Some Stories Know Our Hearts by Name

Some stories find you exactly where you are. If You Love Me by Maureen Cavanagh met me in one of those quiet, reflective spaces — the kind where you’re holding steady, but the weight is still there. And as I turned each page, I found myself breathing alongside a mother who has lived through so many of the moments I’ve known. The fear. The waiting. The wondering. The fight to love without losing yourself.

Maureen writes about her daughter’s struggle with opioid addiction. The facts alone are staggering: over forty treatment programs, thirteen overdoses, multiple arrests. There are moments when her daughter disappears completely, and Maureen has no idea if she’s alive. There are other moments when she’s close enough to touch but unreachable just the same. And still, Maureen keeps showing up, not with easy answers, but with an open, aching heart.

What moved me most wasn’t just the scope of what she endured. It was her ability to remain soft and strong at the same time. To learn, often painfully, what it means to love someone through addiction without losing the thread of herself.

She talks about the Al-Anon Three C’s: You didn’t cause it. You can’t control it. You can’t cure it. And still, she finds a way to stay connected. She doesn’t disappear. She doesn’t shut down. She learns how to love differently, with boundaries, with honesty, and with a level of compassion that doesn’t depend on whether things get better or worse.

I’ve returned to those three truths many times in my own journey. They sound simple, but they aren’t. Especially when it’s your loved one in pain, and every part of you wants to fix it, carry it, make it better. Maureen’s story reminds me that even when we can’t change the outcome, we can stay close. We can still choose how we show up. We can still choose love.

At some point in the book, it becomes clear that this story is about more than one mother and one daughter. Out of all the heartbreak, Maureen creates something for others. As an advocate, she doesn’t stop at telling her story. She helps families and individuals find treatment options, navigates impossible systems, and raises funds so others can access care they might not otherwise afford. Instead of turning inward, she uses her experience to lift those still in the thick of it. What begins in pain becomes a path, something steady for people who feel lost.

And as I read, I found myself thinking about all the parents I’ve met who are still holding hope in their own quiet ways. Maureen’s story is hers, but it’s also ours. A reminder that even when the road is long, we don’t walk it alone.

Reading her words, I thought of a drive we took to Connecticut, one of the many times we were heading to treatment. I remember watching the exits pass, wondering if this would really be the one. My loved one had been to treatment several times before. I remember how quiet the car was. How heavy everything felt. And still, I hoped. I didn’t know what else to do.

Maureen never promises a clean ending. And that’s what makes the story feel honest. This is not about tying things up or declaring victory. It’s about holding love and limits at the same time. It’s about finding grace in the gray areas. It’s about knowing that hope doesn’t always mean things turn out the way we want. Sometimes it just means we’re still here, willing to try again.

Near the end of the book, Maureen writes:
“The treatment is love. So much love that it is beyond comprehension until you have been to the other side of it… You can let your love be known.”

She isn’t saying that love replaces treatment. She knows, as many of us do, that recovery takes more than love alone. It takes structure, support, consistency, and care. But love is what makes us show up. It’s what allows us to keep believing, even after so much heartbreak. It may not be the solution, but it is the reason we stay close. And sometimes, just knowing our love is felt can be part of what makes healing possible.

She also leaves us with this:
“Every day is a gift. Every day is a new beginning.”
Sometimes it’s hard to remember that. It’s nice to have a reminder.

Whether or not you’ve read her story, maybe you’ve lived your own version of it. And maybe, like Maureen, you’re still finding your way, one step, one act of love at a time.