When I answered the phone, I could hear his wife screaming. The line went silent for a moment before a family friend spoke in her most formal British accent: “I regret to inform you that Ian has passed…”
Five miles away from my son’s home, I had spent the early morning at work, taking Teams meetings and crafting emails. Meanwhile, while working on a resume, Ian silently died within seconds at his desk from fentanyl poisoning.
As I sat numb at our dining room table, my husband drove to Ian’s apartment. Yuki, my son’s Siberian husky, was howling on the deck after being removed by police from guarding Ian’s body.
It is not an unfamiliar scene to police and EMS personnel dealing with the fentanyl epidemic. It is now the No.1 cause of death of Americans between 18 and 49, according to a recent Washington Post analysis. According to provisional 2022 data, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reports that more than 108,000 people died from drug overdoses in the United States, with more than 74,000 of those deaths involving synthetic opioids that include fentanyl.
Ian, who died on March 20, 2023, is now part of those statistics.
As this surge of young adults suddenly die, they are leaving behind their pets. More than 61 million American households own dogs, another 46 million own cats.
Many of the young men who perish in the epidemic are at the apex of physical strength. Often, they pick dogs that match their vibe: working dogs, large dogs, guard dogs. When they die, their grieving older parents scramble to take these animals on – trying to salvage in some cases the last living link to their child.
I was no different. We had known Yuki since she was a puppy. She was familiar with our family, dogs and routines. The reunion was a joyful break in a wasteland of grief. When you’ve lost everything, you claw for that joy.
But grieving is not just emotions. The world does not stop, and dogs still need to be fed.
We already had two other dogs – a rescue Siberian husky and a Great Dane puppy. The household, despite the pall of death, worked smoothly for about two months. Yuki, with her morning prance, was often the reason I got out of bed.
Then Yuki turned aggressive. Suddenly, we had a beast who was lunging on walks toward other dogs and snarling at her pack mates at home. Yuki was the only child at my son’s home, nicknamed on the Wi-Fi as the “Yuki Play Palace.”
With us, she decided she had had enough of sibling status.
After a long night, a fight between Yuki and the Great Dane broke out – with me in the middle, trying to separate a 75-pound adult husky and a 110-pound puppy. As I tried pulling them apart, blood began to stain both dogs’ fur. I screamed for help. My 6-foot husband arrived, and we managed to separate them.
The blood was mine. They had not seriously injured each other, but I suffered one finger deeply cut and the other, broken.
Fearing for the safety of my dogs, I gave my own husky to my daughter. I lined up a top-notch aggression trainer, obsessively watched YouTube videos, and turned our house into a maximum-security prison of gates and crates.
Well-intentioned people started mentioning shelters, rescues, and even compassionate euthanasia. Online, one mother urged me to give Yuki away to anyone who would take her – “to avoid the inevitable heartache of all of this failing.” Other mothers clapped back, saying that was a terrible solution.
My experienced dog trainer sternly told me that Yuki was a Lamborghini that I didn’t know how to drive – especially with my bum right knee and half-hour walks. With Yuki licking my ear, I often cried in the car after our sessions.
Then, five months after Ian’s death, I faced down my 60th birthday.
To lift my spirits, I shared a photo of Ian with Yuki with my private online mothers’ grief group, 20,000 strong. I made a request: Show me your son and his dog.
Credit: Courtesy of Diane Lore
Credit: Courtesy of Diane Lore
Within minutes, hundreds answered the call: An outdoorsman carrying his 150-pound mastiff – like a big baby – across a raging river, a young father and his pit bull wearing matching Santa hats, teenagers with tattoo-covered biceps, gently cradling their chihuahuas; hunters with their arms flung around retrievers; soldiers and their German Shepherds in joyful reunion, and many sons, of all ages, in front of animal shelters grinning with their newest fur baby. In each, our lost sons showed their authentic selves – no fake smiles, no tough guy personas – just happy boys with their dogs.
I learned I was not alone. Many parents were told to give up, voluntarily release or rehome, or put down these animals. Many mothers decided they would not.
A nationally recognized dog expert laughed when I told him this during an expensive hour-long phone session. Working with thousands of dogs, he gave me three options: rehome Yuki (difficult), rehome the Great Dane puppy (much easier to place), or commit to a new rocky life and see where the journey goes.
I committed. I started taking my local trainer’s advice. Less petting and endless treats, more discipline and leadership. Ian’s dog treadmill was fired up again for Yuki; and Ian’s brother and sister helped me with non-stop dog walks.
Slowly, progress came. Yuki is so well-behaved; strangers now rave about her on walks. All dogs wait patiently at the open front door. Yuki and the Great Dane can play together, supervised. It’s taken hundreds of hours and everyone’s devotion to Yuki – and Ian. I can’t call it success yet, but I believe Ian would be proud of me and his sassy “little monster.”
Now, Yuki and I are moving toward the one-year anniversary without my son. The sky is again a brilliant spring blue, just like the day he died. Daily, we have a morning routine: a trip to our local Starbucks. My cup is marked “Yuki” – and she and the baristas now howl together in a joyful cacophony as soon as we approach the drive-thru.
Among the ruins, there is love again – between a mother and a dog, surviving a fentanyl epidemic.
Diane Lore is a senior communications consultant for ICF International, Inc, and a former journalist. She’s the mother of three wonderful humans, one husky and one Great Dane, and the grandmother of beloved Yuki and a pigeon named Edgar.
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