‘The first thing you deal with is the shame’
The two working moms, done with their paying jobs for the day, are laboring at the volunteer gig that has been consuming their free time for months.
A young addict is in danger of relapsing, overdosing and possibly dying. His mother has reached out for help.
Johns and de la Cruz, who have endured the same crisis in their own homes, sling street terms they never thought would be part of their vocabulary as they work to get help for the family.
"The kid detoxed at First Step," de la Cruz says. "He was told nothing was available for a month. He's struggling. There are no beds."
She goes down the list of treatment centers available to those covered by the state's Husky D healthcare program,
"I'll just call every one of them until I get him in," she vows.
Johns of
The message on the back of the group's business cards -- printed in purple to represent overdose prevention -- says, "If we do not speak about addiction, no one will hear and nothing will change."
Community Speaks Out has helped get 22 people into treatment to date, according to its members. It runs two support groups for families of addicts.
Its members hand out business cards listing their personal cellphone numbers along with promises to do anything they can to help.
They have forged relationships with police departments in
Members have a treatment expert on speed dial and a grant writer on their board of directors.
They collaborate with another grass-roots group, Shine a Light on Heroin, and have given presentations at local schools.
They organized the vigil in
Three additional overdoses locally resulted in deaths.
After learning their son,
"The first thing you deal with is the shame,"
Gingerella is in recovery and is doing well, his parents said.
Johns and her family made the ultimate sacrifice to the scourge that has gripped the region and nation. Her 33-year-old son,
Meeting de la Cruz at a
"I want to be the mom's face that is plastered all over
She wears a locket containing some of Christopher's ashes. About halfway into his 13-year battle with addiction, he overdosed in the family home.
Johns, responding to an odd noise, found him passed out on his bedroom floor with a belt around his arm and a hypodermic needle nearby. He was foaming at the mouth and his fingernails had turned blue due to lack of oxygen.
Johns was able to revive her son, and as emergency medical responders removed him from the home, Johns' daughter, angry at what her older brother was doing to himself and his family, insisted on taking a photograph to show him later.
Now, his mother shows the photo when she speaks in public.
Rehab and relapse
He made the transition to heroin, the cheaper opiate alternative, in his early 20s.
His addiction landed him in prison at times and left him homeless at others. He was beaten up by drug dealers and, after several stints in rehab ended in relapses, he frankly told his mother, "I know you're going to live longer than me."
Johns never gave up her on her son. In 2005, after discovering Christopher was abusing pills, she and her husband spent more than
Their insurance would not cover the program.
Christopher came home looking great but three months later, when she was getting ready for work, Johns found him slouching on the couch, his head back, a needle nearby.
The cycle of recovery and relapse continued. Christopher "couldn't kick it" for good, his mother says.
He tried methadone, which Johns says is known as "liquid handcuffs" in the addiction world because the user has to show up at a clinic daily and drink their dose of the maintenance drug in front of a staff member.
He also tried Suboxone, another maintenance drug.
Johns says her son didn't return her phone calls one day and she knew he was going to die.
Her longtime friend, retired
"I'm hoping to help people and save lives through him," Johns says. "It's rampant. It's disgusting. It's sad to see your child be who they don't want to be."
Edwards, who is an inspector with the Chief State's Attorney's Office, is on the board of directors of Community Speaks Out.
He had befriended
Edwards says that even with his decades of law enforcement experience, it turns out he doesn't understand addiction. He thought Christopher was going to make it.
Addicts can withdraw physically from opiates within three to seven days, but the urge to use remains long after detoxification -- maybe forever.
Long-term treatment is preferable, but not readily available in
Community Speaks Out is planning fundraising events, but for now members are reaching into their own pockets and relying on sympathizers within the community for financial assistance.
Attorney
President
Members of Community Speaks Out say southeastern
Meanwhile, they are patching together a network of resources from the legislative, law enforcement and treatment communities and doing what they can to help.
Twitter: @KFLORIN
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