Three Years After Her Son Died of an Overdose, a Lummi Mother Keeps Showing Up

Evelyn Jefferson was one of the first people I spoke with about the overdose crisis in Indian Country. A member of the Lummi Nation, Jefferson is a crisis worker, meaning she spends her days responding to overdoses to administer naloxone, making contact with tribal members who are living in homeless encampments in the nearby city of Bellingham, Wash., and making sure they have food, water, and transportation to doctors’ appointments.

I already knew the numbers; I knew that Native people were overdosing at rates much higher than the rest of the country. Jefferson was the first person who told me what it’s like on the ground. She told me about caring for people’s open wounds caused by drug use, seeing the faces of people she grew up with in the encampments, and witnessing the omnipresence of death after waves of deadly fentanyl swept through the reservation. She helped me grasp the scale and depth of loss from overdoses and the power of continuing to care for community in the darkest of times.

Three years ago, I was reporting on a string of overdoses in the Lummi community. In less than a week, four people died of overdoses, including Jefferson’s 37-year-old son, Patrick G. George Jr. I had an interview scheduled with Jefferson on Sept. 20, 2023, the day George died. Once I heard the news that she had responded to her own son’s overdose, I texted my condolences and told her we could cancel the interview. Instead, she called me and, through tears, said, “People need to know this is happening.”

I’ll never forget the anguish and strength in her voice that day.

As the third anniversary of George’s death approaches, I spoke with Jefferson about the ongoing overdose crisis, loving a child through substance use, and what she wants people to know about her son.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

Q: Tell me about your son. What was he like as a kid? Tell me about his early life.

A: He was very athletic, very cultural. He was a dancer.

He was a traditional dancer. He was very involved with powwows with his grandparents. Starting when he was 3, he was the Omek Stampede Little Brave. He won the title for a year. He started very young.

And he carried that with him. He danced until he was 35.

Q: When did he first start using substances, and what changes did you notice?

A: He got into a little trouble probably in high school, and after that he was using with friends. It was with OxyContin pills, and he may have been using with family.

Got him into treatment a few times. He went to jail a few times and got clean after he came out, but he struggled for the last 15 years of his life.

Q: What kind of changes did you notice in him when he started using?

A: Quiet. Barely came out. He stayed with my dad and my brothers when he came out of jail, and he was always in the room. He just stayed away from family and kept to himself. The most he’d come out was for spiritual events in the winter. Then he was around his dad’s side of the family to do that. That’s kind of what brought him out of his usage.

The cultural part really brought him out of his usage and kind of brought him back to being family-oriented.

Q: Why do you think those cultural pieces were what tethered him outside of his usage?

A: Because he could sing and dance. He could sing and dance at that and let his pain go. I mean, I’m not a dancer. I don’t have that spirituality in my life, but I think for him, singing and dancing and letting his hurt go was healing. It was very healing for him.

That only happens in the winter.

Q: What do you want people to know about loving your child through substance use disorder?

A: Well, it’s the substance that modifies his behavior. I mean, it’s not who he is. It’s the fentanyl, the opioids. They change the mindset, and it brings in the psychosis. That wasn’t my child.

Q: What’s challenging about it, and what gave you strength?

A: I think the challenge is that you can’t stop it. It’s anywhere. You can get it in the jails. You can get it down the street. You can get it at the casino. It’s available everywhere, and we can’t stop that. I mean, even though we have other nephews that used, and we had somebody with them the whole time, we still found them in our own house in the bathroom, gone. I mean, we can’t stop it, and we don’t know how.

I’ve had other cousins that passed. They were on hospice, but they still OD’d.

It’s like you can get it right there at the casino. It’s hard.

That was hard this year. ODing is not a natural way to die.

Q: When we spoke over the past couple of years, something you said has stuck with me. You mentioned that you brought Narcan to the house where your son was when he overdosed. Why did you do that?

A: I know people are going to go there and use, and if they have it on hand, maybe they won’t overdose. And I tell them, walk in and knock on the door and say, “Here’s some Narcan. Leave it by the door. So if you ever need it, if it’s not you, somebody else may need it.”

Q: You’ve experienced such a horrific loss from the drug crisis, but you also support people in the community who struggle with substance use. You respond to overdoses regularly. How did your experience with your son change your perspective on your job and harm reduction? How has it changed how you approach your work, if at all?

A: When I respond to an overdose, I see the pain of another mother burying her child. We bring these grief kits out. I want them to know that I know what they feel. I have been there, and I don’t know how to say it, but I know that they never gave up on their kids.

They call and ask me, “Have you seen my child out there?” And I said, “Yeah, he’s still alive. They’re doing good.”

It just seems like it’s been the last three years that people can call and ask where their missing people are. And I said, “I know where they’re at.” I visit them weekly, and I try to keep giving them updates to get back to their parents and let them know, “Oh yeah, I seen your mom, dad, and they love you, and they just wanted to make sure you’re OK.” And they said, “Pass on a hug to them.”

And after the encampment [was disbanded], a lot of people did come home. So some of the parents were saying, “Thank you for your efforts. My son’s home, and we’re sitting here having a meal. He’s looking better. He showered. His hair was all braided, and he looked amazing.”

Q: What does it feel like to be that connector between families and a family member who’s really struggling? Just you checking in on them very well could be the reason they’re sitting home with their parents.

A: I do believe that. I mean, it was a set of twins, and they were together, and their hair was both braided, and they looked like they were smiling right next to their mom, and she was just the happiest.

A few months ago, they were both in the encampment, strung out, and to see them now, I mean, that makes my job worth it.

And our new substance withdrawal place is open now, and so people have the option to go there and detox here on the reservation. That’s going to help a lot.

Q: From your perspective, you are in the community every single day, taking care of tribal members who are in a really bad spot in life. What’s your perspective on law enforcement? Do you collaborate with them? Is it helpful?

A: As part of our crisis team, when we go out with law enforcement, if there’s something that we can do to de-escalate the situation, they will call our crisis line, and we will go and meet the person where they’re at. If they’re in a psychotic state, we can bring them to crisis triage. We can bring them to detox. We do anything that we can before we bring them to jail.

They work with us. Or if we have to bring them to the hospital, we’ll sit in the hospital with them until they’re either released or moved to another facility, and then the police can go on their way and do another call.

Q: It sounds like it’s a pretty successful collaboration.

A: Yeah, and we got a mental health code so that our judge can intercede to say, yes, they have been involved with law enforcement enough. We have the authority to be a DCR. Our team has that authority now. The judge can put them into a facility if needed, and we don’t have to go through Whatcom County anymore.

It’s been three years in the making, but it’s been a lot of work with the Washington State Health Care Authority.

Q: When you think of your son now, what do you think of, and what do you want people to know about him and other Native people who are struggling with substance use?

A: When I hear people talking harshly about drug users, I was like, that wasn’t who grew up.

That isn’t who you were in school. The drug took that away from them. And we didn’t make the drug.

It’s addiction. I compare it to their gambling. Their gambling takes away their money and their food money, and it’s addiction. It’s the same as the drug. It took away from him his livelihood, his parents, his family. But it’s not what he wanted. It’s not what he would have done if he wasn’t on drugs.

He would have been doing sports. He was an excellent athlete.

Q: What sports did he play?

A: He played football. He played basketball. He was an excellent athlete, and culturally, he enjoyed being a traditional dancer. And then, as I said, in the wintertime, he would be good. He would be singing and dancing, and he would let a lot of the hurt and pain out that he was carrying. I think he would be there to help other people during the wintertime.

He was there to help all different families in the wintertime when he was in the smokehouse. He gave his time so selflessly. And then that drug — it’s just not who he was.

I think of the good times. He’d be traveling across state to watch them play in state tournaments, down into Tacoma to watch them play state football.

Every year I write down, through my thing, my encounters, and this year we’re only in September, and we’re down to 44 people that have passed.

Q: From overdoses?

A: Not from overdoses, just in general, being sick. But there are a lot of people on my list that have passed away from drug use and whatnot.

Last year it was like 60 people who passed, and this year it’s up to 44, and that’s at least 180 since Pat passed in ’23.

I mean, it’s the grief, the loss, the pain. And we have to deal with it every week, when our leadership is up at the funerals comforting families, and it’s every week.

It’s hard. It’s hard for our community to heal.

Q: Evelyn, my last question for you is, what gives you hope?

A: I mean, I look at that, saying that they’re in jail. But then somebody else pops up to deliver drugs. There’s always Plan B.

That’s hard for me, because there’s Plan B, there’s Plan C, and what do you do for that? All I know is that we can get out there, and I don’t know. I don’t know how to find hope. Sometimes it’s getting hard.