Mark

 "A fallen warrior is still a warrior"

I am the son who died from an overdose.

It breaks my heart, but I will say it.

I was an addict.

I was, and am, also a valuable human being.

Do not turn away from me.

I am not jinxed. It is not contagious. My presence and influence are no danger to you or yours.

Do not judge me.

This did not happen because I caused it, deserved it, or failed to stop it. I got pulled into something beyond my control, and I couldn’t pull out. I do not know why, and neither do you.

Do not tell me I should have tried harder.

You have no idea of my struggle. You have no idea of my desire. You have no idea how I fought my own body, my own mind, my own brain, my own demons to walk away and be free of drugs. A fallen warrior is still a warrior.

Do not judge my family.

My family was there for me throughout my struggle, and remain loyal to me now. They did not ‘raise me wrong’ or ‘fail to save me.’ My failure to get clean was not a lack of love for them or from them. They did what they could, often after everyone else had given up on me. I would not have stayed alive as long as I did without them.

Do not pity me.

I struggled, and watched my family struggle alongside me. I did not go down without a fierce struggle, and I did not go down alone. My legacy is safe in the hands of those who fought for me with a loyalty and a fierceness that most so-called ‘normal’ kids will never know,

Do not pity my family.

My family does not need pity. They deserve respect and support, but many will not offer that to them because of my addiction. Anyone who knows will understand the strength and character my family showed by staying by my side.

Do not question me.

I did the best I could. I do not know if things would have been different if I had done certain things differently or had different friends, and neither do you. If you have not lived it, you can never understand the intensity of my efforts. Losing the battle with addiction is not a reflection of my desire to win or the strength I used to fight it. Addiction is a mightier enemy than you can ever know.

Do not blame me.

If you have not lived through this, you are not qualified to tell me why I became an addict, why I continued to return to the drugs, or why I could not quit. Your opinion would be based on nothing but your own ideas. I lived this struggle, and I could not answer those questions any more than a cancer patient could tell you why they developed cancer or why it could not be cured. Addiction is a physical and mental disease.

Do not tell me you understand.

There are very few people in my life who can say they understand my struggle or the struggle of my loved ones. Be grateful you cannot. There is only one way to understand, and you do not want to go there.

Do not think that you are more loving/ loved/stronger or more considerate than I was.

I loved my mother, and she loved me. I loved my father and he loved me. I loved my sister, Anna Kemp, my brothers, Charlie, Tom and Michael. I loved my aunts and uncles. I loved, adored, my nieces and nephews. I loved my girlfriend. They were my life. This is not a problem which can be solved by love. Love and addiction are not connected. You would have to live our struggle to ever understand the love and the effort that were involved on all sides.

Do not congratulate yourself and your family as being better than me or mine.

If you and your family have avoided the demon of addiction, you are lucky. Addiction can happen to anyone, anywhere, any time. It is found in broken homes and happy ones. It is found in the ghetto and in palaces. It victimizes the smart, the ignorant, the strong, the weak, the brave and the timid. It affects male and female, young and old, Black, White, Latino and Asian. Addiction, like cancer, chooses its victims blindly and from all walks of life.

I am the the son who died from an overdose.

I am a loved and valuable human being..my life mattered.

My name is Mark David Kinsey

Sunrise: 1/9/84

Sunset: 6/1/19

FOREVER 35

August is Overdose Awareness month

**I am not the author**

1Charlie Kinsey

Find Help

People in the midst of a crisis, experiencing a relapse from recovery from a substance use disorder, all too often do not know where to turn.

Help is avaible!

You could be in the Big Apple - help is available!

Or in Rochester - help is available!

Not sure where to turn? Call Mom. Call Dad. Call an Aunt or Uncle. Call SOMEONE! 

Please call someone before it is too late! The world is a better place with you, than without.

Have you lost your faith? Help is available! 

You are not alone in your struggles - you do not have to 'go it alone!

Failing

July 22, 2020

It has been a little over a year since our son, Mark, passed away from a fentanyl overdose. One of my recurring thoughts is how I had failed him. Leigh tells me there isn't any truth to that thought, or feeling, and yet it bounces around in my head quite regularly. Mark is no longer with us - I failed as a father.

He lived with us, on and off, for most of his life, even during some of the time he was married. He always had a warm place to sleep, if needed; food to eat, if needed; medical care and a ride to his groups and meetings - in spite of our schedule or plans. If he needed us, we were there. Except ...

There is no telling about the events of June 1, 2019 - no telling at all. Would the outcome have been different if we were home? He died - at home - alone.

And that's when the thought creeps back into my mind - I failed as a father. He had my love. He had whatever material resource we could provide. He needed my protection. I tried. 

This feeling will probably be with me until the day I die. Maybe then there will be some peace. Until then, this feeling will haunt me on and off. I failed as a father.

And then there is the real truth. Our son, Mark, knew the Lord Jesus Christ. Mark had his problems, and God only know why he kept using drugs - we certainly do not understand it. Leigh and I went to church with our children, instilled in them the desire for the Holy One. In this I did not fail.

The continuing, hidden pain ...

On Wednesday, February 26, 2020, my wife, Leigh Kinsey, posted this notice on Facebook.

"My son, Mark, was murdered. The two who murdered him will be out of prison within a year, I’m sure. To do it all over again with someone else’s child. Mark did not want to die. He did not want to be an addict. He did not wake up one morning and decide to do drugs.... All he wanted was a normal life like his siblings. A wife and children. He prayed for that, he got it, but lost both. I pray the stigma of addiction changes. Addiction changes the brain, changes anything the addict ever cared for. All I know is that my son ,Mark, knew what was happening to his brain."


Leigh and I have both been through this daily trauma since Mark's passing on June 1, 2019. Leigh writes passionately about what happened to our youngest son, Mark, at 35 years of age. When people write, what is often missing are the tears, pain, cries for help, screams of terror, and moments of complete and utter abandon, dejection, and hopelessness which overwhelm parents daily, hourly, minute by minute. The 'overwhelming waves of grief' happen spontaneously - a word, a fond memory, even a smell can trigger this.

What most do not see is the grief millstone hanging around our necks - Mark's parents, and also his sister and brothers, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, cousins, and friends.Sometimes we look fine on the outside - the inside is boiling over and frozen in place.

We will not stop writing about our journey through this 'valley of the shadow of death'. Mark's message, his voice, needs to ring out daily. He was in pain, we are in pain, his whole family is in pain. The substance abuse disorder crisis needs to end - this is the national health crisis.

Balance

Our son, Mark, died from an overdose on June 1, 2019. Two people sold him drugs, which led to this death. Both pled guilty in court to charges of criminally negligent homicide, and selling drugs. Both were sentenced to 1 to 4 years in state prison. 

These two people sell drugs, which results in someone's death, and are sentenced to ONLY 1 to 4 years in state prison. Really??!!

The law regarding drug related deaths is seriously OUT OF BALANCE! Prove it you say? Okay - check this out.

Holley Man Gets 1 to 3 Years in Prison for Violating Probation (This fellow probably should not have been on the street in the first place, but should have been in REHAB! HELLO!)

WHAT? Someone dies and 1 to 4 years does not equal violating probation and 1 to 4 years.

Tell me once more how selling drugs is a VICTIM-LESS CRIME. Not in Mark's experience, not in our experience, not in his family or friends experience.

There is a continued need for more rehabilitation programs and facilities, lower cost access to medical treatments, and longer acting medications to curb the urge to abuse drugs.

This is a national health emergency!

A Voice For Mark - his mother's experience

June 1, 2019

     I was talking with some people at my daughter, Anna's, house when I heard a gut wrenching sound from my husband, Chuck, calling out to our daughter, Anna, twice. You see, he called me first, I didn't hear. I saw her run to her father, I thought something had happened to him. I got up and ran. First, I hear "Michael's dead"! and I was on the floor in the hallway. I remember screaming "No! Not my Michael"! Then I heard my daughter, Anna, say "No Mom, it's not Michael, it's Mark". I went through two deaths of my children! The last thing I remember is screaming, "No! Not my Mark"! My daughter, bless her heart, was holding me. No idea where Chuck was. Not much memory after that. 

      I remember praying with Chuck just about all night. In the car, on our way home, I remember talking to my brother Bill. Then all of a sudden we are home. Doug and Anna drove us. Somehow I got in the house.           
     
      My son, Charlie, took me upstairs to show me where Mark died. Bless him, it was so hard for him. Charlie is the one who had to identify Mark. I laid in the spot where Mark died. I touched it. I smelled it. I caressed it, where his body laid for over 8 hours. It was what I had to do.                                       

      I still go and sit where he died. Peace is what I feel, then it turns into that overwhelming feeling of grief that I wish no others would suffer. Losing my child is the most devastating thing I have ever experiened. I miss my son Mark, but am overjoyed he suffers no more. How can I say this? I watchd him struggle, re-hab, recovery, relapse, recovery then relapse again. Now Mark is with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ and I can't wait to see him again! Besides Jesus, My husband, daughter and four sons are my life. They've given me many grandchildren. Mark's legacy will live on.

The Horrible Night and Aftermath

Saturday evening, June 1, 2019, began one of the most difficult journeys my wife Leigh and I have ever experienced, and pray we never have to experience again. We were in Albany visiting our oldest, Anna, and her husband, Doug, and our grandchildren Jessica and Aidan.

About 9:25 in the evening our son, Charles, called me to tell me our son, Mark, was deceased. "Hi Charles." I said. He said "Hi Dad. The ambulance and Sheriff are at your house. Mark is dead." I screamed twice for Leigh, twice for Anna, and threw down the phone. (He later told me he equated this with 'ripping off the band-aid'. Might just as well say it. There is NO easy way.)

There is no easy way to hear that. There is no easy way to process that information, or to share that with the woman you love. Her baby boy, her precious youngest son, Mark, is dead.

We rushed to each other, held each other, cried with each other. The ensuing panic, crying, moaning, wailing, flailing, consumed us both, for hours, and has consumed us now for months. We prayed it wasn't so, that perhaps there was a mistake. Not Mark? Not Mark! All too true, all too gruesome.

We spent the night continually in prayer. There was company at Anna and Doug's house. We remember no one coming or going. We may have dozed in each other's arms for a bit. We prayed the Lord's prayer, said multiple Hail Mary's, and asked for mercy and strength. Neither of us could drive our car home - it is about a five hour drive - we could not focus. I don't even remember packing to come home. Eventually we were back in Clarendon - don't ask me how.

Family came together. There were many tears, hugs, more tears, more hugs, prayers, and then more prayers. Too many questions, not enough answers. Leigh and I sought solace in praying with each other, and alone, and grieving with each other, and alone. Still too many questions, never enough answers. What were we to do? No idea, no concept.

Our children stepped up and took over for their Mother and Father. We who had been so strong and resolute for them over so many years, had no strength of our own. Anna, Charles, Thomas, and Michael stood in our place and took over caring not only for us, but also for Mark. Words cannot express our love for them, and their love for their brother, and for us. What a wonderful woman is our daughter, Anna, and such wonderful men are our sons, Charles, Thomas, Michael, and Mark.

We have come to know we were not alone in our experience of Mark's tragic death. Too many other of people's loved ones have died from the poison of fentanyl. Too many others have experienced, and continue to experience, the devastating grief of death from overdose. There is even a Facebook group for those who have had this unlucky experience - GRASP - Grieve Recovery After a Substance Passing - GRASP on the Web.

Leigh and I have been tested even more in this horrid aftermath.

We had questions about Mark's eternal soul, but have received confirmation he is in heaven. (More on this in another post.)

We have had to meet with the District Attorney and Sheriff. Thank God for these good men. A challenging experience has been to see the individuals charged in Mark's death in court. Two From Holley To see these 'people' and know they have such a callous disregard for another's life is still beyond understanding. Their sentencing is still to come on December 19th.

We pray for justice, but realize there can NEVER be true justice, only a false sense of retribution. They will continue to live for as long as the Lord gives them. We will NEVER see our Mark again this side of glory. We pray the memories, pictures, and stories will never, ever fade.

Some days we struggle for each breath, the pain of grief burns our lungs, our throats. It consumes us many days, in sleepless nights, often in no motivation.

We console ourselves with the knowledge of our other children, and grandchildren. We love them all dearly.

One is missing, one is gone, ripped needlessly from our lives, the lives of his sister, brothers, nieces, nephews, cousins, the entire family and community.

We understand now, fully, the pain each parent feels who loses a child.