In Memory of Julie, or What is Addiction Really About?

Some of you have read my past posts about how my two very best friends in life were both adopted as newborns by the same family five months apart from each other. Julie and Terri were my childhood bosom buddies. Their parents were my spiritual parents, the adults who gave me unconditional love and acceptance. Mr. and Mrs. Mac were those type of people, the ones' who seem to attract every troubled child in the neighborhood. I was always welcome in their home, not only as a kid but as an adult. I was invited to every holiday dinner until we finally lost them both to old age.Julie was always the "good adoptee", the one who didn't cause waves. She was the ideal "California Girl", at 6-feet tall with long blonde hair down to her waist, she was incredibly intelligent. I remember her telling me all about what an economic recession meant when we were only 16 years old. When she laughed, it was infectious. I would give my eye teeth to hear that laugh just one more time. For those of you from San Diego, you'll know what I mean when I say we were the kids you see hanging out at the boardwalk. Pacific Beach was our stomping grounds. And if you ever saw Julie in the late 1960's or early 1970's, you would remember her. She had the world in her palms.When we were 18 years old, Julie became addicted to heroin. Please believe me, this was not some character defect. It was Julie who taught me, I think, the nature of addiction, how it is truly a disease. Many of us from Southern California experimented with heavy drugs in the early '70s. No one likes to talk about it now, or even admit it. Most of us didn't become hooked. Julie did....I saw it happen, and I didn't know what to do. I tried the same drugs she did at the same time, but I didn't have a need to continue using them. They were fun, they were an escape, but that's all they were to me. At the same time, I saw my very best friend become enslaved to them. My dear, sweet Julie, the girl who had the world by the tail, what happened? This amazing young woman who had more compassion than anyone else I've ever met in life, this woman who loved children more than life itself, this "good adoptee".My Julie was able to get clean from heroin for a period of seven years. It was an answer to prayer, many prayers from many people. We all loved her, even though she told me once never to trust her, that her addiction would always come first. She cleaned up for seven years, and then one day, just like that, it was gone. This may sound weird to some, but one day Julie was cleaning her refrigerator with some type of disinfectant, and as she told me later, she just had to get some heroin. Her husband was in the Navy and was in some faraway land. It was irrational, it was foolish, it was self-destructive...and she had absolutely no choice...she had to have it, right then and right there. After 7 years...My relationship with Julie through our adult years was a bit odd. I have always loved her as a sister, but I couldn't keep our friendship in the way it had been as kids. While she was shooting up, I was attending an out-of-state university as a premed student. And I felt incredibly guilty. It was Julie who got me through the relinquishment of my baby son. It was Julie who spent that first night of his birth in the hospital with me, trying to talk sense into me. Although I have absolutely no memory of it, I'm told that I refused to go thru with the adoption the night after DS was born. They tell me that Julie spent at least 4 or 5 hours in my hospital room telling me why I needed to give him up so he could have a better life. I don't remember it at all. All I know is that all the months that I planned on keeping my baby, the plan was for Julie to be his godmother.The years went on...her dad died, and then it was just Julie taking care of her mom. Terri, her adopted sister, was the "angry adoptee", who was probably the most responsible one of us all. I only saw Julie at holiday dinners and special occasions. When Julie got strung out, Terri filled her shoes as my best friend. I saw heroin addiction up close, as close as you can get. If there is one thing that I can emphasize is this: it has nothing to do with choices, it has nothing to do with vices, it has nothing to do with willpower. It is a disease, my friends....Julie lived long enough to see me reunite with my son, her godson. And then one day, Terri called me to tell me that Julie was dying in a hospital. I dropped everything I was doing and immediately went to the hospital. I was alone with Julie that day of her death, a death caused by flesh-eating bacteria (necrotizing fasciitis). The surgeons in Chula Vista rushed her to surgery a couple times. They then asked me for permission to amputate her arms, and her mom was persuaded to come in. I talked to Mrs. Mac for a long time, and we finally told the docs to let Julie go. She died a few minutes later in my arms...and I heard her voice as clear as if she was standing next to me. She said, "Tell Mom I'm fine and that I love her."The one thing I've never been able to talk to anyone about and that I feel so guilty about is this. Julie called me several days before she died, asking me to contact her birthmother. She told me her name, and I was able to track her bmom down in several hours. But I made a judgment call that I don't know if I even had the right to make. I didn't know Julie was going to die several days later, I only knew that she was a lifelong junkie. I knew she was pretty desperate, and I feared that she just wanted to contact her bmom for money. So I didn't tell Julie that I found her bmom. I never told anybody that I found her bmom.About 11 years have passed since Julie died. I miss her every day...I miss her humor, her laugh, the way her hair shone in the Southern California sunshine...I miss her love and compassion and integrity. Sometimes I wonder if I should contact her birthmother. And this is where I'm so conflicted. I know that her bmom lives in Sacramento, about 90 minutes from where I live. I have her address and her phone number. But should I contact her at all?Would it be best for a birthmother to know that her baby daughter, who she relinquished for a better life, grew up to be a heroin addict and prostitute? That she died an unpleasant, painful death? That she was this incredible person with so much potential who got caught up in a horrible addiction? That she always knew her birthmom made an enormous sacrifice in order for her to have a better life? That she loved so many people and was loved by so many people...that she was the most spiritual person I've ever known? I just can't figure it out....