I’m a South Dakota girl, born and raised. I thrive on sunshine, adore animals and crave travel. I feel most at peace in nature (as long as I can feel the sun on my face). I think I may be solar powered. I now proudly proclaim myself to being a country music fan. My calling in life is mental health advocacy. I can’t imagine dedicating myself to anything else. I’m deeply grateful for my loving husband, supportive parents, three wonderful children and now three amazing grandsons. I have the best group of friends you could ever ask for. Together, all of these connections make me who I am. Yet when my story comes to an end, I hope “mom” is the first word etched in stone. Before daughter, before sister, before wife, before grandma and before friend. Because no title has held more weight, gave me more life or shaped my soul the way it did.
Grief Untamed
Until May 24, 2025, I believed I understood grief. I had mourned my grandparents after their long, fulfilling lives. I had said goodbye to a favorite uncle and a few friends who left this world far too early. Just 33 days before this heartbreaking day, I sat beside my husband and his family as Jeff’s mom was called home to heaven. I had studied the courses, understood the stages of grief and guided others through their loss and sorrow. But nothing could have prepared me for the phone call I received while on vacation in Las Vegas on a bright, sunny Saturday morning that was also my twin daughters’ 30th birthday. My son, Trevor was gone. Now I find myself navigating the complex twists and turns of grief made even more difficult by the pain of losing him through marijuana laced with fentanyl unbeknownst to him.
By opening up about Trevor’s struggles and our experiences, I hope to create a space for understanding, healing, and connection. I titled my blog “If Love Was Enough” because sometimes love alone cannot solve all of life’s challenges. If it were, he would live a hundred lifetimes
Three Months
Tomorrow marks three months since Trevor drew his last breath – all because someone, somewhere, thought lacing marijuana with Fentanyl was a clever way to boost sales. The same weekend Trevor died, there were four people in the Sioux Falls area who also lost their lives to Fentanyl poisoning. Whether there’s a direct link between these cases, we may never know. Does the person who sold Trevor that deadly product know what they were involved in? I don’t think it was intentional but wanting to create that “higher high” so people will keep coming to you for the “good stuff” cost him his life. Do they even care? Was being involved with people losing their lives enough to make them think twice about their current career choice? I don’t have these answers, and perhaps I never will. But I hope they are anxious. I hope they realize I won’t forget what they took from our family. I will keep asking questions and pushing for action and the truth for as long as I live.
I wish I could say the police and narcotic detectives have been supportive and seeking answers but I don’t think that is true. There was no sign that Trevor knew he was using Fentanyl. Not on his body, at the scene or in his communications. The detective suggested maybe it was “a one off” and maybe he tried it just one time. I will never believe this to be true. We talked about the dangers of this many times. He was looking forward to so many things. He had a job he liked. We just bought our flight, hotel and NFL tickets for the home opener of the Pittsburgh Steelers. He was talking about what to get his nephew for his first birthday. He had plans and he was in a good place, though that was not always the case. There were times his depression and anxiety would overwhelm him, leaving him feeling hopeless and feeling he had no worth. Trevor battled depression and anxiety for most of his life. Once he was living on his own and old enough to drink, he began the common practice of self-medicating. His drinking habits soon became alarming – not because he drank every day, but because he engaged in dangerous binge drinking that nearly claimed his life more than once. My attempts to step in and help created significant tension between us. Trevor saw my concern as an attack on his freedom, and he clung to alcohol as his escape – a way to feel numb and many times, as a way to “fit in”. There were moments when I feared this conflict would drive us apart for good, but all I wanted is for my boy to survive, to thrive.
For years , alcohol was a significant problem until he replaced it with another addiction. He quit drinking completely and began using marijuana instead. Jeff and I fought that battle but eventually we noticed genuine improvements. His physical health and moods were better, he stayed out of the ICU teetering on death by alcohol poisoning. He became a vocal advocate for the legalization of marijuana in South Dakota. It has failed twice on the ballot. We looked at getting him a medical card for legal use but in South Dakota, the only mental health diagnosis that is recognized as a qualifying condition is PTSD. Along the way, we began to come to terms with the fact that he would continue to use it. This meant needing to purchase it off the black market (aka illegally) instead of a dispensary where it was regulated. Although I did not agree with it, I convinced myself that marijuana was a safer choice than alcohol. After all, alcohol is deadly. Over 178,000 Americans die from alcohol related deaths annually. I told myself that people don’t die from using marijuana. I don’t believe that anymore because my son is gone and our lives will never be the same again.
If Love Was Enough 