By Paul Martin
At seven this morning I started my workday by checking my emails.
At 10:35 last night we received an email via the United Against Fentanyl website. I’ve blocked the name to protect privacy.
My middle child, NAME passed away of fentanyl poisoning at the age of 19 just a little less than a year ago and I would like to help in some way I am still a single mother and Don’t have much money but I could give my time to help.
Our team created a post as we do for some of the letters we receive from grieving parents.
I forwarded the email to our UAF Board because as I wrote last week, I think we often get caught up on data, stats, studies, etc. and sometimes overlook the human part of the number one killer of Americans under 50.
We forget the pain it causes.
And I’ve seen the tendency—correction, not merely a tendency, but the norm—to forget about the suffering. Relegate it to the optional. Sequester it to “mission moments” in board meetings. Using business parlance, ignoring your customer. Using Covey, to let the urgent replace the important.
Right after I pressed send, another email came in via the UAF website. It was now 7:39 a.m.
My son died in January 2024. How can I help?
(Besides the heartbreak of what these mothers experienced, that they offer to help. I have no words that.)
At 10:00 a.m. I jumped on a biweekly Zoom call I’m part of. It’s mostly comprised of parents devoted in various ways to the fight against fentanyl. Most lost children to fentanyl. I call all these parents Monuments of Suffering because it’s in their suffering that they stand tall, are fearless and unrelenting, and I believe in many ways hold the key to saving the lives of our youth. We discuss various legislative initiatives on the state and federal levels, including social media because that’s the new “back alley” for drug deals.
Today, there was a new face on the screen. And even before Monica began sharing, it was clear to me she was deep in grief. She explained while in tears that she recently lost her son. He was in his dorm at a university we all know of, my alma mater and my daughter’s, UCLA. We listened to her pain as she expressed being livid with how our government seems to be doing nothing.
She told us she was interviewed yesterday by NPR. I searched and you can listen to some of her story here.
Last year I came face to face with men and women in a small town in New Mexico. I had never witnessed anything like it—the conviction and intensity used to describe how “wonderful” and “powerful” fentanyl makes them feel. I kept hearing, “It takes away all my pain.”
I later met grieving parents at an event in Washington DC.
Soon, I knew it was my duty to launch United Against Fentanyl as a national initiative to help put a stop to this madness.
I don’t know how to end this post. I’m not even sure why I started it.
Perhaps it’s my attempt to cope.
(If you would like to be involved in our work, please click here and check the appropriate box. You can also comment like the two mothers mentioned above.)
