No one ever told me

My story of grief.

Written by Rachel Tassile

I purposely wanted to write this when I don’t have a lot of followers because I never wanted to exploit this situation for internet popularity.

The truth is, until writing this right now, I never put into words my feelings about this situation and what came of it. I’ve pushed my feelings about this down and into a tightly sealed box, not to be touched. As a psychotherapist and licensed social worker, you would think I would not do that. However, for three years I did.

The thing about an ultra-important, life-changing day is that while it’s happening, it’s just another day. It started the same as every other weekday. I drank the same coffee, drove the same route to work while listening to the same podcasts. I unlocked my office door and settled into my desk preparing for my first client. And, just like every other day, I was running late.

Halfway through my first session of the day, my husband calls me. Naturally, I let it go to voicemail. An honest mistake. He’s well aware of tardiness and wanted to simply chat on our mutual commutes.

The phone rang a second time. And then a third.

Hearing bad, sick, and sad situations, and absorbing them without a hint of a reaction is on page one of the therapist handbook. I was used to turmoil. However, at that moment, the 6th grader in front of me knew better than I did that my life would soon change forever.

“Ms. Rachel, are you okay”?

I took a deep breath and tried my best to play it off, and promptly end the session in an appropriate way. She left. I locked the door and called my husband back.

“Jake is in the hospital. He overdosed. I’m on my way there now”.

Relief swept over me. My parents were still alive. My dog wasn’t hit by a car. My husband wasn’t leaving me for another woman. Jake had made a mistake and was being taken care of by medical professionals. Everything would be fine. Jake had his demons and we had been through this before. He was a fighter, this was just another hiccup on his way to a perfect life.

I carried on with my day keeping my phone close and waiting to hear updates all the while knowing that everything would go back to normal. In a few weeks, we would be visiting Jake at a rehab facility like we were last summer. We were his stable and responsible friends. We were his rocks; the type of people that made things better.

Bad things didn’t happen to us.

For a little background on me. I have lived life right. (Bear with me, I get humbled later on). I studied, worked hard, got a good job, married a good man. I’ve never in my life done drugs (even marijuana). I help kids for a living. I mean in the waiting line to get into heaven, I can make some cuts towards the front.

Knowing all of this to my core, I wasn’t overly worried that day. Because, as I said before, bad things didn’t happen to us.

As the school day was finishing up, I got another call from Scott, (my husband).

“He’s not going to make it, Rachel. Please get here”.

So I drove. Fast. Calling my dad and filling him in all the while feeling like I was being over-dramatic about the situation. Because (say it with me), bad things didn’t happen to us.

What happens next in the single worst 24 hours in my entire life.

My dad drove me to the hospital where I met Scott. At first, everything was okay. Jake’s family hugged us and we gave our condolences. I helped make phone calls, relay information, set up meals for the family. Scott called his and Jake’s other best friend and informed him of what was happening.

And then it happened.

Here’s the thing, no one tells you that when someone passes away, the worst of it comes after it's over. Waiting for it to happen is bad, but the aftermath is a thousand times worse.

But I was the therapist. I only had the privilege of knowing and loving Jake for three years. I married his best friend. I got to know all about their childhood, I got to know the funny, ridiculously selfless, and caring Jake that helped make my husband who he is.

And then, in a hospital in Akron, Ohio on March 9, 2017, I watched the same husband physically and emotionally crumble before my eyes. I held him as he cried trying my best to keep him from hitting the floor. I sat in silence and watched his life change.

And I know at this point in the story I bet you are thinking, “Wow, Rachel. Way to make someone’s death all about you”. I assure you that it is not my purpose. I’ve never been able to talk about this situation and now that I can I wanted to put it out there. I wanted other people in this same situation to know that they are not alone.

Secondly, there are not enough words in the English language to truly paint a picture for you of the man Jake was. I have typed and re-typed paragraphs about him and nothing seems to do him justice. So instead I would like to tell you a story about Jake that no one else in the entire world but me and him knew.

Left: Jacob Marr, Right: Scott Tassile

I married Scott on October 1st, 2016. Now I know I’m a little biased but it was the best wedding I have ever been to. During the reception, while everyone was dancing, Jake came up to me and asked for a dance. While we danced to “I Don't Want To Miss A Thing” by Aerosmith, Jake told me that he’s never seen Scott happier or more confident than when he was with me.

He said, “Scott is a great man. You make him better”.

As someone whose love language is words of affirmation, this simple statement has stayed with me since that moment.

That was who Jake was. He made an impression on your life that would last forever, by just saying what he felt. He’s unforgettable.

The usual grief process happened for Scott and me. We went through all of the stages. My social work classes have taught me that it’s normal to feel lonely after losing someone. That just want you to want to feel on the worst day of your life: normal.

I wasn’t lonely though, I was angry.

I was angry that this drug epidemic was happening. I was angry that I couldn’t fix it. I was angry that someone left him there alone. I was angry that I didn’t try and look for Jake sooner, or see the signs.

And I was angry that people who claimed to be there for us, weren’t. When you say “my husband’s best friend died”, everyone wants to cook you a meal or give you a hug. When you say “my husband’s best friend died of a heroin overdose”, people feel gross about that.

“Folks is afraid of grief. Think its catching, like a disease”.

-Jeff Zentner’s, “The Serpent King”

I remember being able to take one day off from work but having to return on Friday, leaving Scott home alone. I had asked a few people to please come check on him or call him, even if it's only for a few minutes. No one did. And the worst response of all; the sad face emoji (pro tip: when someone has a death in their circle, don’t respond to that with any emoji at all).

Moose

Don’t get me wrong. We had a circle of very close friends that dropped everything and were there the day it happened. And I will be forever indebted to them for helping in so many ways.

(Not all people shy away from a messy death. I’m not saying it’s wrong if you do, but just know that when they did, it hurt us. )

The worst part for Scott, about losing Jake was living a life that didn’t include him. I saw the times that should be the most memorable and joyful in our life shine with an outline of pain from not being able to tell his best friend. When we bought a house when we adopted Moose when we decided to adopt a child when we adopted Gouda. Each happy milestone was now tainted with knowing that someone who should have been there, wasn’t.

Gouda

The grief fades, and the daily pain gets less and less. But I remember that day as clearly as the screen in front of me. That will never fade. We lost our own. We were barely adults. We were good people. Bad things didn’t happen to us.

Until it did.

Until the world exponentially grew in size. Until I learned that grace makes life unfair.

Until Jacob died.

I could tell you that having an addiction is a disease, but if you have stuck with me thus far, you already know that. The only purpose of sharing all of this is to finally get it out there in the raw. If it helped you in some way, I am extremely happy about that. As it turns out, bad things do happen to us. And I’ll live the rest of my life being sorry I ever took for granted when they didn’t.

I’ll leave you with this.

Moose is our first dog. And if you own a dog, you already know that there is no kinder, sweeter, more genuine love than a pup’s. And Moose is no exception. We are the luckiest people for being able to adopt him. Well, after having him for about 6 months, we thought we had better check his paperwork and see when Moose’s birthday was. (As a childless, newlywed millennial, I obviously had a birthday to start planning).

Moose was born in March 2017.