We will never master grief. A Charlotte mother shows us how to bear it.
Cody Mogensen overdosed on fentanyl-laced heroin one Sunday morning in the spring of 2021 in the bathroom of his mother’s home in Charlotte. He was 32. Moments before, he had been talking with his mom over a cup of coffee about helping put down mulch in the backyard.
Mogensen graduated from community college, worked for a time as a chef, doted on his Golden Retriever, Maggie, and laughed so hard at the dinner table when he was a kid that ramen noodles came out of his nose. None of life’s sweet offerings, though, were a match for fentanyl. He wasn’t alone. Of the 107,543 drug overdose deaths in the United States in 2023, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that 74,702 involved fentanyl and other synthetic opioids.
In the first year after losing her son, Lori Hawes couldn’t find her way through the darkness. She felt like she was dying. She had to do something. That’s when she found the calling that helps her live with the grief she knows will never go away.
Each May around the date of her son’s death, she visits the cemetery in Asheville. One year she left a wind chime by his monument, another year a bottle of his favorite soft drink, Dr. Pepper. Just as important to her on that day, she hands out “Blessing Bags” to the homeless, 41 this year, each filled with toiletries, snacks and other necessities. Mogensen was homeless twice during his journey, in addition to stints in rehab and jail.
Each spring, she sells more rubber ducks than just about anyone to support the KinderMourn “Hope Floats” duck race. This year her team sold 320 and raised $2,150 to help the nonprofit provide comfort and counseling to the bereaved. Hawes, 61, belongs to a KinderMourn support group with other parents who have lost children.
Mogensen appreciated Charlotte Rescue Mission even though he was kicked out twice for breaking the rules. After he died, Hawes launched Cody’s Crew to encourage the men as they try to recover from addiction. The 42 volunteers wear Cody’s Crew T-shirts. The meals, therapy coloring table, Bingo Night and other activities remind the men they are not forgotten. Hawes sometimes cries when she’s there, but it’s a good cry. It’s too late for Mogensen. Maybe it’s not too late for someone else.
This is how Hawes keeps from feeling like she is dying. In Mogensen’s memory, she helps others who have been down the road that led her son to an early grave. She has a life beyond all this. Her daughter, Nikki, just turned 31. Hawes teaches fourth grade at Bradford Preparatory School. She has lots of friends. Now she has a mission. (Her former husband, Rich Mogensen, also found an outlet for his sorrow. He wrote and self-published a book, “Cody’s Story – A Son’s Death, A Father’s Battle Against Opioids.”).
A final story…
Actor Billy Bob Thornton reflected on a YouTube video about the loss of his younger brother, Jimmy, years ago to an undiagnosed heart problem. It’s worth watching for it is 2½ minutes of heartbreak, comfort and truth. Thornton says his life today is 50 percent happy and 50 percent sad. That’s OK, he explains, because living the rest of his days with melancholy is how he honors his brother.
We will never master grief. It’s too devious. It changes shape from one heart to the next. While Hawes hands out stuff to the homeless, prepares lunch for recovering addicts and sells rubber ducks, the next broken soul lies under the covers in the middle of the day and weeps.
May God bless them all with a way to live.
If you or someone you know is facing an emergency, call 911. Freelance writer/editor Ken Garfield helps families prepare obituaries. Reach him at garfieldken3129@gmail.com .
