UPDATE: Rest Michael, My Son.
A N.J. mother described the troubles with her son's heroin addiction. Michael Capone died last year. Patch plans to explore the issue more.
ByCANDACE GARRETT CAPONE(Open Post)April 13, 2015
UPDATE: During the summer, Candace Capone of Lacey, N.J. wrote on Patch about losing her son to heroin. Since then, her son, Garrett, has been attending Ocean County College and Candace has been working for Ocean County. Patch plans to explore similar stories in the coming weeks as part of a series on heroin abuse.
Heroin does not discriminate. It doesn’t matter if you are male or female, short or tall, rich or poor, young or old. Once in your veins, the person who you always loved and cared for becomes a stranger. A beast in his own mind, whose only goal in life is to get the next fix…chasing the very first high that they have felt.
“Scumbag!” EveryarticleI have ever read about people being arrested for drugs always has comments made by their readers that say that word. I can assure you that they are sadly mistaken. My son’s name once lit up the newspapers of his glorious days as a wrestler and as a little boy entering fishing contests. Now the papers print his name for his arrests from heroin addiction.
My son was raised with love. A good boy he once was. Now all that remains is the addict he has become, willing to steal, lie and cheat his own family to get his next fix. My son loved wrestling. He was once an undefeated junior varsity team member. His room still boasts the trophies that he had won. He loved to fish and skateboard. Now all that remains are the photos of those happier days from that child who is now a man addicted to heroin. Am I bad mother? Is this my fault? Why are people blaming me?
How do you tell your friends and family that one morning you went to wake your child for school only to find him not breathing, eyes rolled in the back of his head, and his body an eerie grey color that is unimaginable? How do you tell them that I frantically performed cpr on my son, awaiting the ambulance, with tears streaming down my face that my son almost dies in my arms?
Imagine my horror, that after my son was transported to the local hospital, I flip his mattress and find bags of heroin and a hypodermic needle. How did this happen to “MY SON”? My days and nights were filled with watching over him…protecting my home and younger son that lived with us. How do you go out and put on a happy face when your child is killing himself. How do you sleep when you fear your child may steal from you and sneak out as you sleep?
That very same morning, I wanted to flush away the heroin and protect my son. Would that be the right thing to do? I called his probation officer, crying and begging for help. He advised he would make some calls on my behalf and to turn everything over to the police. As advised, I drove to the police station, with heroin in my purse, a nauseous, sick feeling in my stomach, and turned my own son in.
Two years have gone by since that day. Nothing has changed. I have spent countless hours and dollars trying to save his life. I always visited him at rehab and juvenile detention, bringing him clothing and toiletries. I showed my love and support.
I remember one night I was told my son was down the street “using.” I went there without hesitation, without thinking. I busted into the home and verbally lashed out at the dealer. My son went out through a window. How crazy am I to put my own safety on the line to save my son? How much does love and hope cost? I have spent my hard earned money on fines, lawyers, co pays-you name it!
I remember being a teenager and seeing a commercial from Carroll O’Connor saying “get between your kids and drugs any way you can.” He wasn’t acting. The look on his face said it all. Now as a mother myself, I get it.
My son has passed, I hope quickly and painlessly. I WILL love him until the end of time. Now, when my friends and family ask what they can do to help me, I respond to them, “Get between your kids and drugs any way you can.”