The Architect of Listening

I met Habib Khalafi on a sidewalk outside of Lou Malnati's the evening before we were to attend the Chicago Coldplay concert over Memorial Day Weekend 2022. Read It Was All Ian for the complete backstory.

Habib is an architect not only of structures but also of listening. After listening during our short conversation, he became the architect of what transpired thereafter, setting into motion the finale of a weekend full of Love and healing.

Habib later sent me a quote: "Communication, conversation, language are predominately thought of, anchored in our minds, as an expressing, a speaking, a vocalizing. That outward expression goes far beyond talking, far beyond describing or representing reality—it is in fact what allows for “who” and “how” we are in the world. It’s what allows for the futures we create, where we evoke experience in others, where our ideas become clear and possible, where we share ourselves, and where others are expanded by our participation with them. But speaking is not where things get handled—it’s not powerful enough. The possibility that there’s an edge, the possibility of impact, lies in our listening." - Brian Regnier

Habib introduced me to Dr. Sadeghi who arranged for us to receive new concert tickets. Dr. S asked us to transfer our originally purchased awesome tickets to a complete stranger. After a bit of nervousness and hesitation that this was all really happening, we "listened" and did just that.

Kristine Steiner is the person who received our original tickets and will now always be connected to us. She listened to her inner voice and happened to record the complete "Yellow" performance from those seats. (Click here for the video.) Kristine is a fashion illustrator who lives in Chicago and can be found on Instagram @kyjsteiner.

Below is Kristine's story of her weekend. She then generously created the beautiful illustration above, which captures the joy of the experience.

As Habib pointed out to me, anything is possible if you open yourself up to communication, conversation, listening and participation.

Peace and love, ~Ian's Mom

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Memorial Day Weekend 2022 was one of the most memorable weekends to date!

It kicked off with an impromptu dinner on Friday with my unni (Korean term of endearment literally meaning “older sister”), Suzan, who was visiting Chicago from California with her business partner. I happened to catch her Instagram story of the Riverwalk and messaged her asking how long she would be here. It turned out they were free for dinner that night so we made plans to meet a few hours later.

Over a delicious meal, Suzan mentioned they were attending the Coldplay concert the next night and asked if we were free to join. Sadly I was already booked to illustrate a wedding on Saturday, but wished them a fun time!

On Sunday morning Suzan called and asked if we were free that night to go see Coldplay. I hesitated and Suzan promptly interjected, “Kristine, just say yes!” Before I knew it she introduced me to her good friend Dr. Sadeghi via text who then introduced me to Kelly to coordinate transferring the pair of Coldplay tickets.

I hopped on a quick call with Kelly and learned of her very serendipitous 24 hours. She also met Dr. Sadeghi by chance and was invited to a VIP Coldplay experience. A few hours later she transferred her original tickets to me. My boyfriend and I were all set to go see Coldplay!

As we sat in our Lyft on the way to Soldier Field, Dr. S texted asking if we could use 2 more tickets. Moments later Kelly’s friend Julie transferred her 2 tickets to me. We invited our friends who happen to be newly engaged and fortunately, they were free to join us. It turns out this was their first concert together!

As we sat in these amazing seats we were still trying to process this immense kindness of strangers. It felt so surreal to be there. The show was incredible and we loved experiencing irl all these songs that were so integral to our formative teenage years.

The crowd wore wristbands that lit up throughout the concert and as soon as they lit up yellow I knew I had to get my phone ready to record the upcoming song. Yellow is a meaningful song for my brother as it’s tied to the day my niece was born. I had intended to record the entire thing and send it to him. As the song came to an end, Chris Martin continued to strum the guitar. At first, I thought it was just a long transition into the next song. I had my finger on the red button to stop recording, but something told me to keep recording. As it turned out, he was dedicating Yellow to a young man gone too soon named Ian Minnick and his parents. It was beautiful. The love within the crowd as we sang together was palpable.

On Monday Kelly texted to check in and asked if we enjoyed the concert. She then shared that she and her husband were the Minnicks. Their son Ian was the one to whom Chris Martin had dedicated "Yellow." I felt chills and explained that I had recorded the entire song including the dedication. I immediately sent the video to her - what a full circle moment!

The weekend taught me the importance of staying in touch with those you love and being open to new friendships and experiences. Stop coming up with reasons why not and “just say yes!” The world is small, we are all connected, and even the smallest gesture of kindness can mean the world to someone else. Everything is indeed a miracle.

xoxo

Kristine

It Was All Ian

💜The Love Button symbolizes the power of love to ignite a global conversation in healing our world.

We went to a Coldplay concert. Chris Martin performed "Yellow" for Ian. We had a conversation with Chris about Ian and losing a child, sitting in a room that felt like a Buddhist sanctuary, bathed in golden light. We were given hugs by Chris afterward. One would think that's the story - meeting Chris Martin and having him perform a song in Ian's memory! But the real story is how it came to be - the impact of Love and an unlikely little button.

In 2017, Bill and I went to see Coldplay in Cleveland with our friends, Julie and Casey. It was the best show we had ever experienced - full of energy and light. We received Love buttons when we scanned our tickets to get in. I've had that button holding up Ian's picture on the passenger side visor in my car for the last three-plus years.

Over Memorial Day weekend 2022, the four of us went once again to see Coldplay, this time in Chicago at Soldier Field with 53,004 other people. We bought the concert tickets on Christmas Eve and had the choice of Saturday or Sunday night. We chose Sunday. The last time Bill and I were in Chicago was with Ian in 2016 when we took our Belgian exchange student son, Kevin, to visit.
Ian respected the talent of Coldplay and knew all about my love for them, but Coldplay is not music he would normally listen to. We once had a discussion about their music and he said he really liked the song "Yellow." I think it was Jonny Buckland's guitar skills :)

From the start of the trip, things started happening. At first, I just thought "that was cool" but as the weekend progressed, Ian started making himself known in stronger ways. He was showing us that he was with us and not off in his spirit world learning new things. I was a little slow on the uptake that this was happening.

On Friday, we pulled into an airport Park and Ride in Cleveland and the attendant said to "park in row K as in Kelly." We all "whoo-hoo'd" at that. I thought, "Yesssss! This is my weekend."

At the airport, we walked down a concourse and passed an empty gate on the way. Empty except for one person, Ian's band brother, Ben. He was also going to Chicago on a different flight. Ian, Ben and Nick Batton's band was called Chil. We said, "Hi, Ben!" He looked at us, shocked. Ben said he had just been having a sad moment, thinking about Ian and the last time they were at the airport.

The three of them had been on their way to Liverpool, England and had gotten a blueberry hot chocolate at the Dunkin Donuts kiosk. I said, "That sounds horrible," and Ben agreed that it was a terrible drink. Ben had just texted his mother about his sadness and thinking about Ian when we appeared. We hugged, said goodbye and went along our way.

In Chicago on Saturday, Julie and I went into a high-end store to check out what we would not be buying. After exiting, we joined Bill and Casey who had stood outside people watching. Bill said they had been talking with the security guard whose name happened to be...Chill.

That evening, we went to Lou Malnati's for dinner. Bill and I had been there a few times over the years with Austin and Ian to get deep-dish pizza. We headed out later than planned as Casey took a two-hour unexpected nap. I mean, he usually naps, just not that long!

While Bill, Casey and Julie checked in with the hostess, I hung back on the sidewalk. A man who was also waiting for his friends to check-in turned and I saw on his patterned shirt a little Love button. Casey and Julie had gone into the restaurant and Bill stood by the door waiting for me.

Anyone who has seen these buttons and loves Coldplay knows they go hand and hand. I asked the man if he was going to see the show the next night. He looked at me questioningly and I pointed to his button and asked if he was going to see Coldplay.

He said yes and that his friend was the "Love button guy" who created the button, Dr. Habib Sadeghi. He said that if we were going to the show I needed to talk to Dr. Habib because he is friends with Chris Martin. Dr. Habib and his son, Hafez, joined us. We introduced ourselves and shook hands. The first gentleman I had spoken to is also named Habib. We talked about the Love Button Foundation and a few other topics briefly before I joined Bill and we went in to find our table.

When I told Bill, Casey and Julie about my conversation, they all just stared at me. I said, "Yes, I know I should have asked more questions." But honestly, I found it interesting and a little unreal that I was talking to the Love Button creator.

During dinner, the four of us talked about the Love Button and how it would be a great non-profit to highlight through our Ian's Legacy Foundation. As we left the restaurant, our new friends were leaving too and Bill asked if we could get a picture with them. I was already outside and they looked at him and asked "And who are you?" Bill then realized I was no longer with him and said, "You met my wife, Kelly, earlier." To which he said they all exclaimed, "oh, Kelly!" And that's how we got our picture taken with the founder of the Love Button Global Movement.

I thought that was cool enough. But no - that wasn't cool enough. We talked more on the sidewalk, telling them a bit about our Foundation and mission of giving scholarships and supporting other non-profits. Before we left, Dr. Habib asked for my phone number, email and full name before we parted ways and told me to check my email for a seat upgrade for the following night's concert.

We texted back and forth that night. I shared more about the Foundation and Ian with him and he shared a beautiful poem about Grief with me. He asked if Ian had a favorite Coldplay song. I happily had an answer and he said he'd make an ask to Chris Martin to dedicate "Yellow" to Ian's memory, but no promises.

There are other little details mixed into those days:

💜 Our disbelief that this was all happening.

💜 A call from Dr. Habib reassuring us that we would be okay. When he said that, I had a calm come over me.

💜 Paying it forward in blind trust that it was happening and transferring our original great tickets to a complete stranger named Kristine (more on her story later).

💜 Kevin sharing that he had an "Ian dream" Saturday night.

💜 The Coldplay Friends + Family suite with a great view of behind the stage and watching Soldier Field fill up. Meeting many new people throughout the night. Great new seats.

💜 The insane ride through the streets of Chicago by a very aggressive limo driver to the after-party.

💜 Being able to thank Chris Martin in person for having an open heart and mind by doing an "ask" for a friend who had just met a complete stranger less than 24 hours prior.

Ian knows how much I love Coldplay.

So many different details had to have occurred for me to have met Habib, Dr. Habib and Hafez on that sidewalk at that moment:

💜 Dr. Habib and Hafez's flight from California to Chicago was canceled last minute. They then received a call that there were only two seats available on an earlier flight, putting them in Chicago earlier than they had planned.
💜 Casey took a two-hour nap.

💜 We all picked Lou Malnati's for dinner.

💜 Habib's shirt was white with a pattern and the button blended in, but he turned to me at the right second and in the right direction for me to see the button.

When we were almost home, "Welcome to the Black Parade" came on the radio to finish out the weekend. It's a song many people associate with Ian, as it was a favorite of his. This was a last sign from Ian - telling us that he had wrapped up his visit for now.

During the "Yellow" dedication to Ian, Chris Martin said that the song was also for anyone who was thinking about people who they wish were here and aren't - and trusting that in some way they really still are - through the power of memory and love and all that magic. I couldn't have said it better, Chris.

Peace and love,

~Ian's mom

Click here for the full "Yellow" performance.

LoveButton.org

The Love Button Global Movement fosters loving acts of kindness, collaborating with organizations and individuals who transform and uplift the lives of our human family. We support initiatives ranging from intimate local efforts to global programs that promote physical and mental health, nurture education and cultivate loving action through our “Love Is” Dandelion Initiative.

Kintsugi - The Art of Broken Pieces

Kintsugi is a Japanese practice of mending broken pottery with gold or silver lacquer. The practice is related to Japanese philosophy which sees beauty in the flawed or imperfect, expresses regret when something is wasted, and the acceptance of change. Every repaired piece is unique because of the randomness with which it shattered and the different cracks that were formed upon repair. Remade into the same but different piece. Kintsugi is a way to cope with traumatic events and heal in a positive way, not only for the pottery but for our spirit.

I participated in a Kintsugi workshop a day after Ian's birthday on that odd phenomenon known as February 29th. It was held in a small lodge, deep in the woods. Snow had fallen that morning and it was a peaceful drive through the trees down a one-lane road. The other five participants were already there waiting for me. I would like to note that I was not late, but merely on time.

The workshop began and we shared what had brought each of us there that day. There was a little meditation. There was lavender tea and a hammer alongside our perfect pottery bowl. There was reflection on how we felt about the impending breakage of our bowl and how it related to our life.

I shared that up until Ian developing his addiction and dying, I felt that my life had been pretty perfect. When I hit the bowl, my hope was that there would only be one break to reflect that. Alternatively, I was also worried that I would release my inner fury and smash it to smithereens.

It was time to break our bowls. I wrapped mine with the cloth napkin as instructed. On three, we all hit our bowls with the hammers. Nothing happened to mine, along with a few others. The instructor said that sometimes it takes a 2nd try. We unsuccessful people hit our bowls again, using a little more force. Everyone else had been successful, but only one little piece had chipped off of mine. What the heck?!

As everyone quietly looked on, I hit it again with even more force. Nothing. I had only wanted one break, but this was ridiculous. I came here to put something back together. Someone gave me their hammer to try, because it had to be the hammer's fault, right? I whacked it again with the new hammer and it smashed to smithereens. I had received both of my wishes. Ian was in the room with me.

I unwrapped my bowl and wanted to cry because it was so destroyed in parts. I had no idea how I would put it back together. I picked up two of what I thought to be the easiest pieces to start with and used the glue to put them back together. This seemed like the easy part. In actuality, it is the part that requires the most patience and discipline. You can't just jam the pieces together and hope they will stick. Even Gorilla glue won't mend them if the edges aren't perfectly aligned. Once aligned, you have to hold it together and wait. Breathing helps. I was impressed with my patience.

I continued the repair, working on a few of the bigger pieces, then moving on to the smaller ones as I gained confidence in what I was doing. The base of the bowl was the most damaged with the smallest of the pieces centered there. Some areas of the base had been reduced to dust and there was no way to reconnect them. Holes would have to remain there.

Once the bowl was put back together the best that I could, it was time to paint over those cracks with gold. Unfortunately, we had to use paint and not real gold. I left a small chip unpainted, because why not? Since I had so many pieces I had to reconnect, I was way behind everyone else. I didn't stress and didn't hurry while I focused on my bowl and what I was doing. Everyone patiently waited for me until I encouraged them to keep going to the next steps without me. I'd catch up at some point.

My bowl, in the Kintsugi way, ended up beautiful in a different way than the original. It is now holding a violet plant, which is Ian's birth month flower. If you look at the outside of the bowl, it doesn't look too bad - a chip that isn't gold-covered, some cracks - but it looks pretty whole again and is functional. If you touch the bowl, it does wobble a bit since the base is no longer steady. If you are able to look inside, you will find that it has more damage than is visible from the outside. Some holes will always be there.

The workshop was healing for me. Ian would have loved it (except the sharing part) - always seeming to have had a connection with Japanese culture and people throughout his life. The bowl is obviously a metaphor for my grief journey this past year. I'll never be whole again. I am still working on painting the cracks and I will continue to try and find the gold in my broken pieces.

イアンのお母さん ~ Ian's Mom

Originally posted March 7, 2020

Shatterproof

Shatterproof is something I haven't felt yet. Some days I'm very much shattered.

Addiction is an isolating disease for everyone. Since Ian's death, I've learned that almost everyone has a loved one or knows someone with a substance use disorder. Most people are very private about their loved one's disease. Most don't talk about it because it is very emotionally, physically and mentally draining. Over the past almost ten months, I've had a lot of people tell, message or write me about their loved one's addiction.

Ian was always encouraging us to learn about addiction. Before his death, I sought out addiction support groups for family members. After Ian's death, I searched for groups that support people who lost loved ones to a substance overdose. These groups are not a one size fits all. You may have to try a few out and then attend and treat it like a buffet - take from it what you like and leave the rest.

At the beginning of December, my sister, Felicia, and I attended a bereavement group for those who lost someone to an overdose. One question asked was: How many felt a stigma surrounding the death of their loved one? I think almost everyone in that room raised their hand. Felicia and I looked at each other for validation because we hadn't raised our hands. I was saddened and astounded that so many felt that way. That we are still that far behind as a society. That they couldn't grieve as openly as another who may have lost their loved one to some other disease.

Many diseases start as an individual choice. Lifestyle choices happen. Those behaviors, if not changed, become a disease and it may take longer than addiction to kill you, but ultimately may be the reason you die. Smoking = lung disease, excessive sugar intake = Type II diabetes, obesity = heart disease, high sodium diet = high blood pressure/stroke, and the list goes on. Just like the stigma that once surrounded cancer, the stigma surrounding addiction has to change. The language and communication regarding people with substance use disorders has to change.

Here is the technical part, so please focus as it's important and the first step to understanding. Because there are a lot of words, I'm going to break this down into non-paragraphs (also called sentences). :)

• A moderate to severe substance use disorder is what we call addiction.

• Addiction is defined as a chronic, relapsing disorder characterized by compulsive drug seeking, continued use despite harmful consequences, and long-lasting changes in the brain.

• It is considered both a complex brain disorder and a mental illness.

• Addiction is the most severe form of a full spectrum of substance use disorders and is a medical illness caused by repeated misuse of a substance or substances.

• Mild substance use disorder is what you may know as college binge drinking or other harmful behaviors that are dangerous, but not full-on compulsions like an addiction.

Words matter and can have a huge impact in regard to mental health. There are many stigmatizing words and phrases used in relation to addiction that need to be replaced with less detrimental words. These are words that I've used in the past and I am trying to change in my vocabulary.

Here are some suggested changes - instead of "addict" use "person with substance use disorder." Instead of "clean" use "abstinent or not actively using." Instead of "former addict" use "person in recovery/long term recovery."

Using first-person language isn't about being sensitive, polite or politically correct. It's about changing the isolation and the feeling of being an outcast so those people who need it may seek out the care they need. It's about saving lives.

A few days before Christmas, I decided to sign up to become an ambassador for one of the support groups I had looked into. I found that a lot of the national groups don't have a presence in our area, which is ironic since Ohio is one of the states hit so hard by the opioid epidemic.

I filled out the information requested on the form and hit submit. At that moment, the doorbell rang and I answered. The mail carrier was there and gave me a few items, including the magazine for Alpha Sigma Phi. My oldest son, Austin, belongs to the Alpha Sig fraternity. The cover was featuring one of their new philanthropies, Shatterproof. The organization for which I had just signed up to be an ambassador.

I used to believe that everything happened for a reason. I stopped believing that with Ian's death. When I saw that magazine, for a minute I thought that maybe there are no coincidences after all. Either that or Ian is somehow guiding our way to continue the goal of educating others about substance use disorder.

For more information on Shatterproof, addiction education and to learn how you can make a difference, visit Shatterproof.org

~ Ian's Mom

Originally posted January 3, 2020

Guest Post - Aaron

My name is Aaron, and I am a cousin of Ian. I first met Ian and his brother, Austin, when I was about 10 or 11 years old. Ian would have been about 7 years old. My parents had gotten divorced, and my Dad, Ian’s Uncle Tom, was introducing his kids to his future wife’s family.

I am very sports-oriented. I am very competitive at times and more aggressive than others. “Aggressive” was never a word I would have used to describe Ian. So it definitely took us longer to get to know each other and we both had to mature for us to have a relationship, even a friendship.

I remember the day a few years ago when, for the first time in my life, I looked at Ian not as a little cousin, but as his own person. It was a hot day in May, and my father had employed the services of Ian and myself to help him mulch his yard. Ian shows up late (of course) and we get started. We just spent the day together and talked. We talked about school, Kent State, girls, his band, his “do it yourself” tattoo that he did with a pencil, parties, and life. I could see how much he had matured and how two people with opposite interests can hang out and just laugh for five hours straight. It was a great day and one that I have never forgotten.

Another significant day for Ian and me was June 19, 2016. For those of you who do not know, this was one of the greatest days in Cleveland sports history. The day that Cleveland had its first major sports championship in 50 years.

I had gone downtown with a couple of buddies to watch the game outside of Quicken Loans Arena. My friends and I found a spot toward the middle of the crowd where we could see one of the big monitors. Someone bumps into me, and I see Ian’s goofy face. Out of all the people there, he was the one to bump into me. We hug and talk for a minute and then he joins back up with his friends, I with mine.

The game happens, and we all know how it goes. As 100,000 strangers are hugging each other and celebrating, I find Ian one more time. In absolute shock and disbelief at what we had just watched, we embraced for what felt like five minutes. We said our goodbyes and both went off into the night (that turned into the morning). One of the greatest days of my life and I got to share it with Ian. It only makes that night more special that we shared it together.

When I found out Ian was addicted to painkillers and had developed this addiction, I almost did not believe it. “How could someone I know and love have this disease?” I admittedly had a very naïve idea of addiction. You start to ask silly questions, “Why doesn’t he just quit? He can just stop, can’t he?” Then I did a little research to try to understand it. We want to understand these things to help, but really, there is no understanding it. There is only being there for that person and being as supportive as possible. And unfortunately, sometimes that doesn’t even help.

I remember over the summer we had a small get-together at my father’s house, and Austin and Ian stopped by. It was the first time I had seen what this disease was doing to Ian. He and I ended up going for a walk. I wanted to talk to him and see how he was doing. He was still denying his condition, saying typical things that addicts believe. “I got this under control.” “I’m kicking this thing.” I didn’t know this at the time, but this was the last time Ian and I had a real heart-to-heart conversation. I am thankful that I was able to hug him and tell him that I loved him. I thank God for that.

His loss has devastated the family. As it would any family. How could God, fate, or whatever you want to call it to take such a bright, talented, thoughtful, joyous person at such a young age? Why him? We want answers, but there are no answers. Just more questions. The common ones for me were, “Could I have done anything different to change the outcome?” or “Could I have said anything to him and would he still be here?” There are no answers and when you realize that, it makes me madder.

I probably think about Ian still at least once a day. A song will come on. A thing at work will come up. A show will come on. Sometimes I will get mad, thinking about why he was taken from us. Sometimes I will get sad knowing his Mom and Dad will never be able to hold him again. Frustrated that there is nothing anyone can do to change the outcome.

There is one more story I have to share. The most recent Ian story. Late September/early October of this year, I was driving home from work around 11:30 p.m., listening to a playlist.

I am driving in the fast lane and hear something in my head say, “Look right.”

As I look right, there is a car a, 20bout to hit me. I swerve into the lane to the left of me, coming about a foot away from the barrier. I lay on my horn and the car sped past me. What the driver didn’t notice was that behind us was a cop car, who turns his lights on and pulls him over. I had turned the music down, trying to calm myself after almost getting into a major accident. After I take a few deep breaths and lower my heart rate, I turn up the volume.

Like the hundreds of times I had made that drive before, I had been listening to my 500-song playlist on shuffle. As I turn the volume up, My Chemical Romance’s “Welcome to the Black Parade” starts playing. We are all aware that MCR was probably Ian’s favorite band, and that was one of his favorite songs. This was the first time I listened to it since Ian’s memorial service. It would come up on the radio or in that playlist, but I just couldn’t listen to it. It would just hurt.

This time I had to leave it on. I had to listen to it because it felt like the timing was no coincidence. Something had told me to “Look right.” As soon as that song came on, I knew it was Ian looking out for me. I listened to that song all the way home, sitting in the parking lot until it was over. Shedding a tear knowing that Ian is still with us. Still looking out for everyone he loved and cared about.

To Ian, I know you are out there and I know you are watching over us. We will always miss you and we love you. To everyone else, please take nothing for granted. Be thankful for every day. Be thankful for everyone. God Bless.

Originally posted December 9, 2019

Thanksgiving Elephants

"When my friend Chris's young son died, I told her about how my therapist used to ask our group to "be like the elephants" and gather around the wounded member. I knew I couldn't really help her process the grief, but I could be there, at first just a body sitting close to her, later a voice on the phone. She told her friends about the elephants, and people started giving her little gifts or cards with elephants, just saying "I'm here." Gather your elephants, love. We are here." - Gloria Flynn, a friend of the author, in a personal message - From the book, "It's OK That You're Not OK" by Megan Devine

Ian is the first person I know who died that I was close to. That he is my son is a special type of grief. Many people don't know what to say or do when someone dies. I know that I was one of those people once. In those early days, our whole family was drowning in grief and shock and trying to process. I am not thinking of turkeys this coming week, but of elephants.

Elephants are one of three animals that have funerals. When they lose one of their own, even upon seeing bones or a carcass of an unrelated elephant, they will stop and have their ritual of gently touching the bones with their trunks. They remain very quiet and cover the body with leaves and grass. They may stay with the body for days or weeks, sometimes leaving for food or water, but always coming back. Through touch and vocal assurance, Asian elephants have been observed comforting one of their own who is stressed, sometimes forming a protective circle around her. There is also evidence of emotional contagion where seeing a friend in distress was distressing to the other elephants. They try to console one another. (source: National Geographic)

My elephants surrounded me in those early days after Ian's death. They arranged for food, and they tried to direct traffic at the service when so many people wanted to just have contact with us but knew it was just too much at that time. They brought frozen washcloths and bottled water to the service for us (the frozen washcloths were so needed). They showed up the morning they found out Ian died and sat outside our house in her car with a cooler full of water and bottled drinks because it was the first random thing she thought of and drove an hour to us, with no plan except the overwhelming need to see us.

They texted and messaged and called and left voice mails, sometimes just crying. They wanted me to know they were grieving too. They came to the house to hug us. They took flowers and excess food to nursing homes and hospitals for us. They flew in and drove in. They cleaned the house and did the laundry to cope with their own grief. They sat on my "crying chair" and cried with me. They just sat and stared into space with us. They gave me a Tear Soup book.

They returned in the weeks after to sit some more with us and talk or sit in silence. They aren't afraid to say Ian's name to us knowing that we need to hear his name. They bring a simple bouquet of hydrangeas for the private family burial service because she knew I wouldn't think of that. For those whose love language is gifts, in the subsequent weeks and months, they give me little gifts of Love Heals hand lotion and peppermint tea, an elephant candle, elephant stickers that were made special for me. They went on walks with me.

They may have struggled with not knowing how to help me cope. But just by showing up and being my elephants, huddling around their wounded without needing to say anything, that is the only thing that "helps" someone get through to the next day. And the next day. And the next. Until those days turn into weeks, months, and eventually years. If you don't know what to do or say to someone who had a loved one die, a hug will usually do the job. Sharing a memory or a picture you have of that person is very special as well. We received a lot of those from the index cards at the service, through private messages on Facebook and Instagram. Even months later, I still receive unexpected messages from Ian's friends. There's never a time limit on reaching out. As time passes, those random messages are very special.

After the initial outpouring of contact happened and people got back to their normal lives, as is expected, my elephants have stayed close and taken their cues from me - understanding if I cancel plans, my now normal lateness (Ian has passed that on to me now, it seems), my checking in and out of being present in the moment, my less smiley self. They accept me as I now am and are patiently and quietly observing this new person that I am, waiting in a huddle around me for as long as it takes. Sometimes leaving for food and water, but always coming back.

This year, I am very thankful for my herd of elephants. ~ Ian's mom

Originally posted November 24, 2019

Watercolor by Ian's cousin, Sarah Gartin.

Elephant Grief - Soul Fountain Poetry

We are all creatures

of this great earth —

interconnected in ways beyond understanding.

Take elephants.

So big.

So strong.

And yet,

when a member

of the herd passes,

even elephants mourn.

They gather around,

extend their trunks,

and gently touch

the tusks

of their fallen friend.

It’s their ritual.

It’s how they heal.

And it’s sad.

And it’s beautiful.

-Author Unknown

Take Care of Yourself

My nephew noticed it's been a while since I posted. I told him that I think about writing all the time, but there's so much in my head, jumbled up and out of order that it becomes a lot to try to sort out. Therefore, I will just cherry-pick something out of that bird's nest of thoughts.

"Take care of yourself." "Be easy on yourself." "Be gentle to yourself."

These are things that have been said to me over the last year or so. It kind of annoyed me to hear that. What did that mean? What were they talking about? How do I do that? At the time, I didn't know what was expected of me. It sounded like they knew what I was supposed to do, but didn't tell me and I didn't ask, because I figured they wouldn't be able to tell me. In retrospect, I was doing some of those things to "take care of myself."

But I also wasn't doing other things I could have been doing. Even now there are probably things I should be doing but haven't thought of yet. At the moment, besides just living, I was doing the best I could with the exhaustion of stress, worry and grief.

Ian would tell me to learn about addiction and go to Nar-Anon meetings, which I eventually did. Sometimes I didn't go because I was tired of talking or hearing about addiction and Ian would say, "not fun, huh." I can only imagine how he felt when he was trying to get into recovery or live with his addiction. It's front and center in your brain 24/7. So, I went to Nar-Anon meetings off and on as I felt I wanted to go. I searched for podcasts on addiction and eventually found and listened to the podcast "Opioid Dad." Those meetings and podcasts allowed me to listen, talk and relate to other people and parents who were also living with a loved one's addiction.

Bill and I saw a therapist who specialized in family addiction. It helped to talk to someone with experience to know that we weren't off base with how we were handling things and to learn coping skills. After seeing her for a few months, we stopped going. I started with a different therapist a few months before Ian died. She had to transition with us from addiction to grief therapy. It was good that we had an established relationship with a therapist when grief therapy was needed.

Some things that I always did, I was able to continue to do for stress management. I continued to go on walks in the Lake Metroparks - a natural balm - with friends, with Austin or Ian or Kevin, whoever was around. I continued to practice yoga. I kept work, work. In my work life, there was only one person who knew what I was going through. Work was the one place wher addiction wasn't always on my mind.

I guess I was taking care of myself when Ian was alive. Grief changes everything. After Ian died, I stopped going to Nar-Anon (obviously, right? Although they encouraged me to return, I didn't want to be a reminder for those parents of what could happen). I searched for support groups for families who lost loved ones to overdose deaths but didn't really find any that was specific to just that. I stopped going on walks. I stopped practicing yoga. I stopped caring about what I ate. These are important things that after 6 months of not doing on a regular basis eventually caught up to me in physical and emotional ways.

I kept going to grief therapy until I didn't need to anymore. About a month after Ian died, we got our unofficial therapy puppy, Frankie. I started walking and practicing yoga regularly again. I painted my way through summer. Painted the sunroom, painted all of our bedroom furniture, painted Mason jars, and painted our bedroom lamps. While I painted I listened to the podcast, "Terrible, Thanks for Asking."

I recently started wearing a night guard when I sleep to help with the clenching of my jaw which was giving me headaches. I returned to the most amazing physical therapy place to help with my neck and shoulder issues which had built up because of my stress level. I will be going to a new support group that is starting this month for grief after an overdose death. A friend contacted me about holding a talent show to benefit Ian's scholarship, which we just announced.

This blog post is a rambling litany of things I did, am doing, and will do and of how I coped and didn't cope with a son who was battling addiction and then lost the battle. I hope that for those reading this and who have been searching for others to relate to, it makes you feel less alone and may give you thoughts on ways you can "take care of yourself."

Kelly's list of "take care of yourself" resources:

• Nar-Anon Family Groups

• Opioid Dad - Spotify, Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen to podcasts

• Terrible, Thanks for Asking - Spotify, Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen to podcasts

• Hands-on Physical Therapy

• Healing the Heart: Grief After An Overdose Death - First Tuesday of the month, 6 PM · Hospice of the Western Reserve, East Campus, 34900 Chardon Road, Suite 105 Willoughby Hills, OH 44094 - RSVP

• Yoga with Adriene

• It's Ok That You're not OK - Megan Devine

• General Finishes Furniture Paint - Amazon.com

• Just a Walk Home

~ Ian's mom

Originally posted November 3, 2019

Love & Understanding

Addiction or grief - which do I want to write about? This is the other mental roadblock that has prevented me from actually putting words onto my screen. After thinking about it, the two topics are so closely connected that writing about both seems not only appropriate but natural. Even when Ian was alive but in active addiction, we were grieving the son who we lost to addiction.

I used to think that the only thing addiction couldn't take away from us was "hope." Hope for recovery, hope for Ian to get his life back on track to what he wanted to be important. Once Ian died of his accidental overdose, I realized that addiction not being able to steal away our hope was just a mirage. Because in the end, the addiction took hope away when it took away Ian's life - we weren't able to hope for that recovery anymore. We weren't able to hope for a semi-normal life for Ian anymore. The only true positive emotion that addiction can't ever take away from us is love (although I suspect this may not be the case for some families and friends of some addicts).

I read a letter this week that Ian wrote to himself while he was in his 30-day recovery treatment facility. He wrote about wanting to be successful in his recovery and was so hopeful that he was going to do it. He sounded like he was GOING to do it. It gave me great joy and great sadness reading that letter. He sounded like my son whose addiction didn't have its hold on because, at the time, it didn't. I grieve for that for Ian. And us. The letter also read as a love letter to himself. For addicts that is a hard thing to get to because of the self-loathing that they can't shake the addiction and everything that comes along with the disease. I had great joy in reading that he was being kind to himself at that moment and giving himself a pep talk. You have to believe in yourself in order to even truly start the recovery process. He was there, but addiction is a very powerful disease.

I am now hopeful that people learn about addiction and what it does to a person's brain. So, yeah - addiction and grief. Hope and love. But really just love. And also understanding.

~ Ian's mom

Originally posted August 13, 2019

Why Tuesdays are Terrible

My son, Ian, described Tuesday as the worst day of the week. The weekends stand on their own merit - no work or school for most of us. Friday - well it's the start of the weekend. Monday - the weekend just ended, so that's okay. Wednesday - halfway there to the weekend! and Thursday - well only one more day to go. But what about Tuesday? There's really nothing special about it.

That's how Ian described it and it kind of makes sense when you think about it. Ian was always thinking about things and many times it was off the beaten path of what many people think about.

Ian was an addict - but he was so much more than that. His addiction caught him in the last few years of his short 22 years with us. Four months have passed since the worst day of my life happened on March 18, 2019.

My grief counselor asked what I've done on the "education circuit" as far as sharing our story so that others may learn about addiction and the hell that it is - for the addict and the family and friends who love the addict. This was a goal I told her my husband and I had after our personal tragedy happened. I told her that we hadn't been asked to speak anywhere and I am not ready to do that anyway. But I've been putting off journaling. It's been on my "to-do" list. I finally started a private journal last week that is only for me.

I'd been thinking of writing this blog to share with others, but the thought of where to start, where to post, how much I want to share about us and Ian kept putting me off, so here I am. I don't know how long I will blog or what I will write about or how much I will share. I will probably ramble and use incorrect grammar and incomplete, run-on sentences at times - so nothing professional here!

When thinking of a title to use for this blog, I didn't want addiction as the centerpiece - although it's the reason I'm even here typing. Addiction was part of Ian - but for only 10% of his life, just like music was part of him for more than 50% of his life. By sharing different parts of Ian like why he thought Tuesday was the worst day of the week - I want you to remember that he was always uniquely Ian for 100% of his life.

~ Ian's mom

Originally published July 18, 2019