he would still be here.  He would have stood more of a chance of recovery. We need to bring drugs into the open not push them into the criminal hands this is where the real harm is, the violence and deaths. I want a world where my grandchildren can talk safely and honestly, without fear of being told off about drugs. I would want them to obtain them in a safe way, as you can with alcohol, cigarettes and other pharmaceutical drugs, you know exactly what’s in them on the packaging, and you won’t have to put yourself in dangerous situations to obtain them.  

Many people have said that Ben’s death is a waste, but I won’t allow it to be a waste: he was a beautiful soul, and wanted the world to be a better place, he wanted to help others even in the midst of his dependency, so I will do everything I can to bring this subject out of the dark where it thrives and into the open, to lift the stigma and shame, and most of all, to start accepting that banning and making things illegal does not solve the problem.