I was blessed to grow up in a large, loud family bursting with aunts and uncles of many different shapes, sizes and personalities. They played an important role in my childhood, each one of them bringing some different, special aspect to my life. My father’s brother, my uncle Greg, was much younger than the others—and he was different. He was less a parental figure, more a celebrity to me in some way I couldn’t really understand at the time. Uncle Greg told the most amazing stories—his life seemed so full of drama and intrigue and adventure that I was constantly in awe of him.
It took me a very long time to realize that there was a dark side to my uncle. When I was in my early teens, he disappeared from my life when an addiction completely overtook him. Years passed, but then when my grandmother was dying, my father reconciled briefly with Uncle Greg. Less than a week later, before I could have the reunion with him that I’d dreamed of for years, Uncle Greg died of an overdose.
I often get asked if aspects of my books are autobiographical, and the answer is always a firm “no.” But I do love to use my research as a way to understand the issues that bewilder me. For this very reason, I’ve wanted to write about addiction for some time. Annie is not my uncle, but I hope that in reading her story, the love I had for him is evident. Most of all, I hope that her story reminds you that a person with an addiction is not a label or a problem to be solved: the individual is someone’s sibling, someone’s child, someone’s beloved uncle. Addiction is ugly, but its victims each have a story and a life that matters.
When I first read that some US states had made substance abuse in pregnancy a criminal offense, I delved into the issue, simply wanting to understand it. Even after months of research and speaking to advocates in the field, I’m still bewildered by how anyone could think this is an effective way to address any aspect of the issues surrounding substance abuse. The very existence of these laws disregards all advice from medical and women’s rights organizations, and when they are enforced, they are incredibly harmful to the health of women and families.
Prosecuting pregnant women who are battling substance abuse issues achieves little more than to further stigmatize and isolate this marginalized pocket of society. When we discourage these women from accessing medical care and support, a situation that is already difficult becomes heartbreaking. And when mothers who need treatment and support to enable them to parent their children are, instead, prosecuted and even incarcerated, the entire community suffers.
It’s my hope that Annie and Lexie’s situation can raise at least some awareness of the issues around addiction, but also, awareness of what happens to mothers and to children when we deem the symptom of an illness—substance abuse—a criminal offense.
In a compassionate society, there has to be a better way.
Kelly Rimmer