Kathy Moreland

I carried Austin in a “spiritual” pregnancy that lasted for years. He and his sister came to us through adoption when Austin was 13 months old and Alexis had just turned 3. He was a beautiful albeit BUSY boy from the start. He never crawled but got up and walked at 8 months of age. He could climb anything and loved taking things apart to see how they worked. I was 43 when he arrived (it was a long spiritual pregnancy) and both he and his sister kept me on my toes. He was a funny, mischievous, curious, sweetheart who loved food, music, trucks, cuddling and dancing with me. He loved his sister and his dog. Did I mention he loved FOOD?!

As Austin grew into his pre-school years, it became apparent that he had issues with impulse control, sleeping and being still. During one of the visits with his biological mother, she stated “he is doing well considering how much I drank during that pregnancy”. She had struggled with addiction during her young life and had been mistakenly convinced that drinking was safer for her than doing drugs while pregnant. Austin was diagnosed with fetal alcohol spectrum disorder shortly thereafter. Some of the hallmarks of FASD are impaired impulse control and judgment, poor emotional regulation, anxiety and depression. Austin struggled with all of them. He looked perfectly normal but had a brain injury who’s effects would last his lifetime. 

As a result of his brain injury, Austin struggled in school. He would often have outbursts, had difficulty concentrating and spent a lot of time segregated from his classmates. By middle school, it became apparent that he would need additional mental health and education support so he became a member of specialized classrooms for those with FASD. These classes continued into his high school years. As a result of being apart from his neighbourhood peers, Austin desperately wanted to belong. He didn’t see himself as having a disability. He was treated on an ongoing basis with medications to help his impulse control, emotional regulation and anxiety. Almost all were ineffective, many made him gain weight which impacted his self esteem. He hated how the meds made him feel. At 15, unbeknownst to us, Austin started experimenting with alcohol and weed with a childhood friend. One fateful weekend, one of his classmates encouraged him to take off with them for the weekend and it was that weekend that he was introduced to crystal meth. He became addicted in one weekend. We were all on a rollercoaster of fear for the next two years as he struggled with his substance use disorder.  In moments of sobriety, he would share how he felt he had found “his people” and that street meds made him feel much better than the pills he had been taking in the past. He got in trouble with the law. We had to remove him from our home for a short period of time because he became violent when coming down off meth. We had to send his sister to live elsewhere to keep her safe. The stress was indescribable. Youth shelters were a haven for those preying on young people to get into trouble. We brought him home in spite of the risks. During this time he tried desperately to stop using and would be successful briefly. Then the draw of his “friends” would bring him back to them…and the drugs. Six months before he died, we noticed a change in his behaviour. There were no more up and downs like when he was using meth. During a period when he injured his legs and couldn’t go out, he went into withdrawal and admitted to me that he had been using fentanyl. I was terrified. He naively reassured me by saying “don’t worry Mum. I know my limit and stay within it”. Those words haunt me to this day. 

A month after that discovery, COVID hit. Austin realized that he wanted to stop using “fetty”. He said he wanted a normal life. He finished his high school grade 11 math so that he could enter a metal work apprenticeship program. He was SO talented working with metal. We tried to get him into residential treatment to help him with his addiction but many of the centres refused him based on his age “too old for youth treatment, too young for adult treatment” or the fact that he had FASD “they don’t do well in our programs”. Many of the centres were not taking clients because of COVID.  So he tried to stop using on his own. For a month, he was using almost anything else, mostly weed to avoid using fentanyl. He was staying home during the week with his girlfriend and staying at her mother’s place on the weekends. During a conversation we had during that time, Austin shared how hard it was to stop using fentanyl. It made him feel “like he was being hugged by an angel–better than he had ever felt in his life” but that he knew he had to stop. We tried desperately to keep them both safe as they were both using.  On June 24, 2020, Austin received his high school completion certificate on our front porch from the staff of his program. That night we had pizza to celebrate (his favourite food with hot sauce of course). He was SO happy. He and his girlfriend went for a brief walk as it was a beautiful day. That night, after I had gone to bed,  he and his girlfriend used fentanyl…him for the first time in a month. Apparently, he used again in the early morning. At around 9 am his girlfriend came up from his room screaming “Austin isn’t breathing”. I’d don’t even remember going down the stairs to his room. I found my son without vital signs, pupils blown. 911 was called while I ran to get more narcan (she had already given him 8 doses she said). The paramedics got his heart started again and he was taken to the hospital. His heart stopped 4 times on the way there. We spent 2 days in the ICU hoping for a miracle. As a nurse, I knew that was what it would take for him to come back to us. At 7:05 am June 26, 2000, my son’s beautiful heart stopped while he was still on the ventilator. His kidneys had failed. His brain was irreversibly damaged from lack of oxygen. It was the most peaceful death I had ever witnessed. The weight of all the fear of his drug use came off my shoulders at the exact same time as the knife-like gut wrenching pain of grief hit me in the stomach. My beautiful boy was gone. 

His celebration of life was surreal. Because it was during COVID, no one could touch us. Only 40 people could attend. We played “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen at the end of the service. It seemed appropriate. He was a “super sonic man” who couldn’t be stopped.  Queen was his favourite band. We couldn’t play “Bohemian Rhapsody”, his favourite song due to the lyrics. It just wouldn’t have been right. He was cremated. His urn is made of metal, like the metal he so wanted to sculpt in his future. We had his favourite things on the altar–hot sauce, spicy chips, pickles and a few of his metal creations. He would have liked that. All he ever wanted was a normal life, love, a wife, children and work he loved. I hope he has that where he is now. His girlfriend, whom he loved, succumbed to fentanyl 2 weeks after his death. I like to think they are together.

Austin’s legacy lives on through the work I do with the Registered Nurses Association of Ontario (RNAO) and MOMS STOP THE HARM. Both groups lobby for changes in drug policy reflective of evidence in harm reduction. I tell his story through any media opportunity I can because there is so much stigma associated with substance use with little discussion about the stories behind the “why” of using. Austin was so much more than his addiction and how he died. He was loved. We fought hard to help him. HE fought hard to help himself. We are not ashamed of him or his life. Addiction isn’t the problem. As Gabor Mate says “addiction is the solution to the problem” So what was Austin’s problem? He had a family history, brain injury and resulting mental health issues that made him a prime candidate for addiction. It can happen to anyone. The toxic drug supply is also a major part of the problem.

As the years have passed, I have learned that grief doesn’t end. It is a heavy burden. You just learn to carry it better over time. There are some days when I cry as if he only just left this life and other days when I feel a sense of peace. I NEVER STOP MISSING HIM. In fact the missing part gets worse as the years go by. The grief has become a part of the fabric of my life.  I am not overly religious but do believe in God–something bigger than us beyond our understanding. When he was using, I frantically prayed to God to save my son from his addiction. I now truly believe that God did…just not the way I had hoped. Perhaps it was the only way….I believe I will know for sure when it is my time to pass. I am comforted thinking that Austin’s last conscious feeling was of “being hugged by an angel”. 

I believe that Austin shows me that he is around and I’ve come to be comforted by these signs. For instance, after his celebration of life, a small squirrel was sitting on our kitchen windowsill eating a pickle cucumber. It didn’t move when I approached the window and I was sure it was Austin sending me a sign that he was alright. I used to call him “Squirrelsh*t” because he was so busy and pickles were one of his favourite snacks. It seemed like an appropriate sign. Over the first weeks, I believe Austin messed with our electronics, and over time started to send us a mourning dove, often in the strangest places to let us know he was with us. He still does, even though we have moved to a different city. I’ve come to learn that if you think that something is a sign, it probably is. 

As I look forward, I will continue to honour Austin’s memory through supporting others who have lost loved ones to drug poisoning, advocating for changes to drug policy and working to reduce stigma through education. The recent royal assent of Bill 223, particularly Schedule 4 that prohibits Safe Consumption Sites/Consumption Treatment Services is beyond disappointing and shows a lack of understanding of the evidence about harm reduction and substance use disorder. While disappointed, I continue to advocate for appropriate change in order to save lives.

I conclude with these thoughts:

-if you have lost someone to substance use, whether it be alcohol or drugs, my heart goes out to you. I hope you join us in our fight to put a face to the names of those lost to fight stigma that pervades our society and impacts on policy decisions

-If you have not lost someone, I would ask that you reflect on how you have been indoctrinated into your belief system about those that struggle with substance use disorder. Perhaps you may need to rethink what you have been led to believe. Those that use substances are found in every walk of life, every age, every nationality. They are not weak. They are not all homeless. They are not all involved in crime. Please learn about harm reduction and how it saves lives and taxpayers money. 

Austin was like a comet that shot through life full of light and wonder. He lived fully, loved fully and died on what was probably the happiest day of his adult life. He was in love. He had graduated and he was looking forward to fulfilling his dreams.  I am comforted that I did everything I could to save him. I hope his story helps bring someone comfort or educates them about how addiction and its outcome can happen to any family.

I will always love my son.

This photostory is part of a project called “My Child Too” which is a collaboration between photographer Justin Anantawan and Moms Stop the Harm (MSTH), a network of Canadian families impacted by substance-use-related harms and deaths. MSTH advocates for the change of failed drug policies, provides peer support to grieving families, and assists those with loved ones who use or have used substances. MSTH opposes the passing of Bill 223 in Ontario, which will increase toxic drug poisonings and overdose deaths.  This project is called “My Child Too” because government officials in Ontario are claiming that they are closing safe consumption sites to protect children but fail to recognize that people who use SCS are someone’s child too and also have the right to be safety and healthcare.