Telling Jacob's Story

Telling Jacob’s Story | International Overdose Awareness Day

In just a few hours from this post, we will pass another International Overdose Awareness Day (#IOAD). Yet another marker in the losing fight against the drug toxicity that is taking our sons and our daughters. Taking our fathers, mothers, cousins, siblings, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, and those we call family despite not having the familial links. This tragic crisis is taking them away from us to that dark lonely place called death by overdose. It needs to end.

As a family, we traveled this destructive path alone and outside the public eye. To share the situation meant becoming vulnerable. How on earth could I, a (long-serving) school trustee, have a son who became an addict? How could two children with the same parents and the same extended family turn out so differently? How could I, as Mom, talk about what was happening in our family without identifying my son by name, and thus incur the terrible behaviours and opinions of arm-chair social critics? And, of course, how could I best help my son when so many doors were closed to his situation? Not simply closed, but slammed shut.

I was interviewed by CBC earlier this week for the coverage they are doing on August 31st – #IOAD. This is not my first media appearance on the topic of the overdose crisis, nor will it likely be the last. But this one is a bit different for me. This one is to recognize the human toll on our loved ones. This time I said yes because more people need to know that there are real people behind the numbers and that real people grieve.

On August 31, 2018, the day of my son’s tragic accident where he was not expected to survive, it was #IOAD. It was not until 2022 that this day held any meaning for me in regard to overdose. Since 2001 the world has recognized this day, but I have not. Last year I was asked to share a bit about Jacob with BC Mental Health and Substance Use Services for their social media. At that time we were finishing up recording our story, Jacob’s story, with the Abbotsford Police Department. My son’s death by overdose was not yet public. That recording was not to be released until a much later date, with more time to prepare emotionally. Until a very dear lady at BCMHSUS asked me to speak on that date, I had never pieced it together that his near-fatal accident had occurred on such a meaningful day. And so I decided that it was time to share, to be vulnerable. I had only a few days to prepare. I am a jump-into-the-deep-end kinda gal, not sure why I thought this would be any different. I have no regrets.

I am so privileged to have the people in my life who surround me in care and compassion, who let me be me, and who let me use my voice to elevate those voices who can’t anymore. I am fortunate to be involved with the many who ask me to share and to ask about change and how to accelerate hope. Action. That is what is needed. Consolidated front-line services with the current end user in mind, and not politics. Not empty or far-away promises.

The BC provincial overdose crisis emergency was declared over seven years ago. I don’t see the bright red banner on the provincial websites – like I do for fires, floods, and Covid – declaring the public emergency surrounding us. I don’t see much change.

Instead, I see the complacency and empty future promises. I see the numbers, the statistics, the human toll, growing far beyond what is happening today while we wait for housing and services years from now.

However, as I reflect, I do see a faint glimmer of hope, and I will hold tight to that glimmer. I know good people doing good work, and what they are planning now is more current and more realistic than simply talking about doing things in some future place and time.

For the first time, I am feeling the shift. I am beginning to feel that folks who can make a change, will. And for that, I am hopeful.

For more on Jacob’s story please visit the Abbotsford Police Department Youtube channel and view this link to learn more. Please feel free to share.
Telling Jacob’s Story | International Overdose Awareness Day

In just a few hours from this post, we will pass another International Overdose Awareness Day (#IOAD). Yet another marker in the losing fight against the drug toxicity that is taking our sons and our daughters. Taking our fathers, mothers, cousins, siblings, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, and those we call family despite not having the familial links. This tragic crisis is taking them away from us to that dark lonely place called death by overdose. It needs to end.

As a family, we traveled this destructive path alone and outside the public eye. To share the situation meant becoming vulnerable. How on earth could I, a (long-serving) school trustee, have a son who became an addict? How could two children with the same parents and the same extended family turn out so differently? How could I, as Mom, talk about what was happening in our family without identifying my son by name, and thus incur the terrible behaviours and opinions of arm-chair social critics? And, of course, how could I best help my son when so many doors were closed to his situation? Not simply closed, but slammed shut.

I was interviewed by CBC earlier this week for the coverage they are doing on August 31st – #IOAD. This is not my first media appearance on the topic of the overdose crisis, nor will it likely be the last. But this one is a bit different for me. This one is to recognize the human toll on our loved ones. This time I said yes because more people need to know that there are real people behind the numbers and that real people grieve.

On August 31, 2018, the day of my son’s tragic accident where he was not expected to survive, it was #IOAD. It was not until 2022 that this day held any meaning for me in regard to overdose. Since 2001 the world has recognized this day, but I have not. Last year I was asked to share a bit about Jacob with BC Mental Health and Substance Use Services for their social media. At that time we were finishing up recording our story, Jacob’s story, with the Abbotsford Police Department. My son’s death by overdose was not yet public. That recording was not to be released until a much later date, with more time to prepare emotionally. Until a very dear lady at BCMHSUS asked me to speak on that date, I had never pieced it together that his near-fatal accident had occurred on such a meaningful day. And so I decided that it was time to share, to be vulnerable. I had only a few days to prepare. I am a jump-into-the-deep-end kinda gal, not sure why I thought this would be any different. I have no regrets.

I am so privileged to have the people in my life who surround me in care and compassion, who let me be me, and who let me use my voice to elevate those voices who can’t anymore. I am fortunate to be involved with the many who ask me to share and to ask about change and how to accelerate hope. Action. That is what is needed. Consolidated front-line services with the current end user in mind, and not politics. Not empty or far-away promises.

The BC provincial overdose crisis emergency was declared over seven years ago. I don’t see the bright red banner on the provincial websites – like I do for fires, floods, and Covid – declaring the public emergency surrounding us. I don’t see much change.

Instead, I see the complacency and empty future promises. I see the numbers, the statistics, the human toll, growing far beyond what is happening today while we wait for housing and services years from now.

However, as I reflect, I do see a faint glimmer of hope, and I will hold tight to that glimmer. I know good people doing good work, and what they are planning now is more current and more realistic than simply talking about doing things in some future place and time.

For the first time, I am feeling the shift. I am beginning to feel that folks who can make a change, will. And for that, I am hopeful.

For more on Jacob’s story please visit the Abbotsford Police Department Youtube channel and view this link to learn more. Please feel free to share.
Telling Jacob’s Story | International Overdose Awareness Day

In just a few hours from this post, we will pass another International Overdose Awareness Day (#IOAD). Yet another marker in the losing fight against the drug toxicity that is taking our sons and our daughters. Taking our fathers, mothers, cousins, siblings, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, and those we call family despite not having the familial links. This tragic crisis is taking them away from us to that dark lonely place called death by overdose. It needs to end.

As a family, we traveled this destructive path alone and outside the public eye. To share the situation meant becoming vulnerable. How on earth could I, a (long-serving) school trustee, have a son who became an addict? How could two children with the same parents and the same extended family turn out so differently? How could I, as Mom, talk about what was happening in our family without identifying my son by name, and thus incur the terrible behaviours and opinions of arm-chair social critics? And, of course, how could I best help my son when so many doors were closed to his situation? Not simply closed, but slammed shut.

I was interviewed by CBC earlier this week for the coverage they are doing on August 31st – #IOAD. This is not my first media appearance on the topic of the overdose crisis, nor will it likely be the last. But this one is a bit different for me. This one is to recognize the human toll on our loved ones. This time I said yes because more people need to know that there are real people behind the numbers and that real people grieve.

On August 31, 2018, the day of my son’s tragic accident where he was not expected to survive, it was #IOAD. It was not until 2022 that this day held any meaning for me in regard to overdose. Since 2001 the world has recognized this day, but I have not. Last year I was asked to share a bit about Jacob with BC Mental Health and Substance Use Services for their social media. At that time we were finishing up recording our story, Jacob’s story, with the Abbotsford Police Department. My son’s death by overdose was not yet public. That recording was not to be released until a much later date, with more time to prepare emotionally. Until a very dear lady at BCMHSUS asked me to speak on that date, I had never pieced it together that his near-fatal accident had occurred on such a meaningful day. And so I decided that it was time to share, to be vulnerable. I had only a few days to prepare. I am a jump-into-the-deep-end kinda gal, not sure why I thought this would be any different. I have no regrets.

I am so privileged to have the people in my life who surround me in care and compassion, who let me be me, and who let me use my voice to elevate those voices who can’t anymore. I am fortunate to be involved with the many who ask me to share and to ask about change and how to accelerate hope. Action. That is what is needed. Consolidated front-line services with the current end user in mind, and not politics. Not empty or far-away promises.

The BC provincial overdose crisis emergency was declared over seven years ago. I don’t see the bright red banner on the provincial websites – like I do for fires, floods, and Covid – declaring the public emergency surrounding us. I don’t see much change.

Instead, I see the complacency and empty future promises. I see the numbers, the statistics, the human toll, growing far beyond what is happening today while we wait for housing and services years from now.

However, as I reflect, I do see a faint glimmer of hope, and I will hold tight to that glimmer. I know good people doing good work, and what they are planning now is more current and more realistic than simply talking about doing things in some future place and time.

For the first time, I am feeling the shift. I am beginning to feel that folks who can make a change, will. And for that, I am hopeful.

For more on Jacob’s story please visit the Abbotsford Police Department Youtube channel and view this link to learn more. Please feel free to share.
Telling Jacob’s Story | International Overdose Awareness Day

In just a few hours from this post, we will pass another International Overdose Awareness Day (#IOAD). Yet another marker in the losing fight against the drug toxicity that is taking our sons and our daughters. Taking our fathers, mothers, cousins, siblings, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, and those we call family despite not having the familial links. This tragic crisis is taking them away from us to that dark lonely place called death by overdose. It needs to end.

As a family, we traveled this destructive path alone and outside the public eye. To share the situation meant becoming vulnerable. How on earth could I, a (long-serving) school trustee, have a son who became an addict? How could two children with the same parents and the same extended family turn out so differently? How could I, as Mom, talk about what was happening in our family without identifying my son by name, and thus incur the terrible behaviours and opinions of arm-chair social critics? And, of course, how could I best help my son when so many doors were closed to his situation? Not simply closed, but slammed shut.

I was interviewed by CBC earlier this week for the coverage they are doing on August 31st – #IOAD. This is not my first media appearance on the topic of the overdose crisis, nor will it likely be the last. But this one is a bit different for me. This one is to recognize the human toll on our loved ones. This time I said yes because more people need to know that there are real people behind the numbers and that real people grieve.

On August 31, 2018, the day of my son’s tragic accident where he was not expected to survive, it was #IOAD. It was not until 2022 that this day held any meaning for me in regard to overdose. Since 2001 the world has recognized this day, but I have not. Last year I was asked to share a bit about Jacob with BC Mental Health and Substance Use Services for their social media. At that time we were finishing up recording our story, Jacob’s story, with the Abbotsford Police Department. My son’s death by overdose was not yet public. That recording was not to be released until a much later date, with more time to prepare emotionally. Until a very dear lady at BCMHSUS asked me to speak on that date, I had never pieced it together that his near-fatal accident had occurred on such a meaningful day. And so I decided that it was time to share, to be vulnerable. I had only a few days to prepare. I am a jump-into-the-deep-end kinda gal, not sure why I thought this would be any different. I have no regrets.

I am so privileged to have the people in my life who surround me in care and compassion, who let me be me, and who let me use my voice to elevate those voices who can’t anymore. I am fortunate to be involved with the many who ask me to share and to ask about change and how to accelerate hope. Action. That is what is needed. Consolidated front-line services with the current end user in mind, and not politics. Not empty or far-away promises.

The BC provincial overdose crisis emergency was declared over seven years ago. I don’t see the bright red banner on the provincial websites – like I do for fires, floods, and Covid – declaring the public emergency surrounding us. I don’t see much change.

Instead, I see the complacency and empty future promises. I see the numbers, the statistics, the human toll, growing far beyond what is happening today while we wait for housing and services years from now.

However, as I reflect, I do see a faint glimmer of hope, and I will hold tight to that glimmer. I know good people doing good work, and what they are planning now is more current and more realistic than simply talking about doing things in some future place and time.

For the first time, I am feeling the shift. I am beginning to feel that folks who can make a change, will. And for that, I am hopeful.

For more on Jacob’s story please visit the Abbotsford Police Department Youtube channel and view this link to learn more. Please feel free to share.
Telling Jacob’s Story | International Overdose Awareness Day

In just a few hours from this post, we will pass another International Overdose Awareness Day (#IOAD). Yet another marker in the losing fight against the drug toxicity that is taking our sons and our daughters. Taking our fathers, mothers, cousins, siblings, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, and those we call family despite not having the familial links. This tragic crisis is taking them away from us to that dark lonely place called death by overdose. It needs to end.

As a family, we traveled this destructive path alone and outside the public eye. To share the situation meant becoming vulnerable. How on earth could I, a (long-serving) school trustee, have a son who became an addict? How could two children with the same parents and the same extended family turn out so differently? How could I, as Mom, talk about what was happening in our family without identifying my son by name, and thus incur the terrible behaviours and opinions of arm-chair social critics? And, of course, how could I best help my son when so many doors were closed to his situation? Not simply closed, but slammed shut.

I was interviewed by CBC earlier this week for the coverage they are doing on August 31st – #IOAD. This is not my first media appearance on the topic of the overdose crisis, nor will it likely be the last. But this one is a bit different for me. This one is to recognize the human toll on our loved ones. This time I said yes because more people need to know that there are real people behind the numbers and that real people grieve.

On August 31, 2018, the day of my son’s tragic accident where he was not expected to survive, it was #IOAD. It was not until 2022 that this day held any meaning for me in regard to overdose. Since 2001 the world has recognized this day, but I have not. Last year I was asked to share a bit about Jacob with BC Mental Health and Substance Use Services for their social media. At that time we were finishing up recording our story, Jacob’s story, with the Abbotsford Police Department. My son’s death by overdose was not yet public. That recording was not to be released until a much later date, with more time to prepare emotionally. Until a very dear lady at BCMHSUS asked me to speak on that date, I had never pieced it together that his near-fatal accident had occurred on such a meaningful day. And so I decided that it was time to share, to be vulnerable. I had only a few days to prepare. I am a jump-into-the-deep-end kinda gal, not sure why I thought this would be any different. I have no regrets.

I am so privileged to have the people in my life who surround me in care and compassion, who let me be me, and who let me use my voice to elevate those voices who can’t anymore. I am fortunate to be involved with the many who ask me to share and to ask about change and how to accelerate hope. Action. That is what is needed. Consolidated front-line services with the current end user in mind, and not politics. Not empty or far-away promises.

The BC provincial overdose crisis emergency was declared over seven years ago. I don’t see the bright red banner on the provincial websites – like I do for fires, floods, and Covid – declaring the public emergency surrounding us. I don’t see much change.

Instead, I see the complacency and empty future promises. I see the numbers, the statistics, the human toll, growing far beyond what is happening today while we wait for housing and services years from now.

However, as I reflect, I do see a faint glimmer of hope, and I will hold tight to that glimmer. I know good people doing good work, and what they are planning now is more current and more realistic than simply talking about doing things in some future place and time.

For the first time, I am feeling the shift. I am beginning to feel that folks who can make a change, will. And for that, I am hopeful.

For more on Jacob’s story please visit the Abbotsford Police Department Youtube channel and view this link to learn more. Please feel free to share.
Telling Jacob’s Story | International Overdose Awareness Day

In just a few hours from this post, we will pass another International Overdose Awareness Day (#IOAD). Yet another marker in the losing fight against the drug toxicity that is taking our sons and our daughters. Taking our fathers, mothers, cousins, siblings, grandchildren, aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, and those we call family despite not having the familial links. This tragic crisis is taking them away from us to that dark lonely place called death by overdose. It needs to end.

As a family, we traveled this destructive path alone and outside the public eye. To share the situation meant becoming vulnerable. How on earth could I, a (long-serving) school trustee, have a son who became an addict? How could two children with the same parents and the same extended family turn out so differently? How could I, as Mom, talk about what was happening in our family without identifying my son by name, and thus incur the terrible behaviours and opinions of arm-chair social critics? And, of course, how could I best help my son when so many doors were closed to his situation? Not simply closed, but slammed shut.

I was interviewed by CBC earlier this week for the coverage they are doing on August 31st – #IOAD. This is not my first media appearance on the topic of the overdose crisis, nor will it likely be the last. But this one is a bit different for me. This one is to recognize the human toll on our loved ones. This time I said yes because more people need to know that there are real people behind the numbers and that real people grieve.

On August 31, 2018, the day of my son’s tragic accident where he was not expected to survive, it was #IOAD. It was not until 2022 that this day held any meaning for me in regard to overdose. Since 2001 the world has recognized this day, but I have not. Last year I was asked to share a bit about Jacob with BC Mental Health and Substance Use Services for their social media. At that time we were finishing up recording our story, Jacob’s story, with the Abbotsford Police Department. My son’s death by overdose was not yet public. That recording was not to be released until a much later date, with more time to prepare emotionally. Until a very dear lady at BCMHSUS asked me to speak on that date, I had never pieced it together that his near-fatal accident had occurred on such a meaningful day. And so I decided that it was time to share, to be vulnerable. I had only a few days to prepare. I am a jump-into-the-deep-end kinda gal, not sure why I thought this would be any different. I have no regrets.

I am so privileged to have the people in my life who surround me in care and compassion, who let me be me, and who let me use my voice to elevate those voices who can’t anymore. I am fortunate to be involved with the many who ask me to share and to ask about change and how to accelerate hope. Action. That is what is needed. Consolidated front-line services with the current end user in mind, and not politics. Not empty or far-away promises.

The BC provincial overdose crisis emergency was declared over seven years ago. I don’t see the bright red banner on the provincial websites – like I do for fires, floods, and Covid – declaring the public emergency surrounding us. I don’t see much change.

Instead, I see the complacency and empty future promises. I see the numbers, the statistics, the human toll, growing far beyond what is happening today while we wait for housing and services years from now.

However, as I reflect, I do see a faint glimmer of hope, and I will hold tight to that glimmer. I know good people doing good work, and what they are planning now is more current and more realistic than simply talking about doing things in some future place and time.

For the first time, I am feeling the shift. I am beginning to feel that folks who can make a change, will. And for that, I am hopeful.

For more on Jacob’s story please visit the Abbotsford Police Department Youtube channel and view this link to learn more. Please feel free to share.