Finding Peace

2021-06-21

My son Brian once shared with me the fact that he had overdosed seventeen times.  He said, “Mom, some of my friends have died after the first overdose, but I am still here.  God must have a plan for me if I haven’t died.”

I am here to tell you that heroin addiction stole the last ten years of this family’s life.  It stole the future away from our beautiful son.  It stole the present away from all of us as we waited for a miracle or the next phone call.  Would it come from a hospital, a cop, a friend, or Brian with his standard greeting….” I need a huge favor”? 

We needed a huge favor, too:  A promise, a guarantee, a wish, and a hope that would never materialize.  Our favor was never granted as Brian overdosed for the eighteenth and final time on May 3, 2015.  He died on a bright, clear, sunny, blue-sky day, in the middle of the afternoon in our own home.  Alone. 

As the next several days unfolded, I began to find small snippets of gratitude.  I am grateful he was home and not in some back alley, some basement, or some random bathroom.  I am grateful I was the one to find him, not get a phone call from some other person leaving too many questions unanswered.  I was able to backtrack and have a reasonable assumption of how the events unfolded and ultimately ended up fatally.