My Brother

It is safe to say that most people worldwide have fallen victim to drug addiction, whether it be themselves or someone they cared about. Studies done by the Center For Disease Control and National Center for Health Statistics state in 2018, 67,300 Americans died from a drug-related overdose. I wonder what the statistics will be after studies are done in 2021 regarding our current crisis. More have lost jobs, homes, loved ones leading more towards depression and drugs to ease their pain.

Looking back, I know many people that have been affected by drug addiction, myself included. Some are no longer with us, some continue their battle, and some have overcome their addiction. Of all the people I have known, no one affected me the way he did, and most likely, no one ever will.

When I was 14, I met him. My group of friends became friends with his group of friends, and for the most part, we all were inseparable. When I was 16, I began dating his older brother, whom I married at the age of 21, when I became pregnant with my first child. His brother, one of my close friends, became my family. I never thought of him as my brother-in-law; he was my brother. I only had two sisters, so he was the closest person I ever and will ever have a brotherly bond with.

He was at our house multiple times a week, was a great uncle, and Godfather to my second child. He came on family outings with us. Anytime I could get a night out, it was spent out with him and our mutual friends. We were inseparable most days, and I can honestly say I spent more time with him than my own husband.

One day I received a heart-wrenching call about him. He had been struck by a car walking across the street. Luckily he survived, but the road to recovery wasn't anything short of a miracle needed to overcome the tragedy he went through. Seeing him this way was devastating to me, and I remained by his side trying to provide any support he needed. The thought of him almost dying shook me to my core. It became clear that my life would never be the same without him and the love I felt for him was immense.

It was a long road, but he almost recovered fully. There were still some physical issues he endured, and mentally, I don't believe he was the same person; however, we were grateful he survived. Again, another heartbreaking event occurred as he turned into an addict by way of pain killers he was given after the accident. This began the story of his demise. What hurt me the most was that he didn't form this habit by choice. It began under his physicians' care, who was supposed to cure him, not kill him. He was struck by a car walking across the street, this was not his choice, and he didn't deserve the outcome.

The infinite hours I spent crying over him drained me. I know I tried my best to help him overcome his disease, but no matter what, I felt guilty that I wasn't doing enough to save him. I offered to accompany him to narcotics anonymous meetings, looked for rehab facilities, threatened the ones who sold him drugs, fought with some of the girlfriends he had when I saw they were a bad influence. I tried! I asked him to come over every day, so I was able to keep an eye on him, but no matter what action I took, it was never enough.

The street value cost of painkillers such as Oxycodone and Vicodin was high. Once he was no longer receiving prescriptions from his doctors, he couldn't afford prescription pills, so like many, his addiction to pain killers was replaced with a heroin addiction. And so my heart broke a little more for him, and I became angrier with myself for not helping him overcome his tribulations.

Over the next few years, his habit worsened to the point he became someone I didn't know anymore. His family couldn't handle it anymore as they were at their wit's end, and after he stole money and medication from me, so was I. However, no matter how mad I was with him, I could never fully turn my back on him. However, I had to make a decapitating choice I had to make as I had two young kids who were witnessing his addiction. I was never sure of what condition he would be in when he came to our house. His behavior was erratic, and I had to protect my children. I never told anyone this, but under my doctor's supervision, I was given Xanax to take as needed for an anxiety disorder. He knew this, and where my medication was located, and after he stole some from me, I hid my pill bottle from him. When he was over my house for a visit with myself and my children, he went to look for my medication in which he quickly became aware I was hiding it. He questioned me and asked to borrow a couple. When I told him no over and over again, he became furious to the point that I was petrified for our safety. I quickly took my kids into the bathroom and grabbed the phone and locked the door. He tried to knock the door down while screaming. My kids were so scared and screaming in tears themselves. I threatened to call the police if he didn't leave, and after a few minutes, he left.

He was so high when he did this to us that when he called me the next day, he had no recollection of him trying to kick in my bathroom door. Even after this, I couldn't turn away though I only allowed him in our house when my husband was present or I went over to his house. At this point, I was petrified to have my kids around him. Many people came to know him as a "junkie," and everyone gossiped about his condition. No matter how upset I was, I always stood up for him. I always reminded people of the kind, caring person he was before him being struck by a car and that he was, and no one could deny it. I reminded people his addiction began over an accident he had no control over. It's funny how quickly people can turn their back on someone when they're at their lowest point instead of reaching out a helping hand.

My marriage to his brother lasted 7 years as we divorced in 2012. We both moved on and remarried, but he was still my brother. We kept in touch, spoke often, and all though we didn't see each other as we used to, we were still close, and I tried to be there for him as much as I could. For the most part, I looked forward to our conversations. We'd spend hours on the phone talking, gossiping, and laughing at the dumb things we did as kids. He told me hundreds of times how happy he was for me to find someone as my present husband that loved me and treated me with such respect, the way I deserved to be treated. He told me what a good mother he thought I was, and no matter where life took us, I would always be family to him. He and I had such a bond that nothing could dismantle our love and admiration for one another.

He tried for years to overcome his battles. And as much as I enjoyed our phone conversations, I knew within minutes when he relapsed. Again I begged him to let me take him to rehab, meetings, or pick him up from wherever he was to talk about getting clean again. I never successfully helped him, which bars guilt I will hold to the end of my days.

At the beginning of August 2019, I received a voicemail from him, asking me to call him back and that he had a funny story to share. When I called him back, I knew he was under the influence, and all thought the story he had to tell was rather funny, I was mad at him. He began blaming everyone else for his problems, and I never acted the way I did to him before this conversation. I was upset with things going on in my life; family and financial issues, working two jobs, and raising three kids. I admit I was harsh with him. I said at this point; he could no longer blame anyone for his addiction. It's his fault, no one else's. he was the one who decided time and time again to use. I would always allow him to play the victim, and this time, I wouldn't. And yet no matter how busy I was in my life, I still offered to take him to rehab, stay with him, do whatever he needed. We ended the phone call with him telling me he loved me and wished his life had turned out more like mine. One of the last things I said to him was it's not too late to turn your life around. That night I couldn't sleep thinking and blaming myself for being hard on him, not knowing how much I would regret it.

On August 26th, 2019, I was working and missed a few calls from my children's step-mother, followed by my daughter's missed calls. I called my daughter back and received the heartbreaking news that the only man I knew as my brother had passed away. There are no ways to describe the agony and remorse I felt in the days to follow. I was in a catatonic phase reliving over and over again our last words to each other. I was deeply saddened at the thought of losing him but indignant over my actions and that I didn't do more to save him. Now that he is gone, I can't help him, I can't talk to him, I can't save him from himself, and the self-castigation I bestowed upon myself was endless. It took months to not think of him and break down in tears, but the anger for myself never ceased. Whenever I think of him, I am left with one question; what more could I have done to save him? When someone you love passes, you don't get over its pain. You become numb to it. Although those feelings stay with you, your way of handling the dreadful sorrowful loss of a loved one becomes easier, and you gain the ability to mask the overwhelming sadness and can save your tears for times you're alone and able to weep in private.

After all, the anger never left me; his addiction was due to him being hit by a car! I was resentful because he didn't choose the life he led, but I found ways to cope with his loss. I speak to my children often about him. They didn't know the person he was prior to his accident, and I remind them constantly of who he was and not judge him for what he had become or what they grew to know him as. I tell them funny stories about him and me as kids, the great uncle he was to them as babies, and how much he loved them. I want my kids to grow, knowing all the good he had in him because there was so much good. His picture is not only in my kid's rooms but sits above our dining room table, a place where we are most. I often look at him, and although I still shed tears and feel anger, I tell him I love him when looking at his picture. If I could talk to him one more time, I would want him to know how much I love him, will always cherish him, and how sorry I am I couldn't do more to help him.

If there is anything you take away from this story, whether you feel no remorse for my brother or think I'm foolish for blaming myself for his inability to overcome his enslavement to drugs, I understand. Everyone has their own views on drug addiction and have been affected differently. I get it, but please hold your loved ones close to your hearts, try to remember that addiction is a disease, and before you turn away-know, you tried everything within your powers to help that person. Because the guilt I bear is so painful, I wouldn't wish this burden on anyone. And to the man I called my brother; not a day goes by that I don't think of you. I love you will all my heart and hope in another lifetime, the bond you and I created will live on perpetually.