Experience SUD Through Their Eyes: Three Sisters’ Perspectives continued…
Jennifer’s Story
My name is Jennifer. I was 15 years old when my cousin became my sister. My aunt struggled with heroin addiction for years, homeless, destitute. Not wanting her infant daughter to become another statistic in a broken foster care system, she called my mom, and my mother traveled to the West Coast and returned home with a seven-day-old baby, dependent on opiates. My 12-year-old sister, Natalie, and I watched my mom wean the baby off drugs, care for her, and restore her to health. I was fascinated by the process and the world of medicine and witnessed a veritable miracle come to unfold before my eyes.
I was excited to be a big sister to an infant. The experience left its mark on me and informed my life in such a way that I pursued a professional career dedicated to working with kids. I now foster children in my home alongside my husband. I understand the power of compassion and love and the difference it makes in the lives of those who come into this world at a disadvantage.
Our family was rife with addiction – Grandfathers, cousins, my aunt of course. Ultimately, tragically, she succumbed to her disease when my adopted sister was three. Her father disappeared shortly thereafter. My mother had experience with these issues, the loss of other family members to addiction, and seemed to have more of an innate understanding of them than the average person. We raised my adopted sister as our own from then on.
Despite these early experiences and exposure, nothing prepared us for what came next. My middle sister, Natalie, was hit by a car when she was 18. In the hospital, she was introduced to opioids for pain management, and as simply as a switch flipped floods a room with light, so did she become addicted. The whirlwind of insanity that ensued threatened to tear us apart and on many occasions, nearly did.
I watched Natalie become homeless. I watched her suffer extreme medical and mental health consequences as a result of her actions; even so far as almost losing her leg after overdosing on heroin. slumping over onto her leg, the weight of her body depriving the limb of blood flow and developing compartment syndrome. Month long hospital stays. Rehabs. I watched as she manipulated my father within an inch of his life to support her addiction. I watched him physically chase her down the street, resolutely begging her, pleading with her to get help. I watched her refusal to do so.
I was sad my adopted sister had to see this. I did my best to hold Natalie accountable, to call her out, and over time I came to know when something wasn’t right without her saying a word.
My husband and I did our best to help in the ways we knew how. Natalie periodically lived with us under the condition that she be completely drug free. There were many times I had to ask her to leave. …. Our home was a haven to foster children who had come from situations where drugs we’re involved; there could be zero exposure to that. This experience profoundly affected the way I interacted and empathized with birth mothers of children we were helping; it opened our eyes to the disease and in many ways helped us grow.
I held my boundaries with Natalie. After my parents got involved with PAL, they learned healthier coping skills and methods of interacting with her as well. Especially my father, who was her primary enabler for years. He learned how to let go. How to help from a distance, remain firm but loving, to be a cheerleader instead of the person going to make it all go away; clutching the life raft, ready to spring into nervous action at any given moment.
Through this I have seen my parents become a light unto others. A beacon of hope. A steadfast couple whom through principled belief, willingness to learn, and faith, helped change the course of the direction of someone’s life, yet again. Even closer to home than before.
Continue to Natalie and Emily’s story below:
