Natali Giana - Even if your heart would listen: losing my daughter to heroin

Even If
Your Heart
Would Listen

Copyright 2019 Elise Schiller

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Published by SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint, A division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC Tempe, Arizona, USA, 85281 www.gosparkpress.com

Published 2019

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-68463-008-0 pbk

ISBN: 978-1-68463-009-7 ebk

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019933538

Book design by Stacey Aaronson

All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

Names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of certain individuals.

For Giana

Giana, high school graduation, 1998

Y our First Day: January 21, 1980.

Your due date was Super Bowl Sunday. I dont remember who was playing. I do remember sitting on the sofa with Dad, not very interested in the game, waiting. Waiting for you. You know, back then we didnt have ultrasound photos. We didnt have the tests that reveal abnormalities or gender. I wonder now if there was a little nugget inside you, something that would burst into heartache later. I didnt know whom I was waiting for.

I cant remember what the other kids were doing, but Im sure I was up and down from that sofa numerous times. I remember how enormous I was, and how low I was carrying you. I had gained over forty pounds and wasnt very comfortable. One of Dads friends stopped by with some cute young girl he was dating. I just remember she was thin, and I was not happy to see her.

At three in the morning, I woke with mild contractions. We timed them and called the hospital, and they said to get in there. But it was the middle of the night, and I didnt want to leave the other kids alone. Around six, we called Dads parents, and they said theyd come by eight. Then the contractions were stronger, and we decided that wed better go. So we woke your brother up and told him to hold down the fort until Nannie and Pop-Pop got there. I put out cereal and milk. Dad finally remembered a camera, and the first picture is of me pacing while Im talking to your siblings on the phone. Not pacing far, because I was speaking from a landline.

I remember absolutely nothing about the labor and delivery except that I was vomiting, as usual, and didnt feel the need for any anesthesia. Dad took pictures, which I have seen, of course, but have not looked at since you died. Cant look at them, dont know if Ill ever be able to look at them.

And then by noon, there you were, completely well and beautiful, with a shock of black hair that stood up like a porcupines quills. I think Dad was a bit surprised by another girl. I was happy and felt great. An hour or so after you were born, I was taking a shower. You were cozy in a bassinet by my bed, a real sleepyhead. I had to wake you up to nurse.

I wanted to get home. I didnt want to be separated from the other kids. Maybe that was a sign, a bad sign. Maybe I should have been content to have a few days just with you.

Your Last Day: January 3, 2014.

It was already January 4 in Philadelphia, not that long after midnight. That Christmas, I had put a cathedral bells ringtone on my phone. It blasted me awake. As soon as I saw a Colorado number I didnt recognize, I was afraid.

It was The Rose House therapist. There must have been a greeting, but I dont recall it. Giana died tonight. That was what he said.

I replied, loudly I think, What are you saying?

Giana died tonight, he repeated.

I was not fully able to comprehend. Auntie Dina was in the next bedroom, sleeping. I rushed in and shoved the phone at her. He says Gianas dead, he says Gianas dead. I have no memory of the minutes that she spoke to him, only a vague recollection of her writing things down. I think I was standing in the middle of the bedroom, rocking from side to side.

We had been warned. I knew, at least intellectually, that there was a risk. There had been endless talk and worksheets in rehab about relapse. Your psychiatrist once told you while I was there that the average life of a heroin user is five years from the start of regular use. But I never really thought that you would die, or maybe I couldnt think it. Everything else seemed possiblethat you would remain sick, that you would never be able to have a relationship that actually sustained you, that you would lose the career you loved, that you would be sad for the rest of your life. But die? No. Does any parent accept a childs death before the fact, and even then... ?

I remember very little about that night or the day after. I called Dad. He was in Florida with his girlfriend and said he was going to start driving right then, in the middle of the night. I called your sister in Colorado who had spent the day with you, that very day. She kept telling me no, it wasnt right, wasnt possible. I said I would get on a plane and go to Colorado, but she said no. I tried to call the other kids, but I dont think I got through right away. I cant remember. My friend James came. I wanted us all to lie down together, with Jade, your dog. Somehow sitting up was impossible. But I kept getting up and going into the bathroom because I was vomiting. I didnt sleep at all.

The next day, your aunts and uncles and a few friends were here. There was a lot of food, but I dont think I ate any. My mouth was dry from the rush of anxiety and adrenaline, and I kept gulping water. Dina answered my phone; people had started to call, but I couldnt talk to them. I dont think I cried a lot, but I might be wrong. Celeste and your brother came, like lost sheep. I remember your sister-in-law lurching into my arms, sobbing, and I was crying immediately, as if she had given me permission to let go. I remember seeing Dad through the high windows of the door. As soon as he saw me, he broke down, saying that he had been determined not to.

I stared at the tennis on the TV, stuck to Jamess side. My brother gave me medication, and sometime that night I went to sleep.

Giana and her father at the beach, age 2 photo credit: Harvey Finkle

T here are times we remember through a sheen of perfection. Gianas toddler years were such a time. The house was boisterous, noisy, busy, and harmonious. There were seven of us: the four kids; their dad, Lou; myself; and Lous brother, Uncle D, who lived with us off and on for years. The older kids, Celeste and Greg, were not mine by birth, but they were mine in the heart. They lived with us, even before they started school, and no distinction was ever made, to this day, between my biological and nonbiological kids.

We were all very close to Uncle D. He was the funny, slightly naughty uncle who had lifelong ammunition to make fun of Lou in a way that delighted the kids. Occasionally women turned up in his room, but they never stayed. During that time we had what must have been a VHS of the movie Mary Poppins, starring Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews, with David Tomlinson and Glynis Johns as Mr. and Mrs. Banks. As toddlers often do, Giana wanted to see the movie again and again, and most of the time she wanted to watch it with Uncle D. Soon the two of them began to march around the house, quoting lines from the movie. The older kids would ask something that they knew would provoke Giana to repeat a line, and then theyd howl with laughter.