I was working as a community addictions counsellor in 2006 when my 31-year-old son, Delbert Davis Lambert, lost his 15-year struggle with addictions.
Although I had done my best to help him, and to line him up with other supports and resources, including our traditional Indigenous healers, he could not manage to heal from the trauma he’d experienced in his childhood — the trauma that was the root cause of his addiction.
He left behind three beautiful children who are still puzzled by the gaping void his passing left — where does one find answers to the whys that come out of the mouths of babies? It still hits me so hard; it was such a senseless loss.
My son was the victim of sexual abuse when he was five years old. He was such a loving little boy, full of potential, but the abuse broke his spirit. He shared with me that when he sought treatment for his addictions, and attempted to work through what had happened to him as a little boy, he just could not break free from feelings of shame and trauma.
Substance abuse was how he coped; it was a mechanism to protect his broken heart and give some relief to his wounded spirit.
Sadly, my son’s story is not uncommon. Trauma is the root cause of many people’s substance use, yet the shame and humiliation they feel is compounded by the shame they and others place on the addiction that has become their coping mechanism.
When I speak now about my son’s addiction, I refer to it as a “wall of protection” — protection from the feelings of pain, shame and trauma. Many Indigenous people who are addicted to substances are doing the same thing and need to be supported in a loving and open-minded way.
Dr. Gabor Maté, who specializes in trauma-informed care, says that a large portion of the addicted people living in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside are victims of trauma.
As a former addictions counsellor myself, I believe that approaching addictions with a harm-reduction approach is the better way of addressing the issue. When I shifted the focus from abstinence to harm reduction, my clients came to me with greater trust and greater honesty.
With the current fentanyl crisis, we’ve lost so many of our Indigenous people. The First Nations Health Authority says that we are over-represented in this public-health emergency, as is evident in figures released on Thursday, and that we need to understand and learn about the causes of problematic substance use and addiction for First Nations and Aboriginal peoples, including the trauma from historic and ongoing colonial policies and discrimination — and to practise cultural humility in a collective response in partnership with First Nations and Aboriginal peoples.
My late son was more than his addiction — he was love and light, laughter and loyalty, and he was carefree and humble. He loved his children. He loved me. He loved his brothers, and in spite of the broken path he was on, I really do believe he loved life. He believed in our way of life and our teachings.
Sadly, he just got lost. He was not the addict, or the crackhead; he was not the anger or the pain or the broken dreams. Those were just symptoms of the trauma he endured and could not reconcile.
I have come to accept the bittersweet memories and can share a story or two about him and laugh or smile about it. I know he walks with me in spirit, but at times I am pained by the senselessness of it. I wonder what he’d be today, what he’d be like outside of addiction. I think it will always be like that, and I’m OK with that. I am so grateful for him, that I got to love such a beautiful person.
I believe that my son left gifts in the form of teachings behind, not just for me but for anyone dealing with loved ones who are struggling with addictions. Throughout his journey, his downfall and his eventual death, he left us a profound message: “Please don’t judge us or shame us. Hold us up in an unconditional and caring way; give us love and hope.”
I am one of many with stories of loss. I hope my story will be helpful to others who have experienced such pain.
An important step in rising out of this crisis is opening up and sharing our stories with each other, no matter where we come from, no matter who we are. Our fallen warriors need us to be honest and truthful, so that we can help those who are still fighting.
Bev Lambert is a Cree from Saulteau First Nations in Moberly Lake. She is the elected representative on the First Nations Health Council for northeastern B.C.; selected by the chiefs of the Treaty 8 Tribal area. She has about 26 years’ experience working in community-based programming in several of the First Nations communities in northeastern B.C.
