Tucson Opinion: My son died not from COVID, but because of it

On May 26, 2020, I stood sobbing in my son’s Glendale, California, apartment among the objects of his unfinished life. The lack of his physical presence surrounded me in sorrow. He’d died five days earlier on May 21, not from COVID-19 but because of it.

Zac told me that he was bisexual a year before he married his transgender husband. He suffered from depression and anxiety. He had coping skills. He met with friends. He went to Disneyland often. He saw the latest movie.

When Los Angeles went into COVID lockdown early last year, he lost all of those coping skills. He also had an alcohol use disorder, which eventually robbed him of coherent thought and killed him.

I really thought he could beat it. He had a good job and he was wicked smart. So, I was definitely in denial for years. He started drinking in college, which didn’t surprise me. But, as the years rolled by, his drinking became an addiction.

The last year of his life was marked by a separation from his husband, concern over Trump’s march toward authoritarianism, and the pandemic. He read nonfiction about social justice issues voraciously. I once told him that maybe he needed a break from all the negatives. He replied that he wouldn’t look away from unpleasant subjects. He also said that Disneyland visits were his counterweight to all the ugliness of the world.

His intelligence didn’t save him. His work ethic didn’t help. He was the executive editor for AnimeNewsNetwork, an online website for Anime fans. He became well-known in the Anime world. He made it a point to hire those whose voices were missing from that world — women, ethnic minorities and LGBTQ people. He worked from home, so he basically worked more than eight hours a day. The depression and anxiety didn’t help. We commiserated about the depression and anxiety. I suffer from both too.

I hate to admit this, but his disorder wore me out. I repeatedly told him that his addiction wasn’t a moral failing but a disease. He didn’t believe me. He believed what society told him about alcoholism and blamed himself. We have a great record when it comes to throwing people with addictive disorders in jail but a poor one for treatment.

His sister, Erin, and I tried to help him long-distance the week before he died. I called a chapter of AA where he lived. I was told that he had to reach out to them before they could help. Erin called a NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) chapter in Glendale for help. She was told the same thing. What??!! How does that make any sense? I didn’t want to call the police because they have a poor track record when it comes to welfare checks.

Erin finally reached out to his estranged husband and asked him to go check. She knew this was not an ideal solution, but we were desperate. When his husband went into Zac’s apartment, Zac was already dead. The cause of death was listed as cirrhosis and congestive heart failure.

The causes of death have left me with so many unanswered questions. Did he know what he was doing? Did he feel so lost without his coping skills, that he just couldn’t stop? All the love, all the positive reinforcement, all the suggestions to find a support group were for naught. He died alone and in terrible pain.

How many more people who, like my son, suffered should we add to pandemic toll? In the final accounting, I think the toll will be more painful than it is now.

I have Zac’s eyeglasses. I have his house keys and his wallet. I have bits and pieces of his work and home life.

But, I don’t have my son.