In Memory of Henry Louis Granju

Image credit: Photo by kevincole on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons

Sometimes I picture those who are in the grips of addiction as falling down into a chasm so hopelessly dark that eventually no memory of light remains and so endlessly deep that it can take years of hurtling down, scrapping the rough walls and smashing into rocky outcrops, before the falling ends.

In the happy ending, the recovery ending, the addict lands somewhere -- broken and battered, but safe -- and calls out for help. Hands are extended, light grows, and the addict starts climbing. That's the ending I pray for, every day and in every moment of silence in every 12 Step meeting I attend.  And that's the one I see manifested in so many beautiful lives around me.

But in the other ending -- the one we all fear -- Death sweeps in, swift as darkness, to stopper that cry for help and cut off the ascent before it can begin. Death may come wrapped in a cloak of despair or disease or irreparable physical damage, but it always comes tragically and too early.

And when it comes at just 18 -- as it did for blogger Katie Granju's son Henry this weekend -- it is so unnaturally early, the sharp horror steals my breath like a plunge in icy water.

I don't have the power to erase, or even fully understand, that loss, that grief.  In fact, I didn't know Henry, nor do I know Katie, except virtually and in passing, through another blog I follow.  Yet my heart is with them. Recovery has taught me that we are all connected, that grace shines through the loving-kindness of those around us (often total strangers) and that the knowledge that we are not alone in the darkness can lift us up.  So, knowing that many of my readers know the pain or the fear of losing a loved one to addiction, I ask you to please consider dropping by Katie's blog with your condolences or donating to Henry's memorial fund, which will provide financial assistance for families who cannot pay for drug and alcohol treatment for their children and may be just the light in the darkness someone needs.