I caught a glimpse of a cousin of mine last week as I was driving past them in a quiet little town in Simcoe County. I knew instantly who they were just by the way they walk. When you know someone, you know everything about them. Including their walk. In the small community where I come from, you know all the walks.
On this day, that familiar walk was a hurried walk. A worried walk. A panicked walk. That part was unfamiliar to me.
The cousin that I saw on that day seemed desperate. They seemed unaware that I had seen them. Just for one second our eyes met and instead of a look of recognition from them, what I got was indifference. No hint that I may be as familiar to them. No hint that I may be seen as family. I wasn’t seen as someone who grew up with them. Someone who knew them, laughed with them, cried with them, or celebrated birthdays with them. All of that seemed lost.
All familiarity seemed to be obscured on that day. It was stuck somewhere. Misplaced, disoriented, entangled, in this world of desperation that my cousin now resided in. Resided in — because I can’t say living in.
My dear sweet cousin is lost in a world of addiction. They are one of many addicts walking the streets of every small town in our region. Their bodies walk past us, oblivious of our presence as they search madly for that next fix. They are not familiar to us. As their physical appearance deteriorates we can no longer recognize them. Unless we know them. And their familiar walk.
The body that carries the lovely spirit that we once knew, seemingly now controls everything as the desire to feed its addiction becomes its only reason for being. The addiction controls that body. Fools it. Convinces it that in order to survive it must have this drug. And inside that body is the spirit, often broken as a child, from trauma, abusive relationships, and sexual or physical abuse.
Whatever the factor, the spirit inside, the person we know, is still there. That spirit is the living part of this being. The person that we once knew, loved and cared for is that same spirit. And they are still there. I know this, because I know other family members who have returned from that horrendous state of being. Their spirit was always waiting to be freed. All spirits desire freedom from the point of our first breath. Addiction tries to steal that from us.
But there is hope and there is healing.
My cousin is not a bad person. Their body is in a state of addiction. They are not worthless druggies. They are not derelicts or scum of society. Somewhere inside there is that spirit. That same person you know so well.
I wanted so badly to help my cousin that I turned down the next street and I doubled back to where I had last seen them. I parked my car, wiped tears that I hadn’t realized were there. I scanned the length of Main Street and once more I spotted that familiar walk. I left my vehicle and ran after my cousin. I didn’t know what I would do or say when I got to them but I just wanted them to know that I care for them. I always have.
Through hope and healing, I hope that my spirit can help their spirit to help their body to find healing.
Jeff Monague is a former Chief of the Beausoleil First Nation on Christian Island, former Treaty Research Director with the Anishnabek (Union of Ontario Indians), and veteran of the Canadian Forces. Monague, who taught the Ojibwe language with the Simcoe County District School Board and Georgian College, is currently the manager of Springwater Provincial Park.
