Janie Fargen’s son Jason Oaks, an athlete, died in 2014, his heart damaged by an addiction that started in his early 20s with pain medicine he took after shoulder surgery.
“He was a loving father, a good mate, loved his family and friends,” said Fargen in a recent interview at Holy Trinity Church. “He loved life to the fullest.”
He left behind two children, aged 4 and 5 at the time.
His death brought Fargen’s world to a halt. Getting out of bed was a struggle.
“I was brought up that you stand on your own two feet, and you can handle anything,” she said, as a framed photo of Jason lay on the pew beside her. “I wasn’t equipped to handle this.”
It took her eight months to seek help, she said, and it was the beginning of her recovery from deep grief.
“The first time I came out of my (support) group, I felt blessed — I realized my blessings, my grandchildren. My whole outlook changed.”
In 2018, she helped form a local chapter of a support group called GRASP (Grief Recovery After a Substance Passing) with Linda Squire. It meets at Holy Trinity on the second Monday of each month. St. Albert the Great Church hosts a similar group, the Hope and Healing Grief Group for those touched by the loss of a loved one to substance use or addiction. It meets on the third Wednesday of each month. Details are listed in The Record ahead of each meeting, as are the details of other support groups.
Squire, a member of the Cathedral of the Assumption, whose children attended Holy Trinity School, said that when grief strikes, “People don’t really know where to turn.”
“Turn to your church,” she said in the interview at Holy Trinity. “You can open The Record and find all these groups. You can go to Google; people have found us that way. Or through word of mouth. We can’t grieve alone.”
‘In the middle of their grieving, I will notice a change over the months. They will get to the point where they are sharing their story and reaching out to new people, comforting them.’
— Janie Fargen
Squire lost her son, Jonathan, in 2015 to an accidental overdose — a lethal dose of fentanyl. He was 25 and had been doing well, Squire said. He had been sober; he had a job where he was excelling and kept a nice apartment.
He was a bright and charismatic young man who confided in his mom; he was a singer selected for a national choir and loved to dance, too, said Squire.
He started experimenting with drugs at age 15 — smoking pot — and gradually tried more and more daring substances, she said. Addiction eventually took hold, and he struggled for years to overcome it.
She doesn’t want his memory to be defined by his death, she said, but instead by his life. She noted that some of his friends committed to recovery after his death. And the family started a foundation in his name.
Squire said she has been very open about his journey and her grief. She hopes to “Stop the stigma, and start the support” around addiction, she said.
“Substance death isn’t seen as a disease,” and there is often a sense of shame, anger or guilt wrapped up in a parent’s grief, she said. “I used to sleep all weekend or just stare out of the window.”
Helping other people heal “has given my life purpose,” said Squire. “I feel like God led me this way.”
She encourages people who attend GRASP meetings to seek their own purpose.
“What can you give back to the world in honor of your child?” she said. Over the years, she has seen people move from barely functioning to a new life. Purpose is often at the heart of that change, she said. “One person is working at a food pantry; another helps at the Healing Place.”
Like Squire, Fargen found her purpose by helping others find healing.
“This group has been my salvation — to be in this group and then to help people along the way,” she said. “In the middle of their grieving, I will notice a change over the months. They will get to the point where they are sharing their story and reaching out to new people, comforting them.”
She encourages people who are grieving alone to “take the first step and to get out of bed and take a shower.”
“That is an accomplishment,” said Fargen. “If you’re not ready for a group, reach out to someone you can at least talk to — in talking it out, you start realizing what you need.”
Several people who attended GRASP meetings said they were glad they sought help.
Pat Coots, who lost her son William to an overdose of fentanyl, said that in GRASP, the “support and sharing of our grief in a safe environment where we all understood each other facilitated my ability to move forward. … Feeling safe to share in a non-judgemental environment helped my ‘grief wound.’ ”
Carolyn Gilhooly said the grief recovery group was a haven after she lost her son, Sean.
“It is a place where the stigma of addiction does not exist, where we can pick up our broken pieces, and with the help of our friends, we begin our journey to become whole again,” she said.
Tamara Morris, who lost her daughter Kristen, said, “Early on, I didn’t want anyone saying ‘things happen for a reason,’ ‘she’s in a better place,’ etc. I just wanted her back. … It was so cathartic to be around others who understood exactly what I’d been through (the years of the disease, stealing, rehab, relapse, hope, frustration, anger, despair, confusion, hurt, hope again, relapse, mistrust). No one truly understands what it’s like to love someone with substance use disorder unless you’ve done it personally.”
Fargen and Squire noted that if someone tells you to “move on” or isn’t supportive, find someone else to talk to.
The grief never goes away, Squire said, but “it becomes gentler. You can’t stay in the depths of grief forever.”
