(From left) Kerri Rhodes with her son, Taylor Jr., daughter, Blair, and husband, Taylor, in a 2018 photo
Grief splits you; there is a before and an after. In the moment I learned that my son, Taylor, had died, I fell to my knees, unable to breathe or absorb that my precious boy was no longer alive. The sound that escaped my lips came from a place so deep inside, there are no words to describe it. I think it was the sound of my heart breaking into a million little pieces.
On June 29, 2019, my beautiful boy died due to an accidental overdose from heroin laced with fentanyl. He was 20 years old and had only been out of a collegiate therapeutic sober-living program for a month. Taylor’s battle — our family’s battle — with substance use disorder started at the end of his freshman year in high school. Taylor had injured his shoulder playing tennis, and the resulting surgery and the way his postoperative pain was managed changed the course of his life and ours. He would later tell us that the Percocet he was prescribed after his surgery “made his brain feel normal” for the first time. The opiates hijacked his brain, unleashing a beast unlike any I had ever known.
I have been a mental health clinician for 28 years. However, neither my clinical experience nor my maternal instincts prepared me for the battle with substance use disorder. I want others to know what my family learned the hard way.
I didn’t know that struggling with anxiety and attention deficit disorder as a child put Taylor more at risk for substance use disorder. I knew addiction was a medical disease but failed to immediately recognize the signs in my own son. I saw his drinking and pot smoking as teenage stupidity and impulsivity, not the Russian roulette this was. For Taylor, once the use started, our bar shifted from watching him excelling in honors classes and thinking about college to, oftentimes, just hoping he would come home alive.
I also had no idea that the school system had no supports in place, other than punitive ones, to deal with students facing substance use disorders. Students with substance use issues are routinely suspended or expelled and, if there are illegal substances involved, are provided with no protections under laws and statutes designed to support children with disabilities. Sadly and ironically, the primary symptom of this disease is substance use. No other medical diseases or disorders are treated this way in the school system.
I do think there should be consequences for students who are using drugs and alcohol in schools, but I also believe these students deserve support and programs like those offered to students with other medical issues. I work in a school system and know how thinly teachers, administrators and counselors are spread. We want to help, but there aren’t sufficient resources in place. A robust recovery program in our school systems is long overdue.
Taylor Rhodes Jr.
I had no idea you could grieve for your child while they were standing right in front of you. I went from being angry at Taylor for his behavior and “choices” to being terrified that I would lose him. We worked hard to get him the best therapy and the best treatment that insurance and money could buy. I quickly learned that the mental health system I had been a part of for 28 years as a clinician was ill-equipped to help Taylor and our family. We found that the resources for young people and their families struggling with substance use disorder were particularly insufficient and fragmented. There were so many times we encountered programs or professionals who were just not qualified or winging it. The standards of care for addiction are only now being really understood and developed. We can no longer accept just winging it — lives depend on proper care.
I also had no idea that I could have refused the opiates that were given to Taylor for postoperative shoulder pain and not expose his developing brain to one of the most addictive drugs on the planet. There were other options. Many doctors, oral surgeons and dentists still prescribe opiates for postoperative pain management, providing little education around the risks of the opiates they are prescribing.
We want to help, but there aren’t sufficient resources in place. A robust recovery program in our school systems is long overdue.
I have a choice in how I move forward after losing Taylor, and I choose to find ways to be part of changing the systems that could have helped him along the way. It is important for parents to recognize the signs, the risk factors and the challenges that come with substance use disorder. The more we talk about addiction, particularly its impact on young people, the more light we bring to the darkness and the better our chances of erasing the stigma that still surrounds it.
This does not just happen to other people’s children. Addiction doesn’t discriminate. It is prevalent in every community. No one chooses addiction, and it’s not a moral failing or a lack of willpower. It is a medical disease.
The Rev. Desmond Tutu said, “There comes a point where we need to stop just pulling people out of the river. We need to go upstream and keep them from ever falling in in the first place.”
Unfortunately, the current in Taylor’s river was simply too swift. I hope people will come to view addiction through a different lens, judge less and help more. Taylor and I talked about using his story to help others. I pictured all of this going differently, but make no mistake: He is still with me, because I am not capable of doing any of this without him.
Kerri Rhodes is a counselor with Henrico County Public Schools and has a small private practice. She writes, speaks and advocates for those struggling with substance use disorder and their families. She blogs at ifyouthinkitshardtowatch.com.
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