Zibby Mag

By Judy L. Mandel

I was watching the Women’s March on January 21, 2017, pouring a glass of wine and cooking dinner when my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t recognize, but I answered because it was from Louisville, Kentucky—where my niece lived. Cheryl was always on my mind. She had been out of prison for about a year when I learned she was homeless again. When the caller identified himself as a doctor in the emergency room at University of Louisville Hospital, asking if I was Cheryl’s aunt, I stopped chopping carrots and leaned on the counter. I mouthed to my husband “Cheryl.”

Within an hour, Cheryl had died of an overdose.

What does a writer do with this kind of tragedy? I was paralyzed in my writing for months. I only had questions. Why did my sweet, loving, and funny niece, who always had a book in her hands, suffer with substance use disorder (SUD)? Why couldn’t she stop, even though I knew in my heart she wanted to? And what could I have done to save her?

First, I wrote about receiving the call. The memory of it was visceral, and I cried while writing the two-page piece. When I began collecting what I like to call evidence—letters, texts messages, the medical report—I realized that I would be writing a book.

Collecting this kind of evidence—like a reporter, which I once was, or a detective, which I fantasize I am—is how I started working on the memoir. The evidence was about myself and my family, and I thought I knew all of it. Then I lifted a corner hidden in the shadows to find it was a completely different shape than I remember. Was that really what my mother said? What my father did? How I perceived my relationship with my sister? How I felt at the time?

I actually fought with the facts and double-checked, talking to people who were there if possible. Even if they were dead, I talked to them. Especially if they were dead, I talked to them. But I didn’t tell anyone about these things because they might have been compiling evidence that I was going crazy in my little office. (Which I was.)

What does a writer do with this kind of tragedy? I was paralyzed in my writing for many months; I only had questions.

I relied on a great deal of research to understand the tentacles of substance use disorder for what eventually became White Flag. How does the brain change from years of drug use? How does trauma play a part? I struggled to put together the puzzle pieces, all the while feeling the weight of Cheryl’s destiny in the balance. At times I felt overwhelmed by the grief of reliving the episodes of her life that contributed to her struggles.

Writing White Flag was the most grueling three years of writing I have ever known. The “evidence” I collected was heartbreaking. At times it was all too much and I had to take a break. I put the manuscript aside for weeks to catch my breath.

People have asked if writing the memoir was cathartic, and I guess it was. But I mostly wanted to tell Cheryl’s story so that readers could better understand loved ones who might be suffering from similar disorders, and find them help when they are ready. More than assuaging my own guilt and grief over her death, that purpose kept me writing this book. I suspect the grief and guilt will stay with me forever.

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Judy L. Mandel, a former reporter and marketing executive, holds an MFA in creative writing from Stony Brook University. Her essays, articles, and short stories have appeared on Kveller.com, 34th Parallel, The Tishman Review, Connecticut LIFE, ASJA Monthly, Complete Wellbeing Magazine, Connecticut Authors and Publishers Magazine, The Southampton Review, American Writers Review, and other publications. Her first book was the New York Times bestseller, Replacement Child. She is co-founder of the Replacement Child Forum. A portion of this book’s proceeds will be donated to Magnolia New Beginnings, Inc., an organization that advocates for those living with substance use disorder (SUD), their families and loved ones.