Paul’s Zen: Words from his mom, post 1

We didn’t cause it,

We couldn’t control it,

And We couldn’t cure it.

But we lived, loved and laughed through it.

I promised everyone I would share our family’s journey with addiction. I will. But there’s so much that it would be ridiculous to try to put it in one writing and you will see several. It’s very difficult not to cross boundaries when talking about Paul’s experience with addiction. I want to respect the privacy of other people connected. Some of it is so personal and affects a lot of people that have their own personal perspective to share. I only know my part, and over the last several years, my perspective and opinions have evolved. It’s been a lot of work, a lot of pain and a lot of incredible beauty along the way. What I will say now and will repeat as much as I can, is that if there is anything that resonates with something that I share or from Paul’s writings or music and you want to hear more, I will sit with anyone anytime and share. However, opinions that are uneducated and based in bias are not welcome here. If your goal is to simply hear yourself talk and intentions are cruel, I won’t argue with you…but if I did, the one thing my son got from me is a wicked tongue when we are standing up for what we believe in. So. We won’t go there. You get my perspective and if you want to have a give and take conversation or need to know something because it’s going on in your family or your life, I’m here.

Paul Louis Napholz died December 23, 2019. Cause of death:  Fetanyl overdose. Our family’s journey into opiate addiction started November 2010. Despite the illness that ultimately took his life in the end, the life he lived while he was here left us with 27 years of amazing memories, music, writings, and two beautiful daughters. In the 9 years we were in the battle with opiate addiction, fighting alongside him, we had many blessings and long seasons of recovery. But those last 3 years. Wow. What a gift to our family.

Paul was clean and free of his opiate addiction for 3 years and a day. He relapsed on a Thursday and he died the following Monday. We were as blindsided by his death as we were of the entrance to opiate addiction. Tom and I have spent hours and a lot of tears trying to see where we went wrong, what we didn’t do, and what could’ve saved him. Just yesterday, Tom said to me that although we both know we will never let ourselves off the hook for mistakes along the way, we also know that in every moment of every unthinkable decision and situation we were in, we always showed up and we never gave up. Our family miraculously stayed together and shared beautiful memories-even when life was so far from where we wanted it to be. In Tom’s words, “we emptied the holster with every bullet we had” and we never gave up.

I’ll bet you are all wondering why the first writing I posted of Paul’s was “Squat House”. To me, it’s the essence of so much that people don’t understand (you know, why there would be a war going on for squatter’s rights in New Mexico). To hear Paul continually speak with gratitude for the smallest things in his life screams the message he learned while he was here on earth. The other thing I posted that day was his song, “Phase One”. Same reason. He knew his scars were helping him to understand some important things and the reason he was here on earth. I hope you listen to it again if you read this. And read the lyrics I posted on his writings.

“Zen”, hits me in the heart. It really does. The pain is beautiful in a way that I can’t explain. Zen tells me what I know Paul understood and it’s something most of us don’t understand. Paul had a counselor from the time he was in 6^th grade up to about 3 months before he died. He would connect with him when he needed to sit with someone and feel understood-and know his opinions were valued. Paul knew he needed to talk to people and stay out of his head. I truly feel that this beautiful man was one of the special lighthouses that my son encountered on his journey here. His counselor is now 81 and someone I sit with regularly for the same reason. When Paul died, I called to give him the news. He just kept saying “No!” and we sat together on the phone and tried to process what we both didn’t want to know was true. He wrote this card to my family: “ A memory I have is sitting with Paul as he described his struggle for a day of abstinence. I listened intently, felt I was there in the room hearing the dominos fall toward the inevitable. His words were soulful. We connected. I love you and I will miss you forever, Paul. Your integrity went well beyond what lets you sleep well at night. I’m not even sure that I can define what that means, but you had it-that unique combination of honesty, and kindness and strength, along with a certainty about yourself. And I know that this integrity was based on your own beliefs, beliefs your family helped you develop and not just on a set of rules other people laid out. The qualities that are Paul are imbedded in all of you and then will be passed along to the generations that follow: to his and your children, and their children’s children and so on until the end of time. In that way, the beauty and uniqueness of Paul Napholz will be preserved. Goodbye Paul.”

So, when I listen to Zen, and I know that I would’ve fought God himself for more time with my son, this song reminds me that living in regret changes the story.  I hope you take the time to listen in the music section of this blog.

Lyrics:

Zen by Jeff From Upstairs (Paul Napholz)

If a moment is nothing more than a space on a line

Inside of this ride we call time

Then therefore living in regret is not allowing a moment to exist as what was meant to be

And so, if living in regret is not allowing a moment to exist as it was supposed to be

How can I expect in the spirit in which I dwell to exist as it was meant to be

Oh, this sounds like a wonderful set of words

But when I close my eyes to go to sleep,

I want to save the world

But I can’t even save myself

And then I met her

She was answer to my prayers

She was there for me when nobody seemed to care

I gave her everything

And she still wanted more

When I couldn’t give it to her,

She left me sick on the floor

And then she said, would you die for me

I said that’s where I draw the line

And then she smiled at me and I knew it was only a matter of time

I had to decide to leave that bitch behind

Though she still calls me all of the time

She’s got me hypnotized

But now it’s still getting late and I still can’t sleep

But when I close my eyes is when memories start to creep

Oh what I’ve loved and lost

Left me black and blue

Along with a string of broken dreams that’ll never come true

If a moment is nothing more than a space on a line

Inside of this ride we call time

Then therefore living in regret is not allowing a moment to exist as what was meant to be

And so if living in regret is not allowing a moment to exist as it was supposed to be

How can I expect in the spirit in which I dwell to exist as it was meant to be

By the way, “she” is not a woman. “She” is heroin.