Detox Support Community Facebook ad: “Feel Like Yourself Again”

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I sat on my dead mother's kitchen floor on a Tuesday afternoon in April holding her wooden spoon and I realized I was already starting to forget what her voice sounded like. That's the part nobody warns you about. Everybody warns you about the grief. Everybody warns you about the casseroles in your fridge and the funeral home calling you about the obituary proofs and the way you'll cry the first time you hear a certain song. Nobody warns you that within 8 weeks you'll be sitting on a linoleum floor in a house that used to smell like her and you won't be able to summon the sound of her saying your name. Her name was Joyce. She was 81 when she died. She made it through 14 years of widowhood and 3 hip surgeries and a stroke we caught early and a year of physical therapy where she charmed every aide at Mission Hospital, and then on a Wednesday morning in February she went to sleep in her own bed in her own house and just didn't wake up. Hospice nurse said it was the kindest death she'd seen in 20 years. I'm Renee. I'm 52 years old and I live in Asheville, North Carolina, about 40 minutes from the house I grew up in, in a little place called Weaverville where my mama lived for 56 years. I have a brother named Curtis who lives in Charlotte and a sister named Pam who lives in Greenville, South Carolina, and the three of us decided that because I was closest, I would be the one to clean out the house. Curtis sent a check. Pam sent a card. I got the house. I started on a Saturday in early April, about 8 weeks after the funeral. I told myself I'd do it in weekends. Saturdays and Sundays, 6 hours each, and I'd be done by Memorial Day. That was the plan. The plan did not survive the kitchen. You don't know how much is in a kitchen until you start taking it out. 40 years of accumulation. A drawer full of rubber bands she'd saved off newspapers and broccoli stems. A coffee can full of buttons. 3 different ice cream scoops, all of them slightly different sizes, none of them with a clear job. A folder of recipes torn out of Southern Living going back to 1987. A waffle iron she never used because she said it was too much trouble to clean. A box of birthday candles, half of them already burned once because she'd taken them off cakes and put them back in the box like she might need them again. I was halfway through the upper cabinet over the stove when I found her wooden spoon. I knew it was hers the second my hand touched it. It had a burn mark on the handle from the time she'd left it resting on the lip of a pot of beans and the bean water had bubbled up and scorched it. I remember the day it happened. I was 14. We laughed about it for a week. I held that spoon and I tried to hear her laughing about it and I couldn't. I could see her face. I could see her in the kitchen. I could see the apron she was wearing. But the sound wasn't there anymore. I sat down on the floor with the spoon in my lap and I cried for about 40 minutes. Not the heaving kind. The quiet kind, where you keep wiping your face on the back of your wrist and you don't bother to get up for tissues. The kind where you're crying so long you forget what specifically set you off. I'd been crying like that on and off for 2 months. That's when I knew something else was happening to me beyond grief. Because I'd started getting sick. I should back up. The week of the funeral, I came down with a head cold so bad I lost my voice during the eulogy and had to hand the index cards to Curtis to finish for me. I figured it was stress. Run down. Anybody would catch something during a funeral week. But then I caught another one 3 weeks later. And then another one 2 weeks after that. By the time I sat on the kitchen floor with the spoon I'd been sick more or less continuously for 8 weeks. Sinus stuff that wouldn't clear. A cough that hung on like a houseguest who won't take the hint. A persistent low-grade tiredness that was deeper than the grief tiredness. It was different from the grief tiredness. I knew the difference because the grief tiredness made me want to lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling, and this other tiredness made me feel like there was sand in my joints when I tried to stand up. My husband Greg noticed. He's an electrician and he's not a man of a lot of words. He came home one Thursday and looked at me sitting at our kitchen table in my robe at 6 PM and he said, "Honey, you've been sick since February." I said, "I know." He said, "Are you gonna call somebody?" I said, "What's a doctor gonna do, Greg, tell me my mama died?" He didn't push. He never pushes. He just put his hand on the back of my neck for a minute and went to take his work boots off. I want to tell you about my mama's neighbor. Her name was Doris. She lived 2 doors down from my mama for 31 years and she's the kind of neighbor who actually shows up. Not the wave-from-the-driveway kind. The kind who has a key to your house and knows where you keep your spare lightbulbs. She came over the Tuesday I was sitting on the kitchen floor. She knocked twice and let herself in and I heard her come down the hall calling my name and I didn't have the energy to get up. She found me on the floor. She sat down right next to me with her knees popping the whole way down and she didn't say anything for a long time. Then she said, "Honey, you look terrible." I laughed for the first time in 2 weeks. Doris is 74 and she does not soften the truth. She'd brought a chicken and dumplings casserole in a Pyrex dish. She set it on the counter and came back and sat with me on the floor. She asked me how I'd been sleeping. I said poorly. She asked me what I'd been eating. I said whatever was in the fridge. She asked me when the last time was that I didn't have a runny nose. I had to think about it. Honest to God, I had to think about it. I said, "Doris, I think it was January." She nodded like I'd just confirmed something she'd suspected. She said, "Renee, your body is depleted." She said that exact word. Depleted. She said, "When you lose a mother, especially a mother you were as close to as you were to Joyce, your body goes into a kind of mourning of its own. And the things that used to keep you well stop being able to do their job. You catch every little thing that goes around because there's nothing left in you to fight it." I asked her how she knew so much about it. She said, "Because I sat on this same kind of floor 11 years ago when my mama died and I got sick for 9 months straight before my sister finally drove down from Roanoke and shook me out of it." She told me her sister had brought her something. A garlic supplement. I want to be honest, I almost laughed. Garlic. The thing in my mama's spice rack that had probably been there since 2003 because she only used the fresh kind. Doris saw my face and she said, "Renee, hear me out. It's not what you think." She told me about a company called Alevia. She told me her sister had been taking it for about a year before she came down to Asheville and noticed Doris was a wreck. She told me her sister sat her down at her kitchen table and explained what was going on inside Doris's body and why a regular grocery store clove of garlic wouldn't have done anything for her. She told me she'd been taking it ever since and she'd had one bad cold in 11 years. One. In 11 years. I asked her to write it down for me. She got up and got a pen out of my mama's junk drawer, the same junk drawer I'd been postponing all morning, and she wrote it on the back of a Food Lion receipt. Alevia Garlic Extract. alevia.com slash garlic slash 7. I put the receipt in my pocket and went back to the kitchen. I didn't order it that night. I was too tired. I ordered it the next morning while I was sitting at my own kitchen table in Asheville drinking coffee and watching the sun come up over the ridge. I want to tell you what I learned because Doris took the time to explain it to me the way her sister explained it to her, and now I'm doing the same for you. Your immune system has front-line defenders. These are the cells that catch a bug the moment it gets into your body and address it before it takes hold. When those defenders are doing their job, you don't even know you were exposed to anything. You walk past a coughing person at the grocery store and your body handles it and you never feel a thing. When those defenders are sluggish, bugs slip past and take over before you can stop them. That's when you catch every little thing. Now here's the part Doris explained that hit me. Those front-line defenders rely on specific signals from your food. Sulfur-rich signals. The pungent stuff. Garlic, onions, that whole family. Our great-grandmothers were eating that stuff in every meal. Modern food has lost most of it. So those defenders have been running below their best for years, in most of us, without us knowing. When you go through something hard, like losing your mama, your body uses up what little reserve it had, and suddenly those defenders are running on empty. That's when you start catching everything that goes around. The active compound in garlic that supports those defenders is called allicin. It's the sulfur compound that does the work. The problem is allicin is fragile. The minute you cut a clove, the allicin starts forming, and within minutes it starts breaking down. Heat destroys most of it. So all that garlic I'd thrown in my pasta sauce my entire adult life was basically flavor by the time it hit my plate. Almost no usable allicin getting into my system. And the cheap garlic capsules I'd seen at the drugstore, most of them never deliver any usable allicin either, because stomach acid breaks the allicin down before it ever makes it to where it needs to be. Alevia uses a cold-processed extraction that protects the allicin and a delivery capsule designed to get it past stomach acid intact so it actually makes it into your body where it can do its job. That's the difference. I read all of that on a Sunday morning sitting in my robe and I thought about how many times in my life I'd been told by a doctor that I just needed to "rest more" when I got sick. How many times I'd taken zinc lozenges that tasted like a penny and didn't do anything. How many times I'd done the chicken soup and the vitamin C and gone back to work still coughing. I'd never had anybody explain to me what was actually going on with my body. I'd never had anybody tell me the food I was eating had been quietly stripped of the things my immune system was built to use. I want to tell you the question I know you're asking. Won't I smell like garlic. That was the first thing I asked Doris. She laughed. She said her husband Pete had been sleeping next to her for 11 years and he had never once mentioned a smell. The capsule is odorless. It gets past your stomach acid before it releases. There is no garlic breath, no body odor, none of that. I've been taking it for almost 6 months now and Greg, who works in tight crawl spaces with HVAC guys all day and has the most sensitive nose of any human I've ever met, has not mentioned a single thing. Here's what happened to me. First 10 days, nothing. I was a little disappointed but Doris had warned me it would take a few weeks. Day 14, I noticed I'd gone 3 days without a runny nose. I didn't realize until I was making lunch and reached for a tissue out of habit and didn't actually need one. I stood there at my counter holding a tissue and staring at it. Day 22, I slept through the night for the first time since February. I don't know if that was the supplement or if my body was just ready, but I woke up at 6:30 and felt like I'd been hit by a soft truck instead of a hard one. That's the best way I can describe it. By the end of the first month, the persistent cough was gone. The sinus pressure had backed off. I wasn't blowing my nose every 20 minutes. By month 2, I'd gone the entire month without catching anything. That was the month I went back to my mama's house and finished the kitchen. It took me 2 weekends. I packed up her recipes for Pam. I packed up her cast iron for Curtis. I kept the wooden spoon for me. I sat on her floor again on a Sunday afternoon and I held that spoon and I tried again to hear her voice. This time I could. Not because the supplement gave me back my mama's voice, that's not what I'm saying, please don't misunderstand me. I could hear her voice again because I wasn't running on empty anymore. I had room in my body and my head for the memories to come back. When you're sick all the time and you're tired all the way down to your bones, your brain stops doing the gentle work of remembering. It's too busy just trying to keep you upright. When my body started healing, I had room again. I could hear her laughing about the bean water and the burnt spoon. I could hear her on the phone saying "well honey" the way she always did when I was about to tell her something hard. I could hear her humming in the kitchen. It came back when I had the strength to receive it. By month 4 I was working out 3 times a week. I hadn't worked out since 2021. By month 5 my doctor called me to schedule my annual and I realized I hadn't seen her since the appointment after the funeral, and I'd seen her 4 times the year before for various things. I made the appointment and went in and she ran my bloodwork and looked at me and said, "Renee, whatever you're doing, keep doing it." I told her about Alevia. She wrote it down on a sticky note and put it in her drawer. I don't know if she ordered it. I hope she did. I want to say something to you if you're reading this and you've lost someone. If you lost your mama or your daddy or your husband or your sister or anybody who was a load-bearing wall in your life, and you've been getting sick over and over since they died, please hear me. Your body is not betraying you. Your body is trying to tell you it's running on empty. It's trying to tell you that the things that used to keep you well aren't enough right now because there's nothing left in the reserve tank. You don't have to muscle through it. You can give your body the support it's been asking for. You can have your strength back. You can have your weekends back. You can have the room in your head for the memories to come back. I'm not promising you'll stop grieving. I'm still grieving. I'll grieve my mama until the day I see her again. But I'm not running on empty anymore. And the difference between grieving on empty and grieving with strength is the difference between drowning and swimming through deep water. If you want to try Alevia, they have a 90 day money-back guarantee. You take it for up to 90 days, and if it's not for you, you send the bottle back and they refund every penny. You're not stuck with it. You don't have to fight anybody on the phone. If it doesn't work for your body the way it worked for mine, ship it back and get your money back. That's the deal. I think it's a fair one. P.S. Doris told me when she gave me the link that I'd probably ignore her for a few weeks before I ordered. She was right. I sat on that Food Lion receipt for 6 days before I went to the website. I won't tell you to order today. But I will tell you that every day I sat on that receipt was another day I was sick. I wish I'd ordered the day Doris wrote it down for me. P.P.S. About the guarantee. 90 days is a long time. That's 3 months. That's longer than most things take to start showing. If you take it for 90 days and your body hasn't responded, you have every right to ship it back and ask for your money back. Alevia honors that. I've never had to use it but my friend Lisa used hers on a different product from the same kind of company and she said the refund went through within a week. P.P.P.S. I'd order soon if I were you. Doris told me last week she had to wait a few extra days for her last refill because they were running low on a shipment. I don't know if that's still going on but I wouldn't wait. The longer you sit on this, the longer you stay sick. I learned that one the hard way. 👉 alevia.com/garlic/7

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Feel Like Yourself Again

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