My Brother’s Keeper

We are loading up an episode of Girls and eating homemade spaghetti when I burst into tears unexpectedly. 

I cry soundlessly at first, tears slipping down my cheek, past my chin and into my bowl.  But then, suddenly, I am sobbing loudly, grossly. My shoulders tremoring, my fingers pinching my eyes to make them stop.  

The television is dead frozen on the title screen. 

By the time my husband takes the spaghetti bowl from my hand and lifts me from my chair, into his arms, I am heaving guttering breaths, vulgar sounds from my chest. 

I did not know a person could make these sounds. 
Until my brother died and I made those sounds.

It wasn’t just the reappearance of the memory of his death, just two years ago, that made me cry so suddenly. It was an unexpected, accidental inhalation of his cigarette in the upholstered arm of his chair as I sat down.

His chair, that is mine now. 

And as much as that chair is a big soft place to write, a comforting place to eat spaghetti and read Hemingway, it is a tweed harbinger of churning regrets. It is a holding space of lost things and childhood rituals, his impish blue eyes.  There are a cushion of questions and matted unanswers, seeping with cigarette smoke. Smelling like him.

It is a his-then-mine chair.

And it makes me angry, sometimes. 
It comforts me, sometimes.
But mostly?  It makes me very, very sad.

Little brothers aren’t supposed to die.  This is something you know as a child without someone telling you.  Old people die, great grandmothers and senile neighbors. Great Aunts die, leaving cats and doilies to be meted out among relations.  
Little brothers, the ones who are a foot taller than you and who smile with their eyes, do not die at age 30.

But heroin addicts do. 

They are the ones that stay children eternally, sweet and starving.  Their world slowly dwindling, shrinking in size just as you, the older sister, have the world opening up. They don’t have things, can’t give you things, aren’t sure of anything.

You get married, you have a baby. You have never seen drugs, save for 1980’s TV commercials, campaigns by Nancy Reagan. 

But they? They have spoons in their car. They get lost driving down your street. Have girlfriends with track marks and heavy eyeliner. 

You pick up your little brother to take him to the dentist. He brings all the things that matter in his world, in a plastic garbage bag: his television remote, his cellphone, a half smoked pack of cigarettes, $14 and some coins. Who is going to steal your tv remote? You ask him, gently, kidding. They might take it just to fuck with me, he answers dubiously. 

You don’t ask who they are. 

One day, he shows up at your house. A weekday morning, holding a highball in his wavering hand.  Could he borrow something hard to drink, some whiskey? Just to help him get some relief? When he turns his head, you see a mangled ear and a gash, wet and seeping.  

You don’t ask who did this to you?

You know, without asking, it was them. 

He is one of them, really. The ones who have nowhere else to go but dark streets in a Ford Taurus with one headlight.  The ones who give away everything they have for one last fix. 

They do not want to die. Or maybe, deep down they know they will. But they are dying every day, for years. 
Until they suddenly are completely gone, that last fix fixing it all, forever.

They die with the water faucet running, on Thanksgiving morning. 

And this is how I came to keep my brother’s chair.

And this is how I ended up crying into my spaghetti.



Maybe I won’t always keep the chair.  

Maybe I’ll wake up one morning, tomorrow morning, and push it out of the family room, straight to the garage, banging walls and scuffing the floor.  And then, on garbage day, I’ll push it all the way to the curb. 

Maybe I’ll give it away. 

Probably, I won’t.

Probably I will eat toast and jam there tomorrow morning, with the cursor of my computer screen blinking in front of my half-sleeping eyes.  

Probably I will press my nose into the worn arms of that chair when I am desperate and wanting to find my brother again.  

Probably I will keep the chair forever. Because there isn’t very much else that’s left. 

Because like the soft and scraping pain of what I have lost and the memory of his smiling eyes, it is permanent. Mine forever, to keep.

He didn’t live very long. He didn’t have very much. 

But he gave these things to me. 




































88 Comments

    • The way you write is beautiful. I really felt the pain and began to cry too. I’m so sorry you had to lose someone you loved so much. My neighbor who I grew up with struggled with heroin addiction, but it wasn’t the heroin that ended his life. It was a wreckless driver. He was such a sweet person and an amazing father. Anyways, I love the way you write.

      Reply
    • I’m sorry for your loss also, Liz. It’s incredibly hard to lose someone so close to you—but someone so young (and my brother was 30) is doubly painful. Thinking of you.

      Reply
  1. Beautifully written. I lived that lifestyle for four long awful years. It’s been over ten years I’ve been sober but will never forget one second of those four years. I lost so much in such a short time. I’m thankful I was able to keep my life. I’m so sorry for your loss.

    Reply
    • Loren, if I could be near you right now I would stretch my arms out and give you the biggest hug. Do you now how amazing you are? To have survived and be on the other side of this—I don’t know if the majority of the world can appreciate how incredibly difficult that is, but I know (I know, so heartbreakingly, so awfully, I wish I didn’t know). I respect the value you give to your sobriety and the value you give to your life. I respect it so much.

      Reply
    • Your comment gives me hope. My son seems to be headed in the same direction. Any advice? Thank you Nicole for sharing.

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      • As a recovering addict, I have a few suggestions for you to help your son. There is help available. It’s not easy, and it’s a very long road, but it can be done. I got sober with my husband, and we will be celebrating three years of sobriety on September 4th. There are several medications that an addict can take to ease the pain of detox and help them on the road to recovery. I urge you to look into them and do some research. Suboxone and methadone both work, but each one is slightly different and one might work better than the other for him. The most important thing that you can do as a family member is to keep an open mind, an open heart, and forgive. Forgive him for the wrongs he may have done to you and others while under the influence, and help him to forgive himself. That’s something that I am still working on every single day. I would be glad to discuss this with you in more detail if you’d like to email me. jamienicleyphotographer@gmail.com

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        • I fogive my brother all the time for he know not what he does lost in a world his way of life stuck in a rut with no way out i think he’s now has addiction to methadone his way of
          Life and other drugs the stigma is the worst
          People just see him as a low life junky
          to me he is troubled with a life full of woe but has a heart of gold and was lead down a pathway with noway back where people dont understand forgive or even ask him how he got to this place i know because he’s my brother i love him with all my heart and understand the rut that he cant get away from but in some strange way he is happy with his life as he knows no different than been a addict and with most of his circle of friends they to are addict lost together

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    • Loren, I lived that life for 4 years in my teens. That was 26 years ago!!! There are still some scars but I’m also who I am today because of that. I’ve been married for 18 years and have two beautiful teenage daughters!!! So few survive, even fewer thrive post addiction. 10 years is wonderful!!

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  2. Bless you. I am sorry for your loss. I have not yet lost my brother, but he is gone and has been probably since we were teenagers. His addiction began about the same time as his mental illness. Lots of terrible, terrible things happened over the years, and my mom and I decided that we couldn’t risk ourselves any more to save him. He calls my grandmother every couple of months, but that’s it. I wonder who he might have been, who I might have been with him as a part of my life.

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    • Wish I could make this better for you in some small way. Thank you so much for reading and for the comment—if it helps to know that I know how hard this space you are in right now can be, there’s that. You are doing the right thing for you—the drugs are all consuming. There’s always hope that things can change. I just read Loren’s comment and my first thought was—sometimes these things end so much differently than they did for my brother (and us). I hope hope hope this is true for you too. <3

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  3. I have lived a version of this life as a helpless bystander for the past 19 years. Of late, things have drastically changed for the better but I can’t help but to be on alert for the other shoe to drop. Your words were so beautiful and poignant. A perfect expression of such a sorrowful experience.

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    • I hope the other shoe never, ever, ever drops Melissa. I hope the change for the better lasts for the rest of your days. I know it doesn’t always, but from the kind people who have reached out to me here, I know it can.

      Thank you so much for reading and for this comment. I’m wishing you (and those around you) peace right back.

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  4. I, too, lost my younger brother to drugs and mental illness. He battled his illness, had periods of sobriety but in the end the drugs stole him from a family who loved him. It was many years ago and like you I have many memories of him. As time passes I find I recall more of the good memories and do less ‘crying in my spaghetti’, but I remember…. I will keep you in my thoughts and pray that this happens for you. Peace

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  5. Your story hits home for me as well. I lost my brother to drug addiction 12 years ago. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him and miss him terribly. I’m sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your story. You write beautifully Nicole.

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  6. Wow……saw one of your blogs and it led me to read a few others, you are a fantastic writer !! Help ppl relate to things in real life! Bring real situations and solutions into reality for others! Thanks for sharing !!

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    • Thank you Nicole (what a wonderful name, by the way! ;)) Honestly, you couldn’t have said anything more wonderful to me—that’s what I most want to do, to write about real experiences as honestly as I can and as simply as I can. The thing I love most is when I write something and someone (YOU!) says, “Yes, this is my life too” because it’s therapy for me and I know that neither of us are alone. We might be crazy, but we aren’t alone. <3

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  7. On this morning i will hug my girls tighter and ring my lightly estranged sister.

    I will again be the olive branch because she doesn’t think i am worthy of her family. I know that the condescending love she offers is better than none at all. That it says more about her than me.

    Thank you for sharing your pain. And sorry for making this reply about mine.

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    • Just reading your comment, I felt peacefulness. What a brave thing to think and an even braver think to embrace—it’s hard to have to be the one that accepts the difficulty just to avoid the loss of another person (like your sister) completely. I think…I just think. It’s going to be worth it. But you knew that already. <3

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  8. My 21 year old brother passed away 2 months ago, and I feel the same way every time I look at his stuff. its completely unpredictable and what makes me laugh one day will cause a meltdown the next. I share your pain :/

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    • OH Ashley <3. Sometimes I think "I wonder if my brother will be there..." when I think of something I'm going to do with my family, and then I remember that he isn't here anymore and my heart breaks all over again. I guess it's just part of the process of getting used to them not being with us. I'm so sorry for your loss, I hope there's peace somewhere in the process for you and I wish you wonderful memories of the good times you had together. Thank you so much for reading and for the comment, friend.

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  9. I read your bathing suit post, and I decided to check out your website. This post really hit me, I’ve had so much of this in all sides of my family- and it’s a helpless feeling to say the least. For my little brother, it’s alcohol. It may not seem as bad as heroin, but nonetheless he’s slipping away. The part where you wrote about how you have your kids- and your brother had nothing. Wow. It hit hard. It’s a crazy thing to love someone fiercely, and yet they hurt you all of the time. My brother is still a little boy, in a 30-year old’s body. I am so sorry for your loss, I cannot even imagine what it will feel like if it ever comes to that for me. I am thankful to have happened upon you, your writing is amazing. Thanks for helping me feel less alone!

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    • Trish, you made my heart hurt. You wrote this like I would and like I feel it. You are SO NOT ALONE. I hope things get better for your brother and especially for you. <3

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  10. Thank you for sharing your story Nicole. I too lost my way too young little brother when he was only 42. He was killed by a red light runner 5 years ago and to this day, she can not bear to utter an apology or admit that she did this horrible thing. I pray for her and hope that one day she will come to grips, because truly all anyone wants is for someone to take responsibility and say, “I am sorry.”

    I am so sorry for your loss. It is like a club that you never asked to join and to read your story brings me a bit of peace. Knowing I am not alone in missing my little brother, the one who had his troubles, got into drugs, but pulled himself out of it and then after 7 years of sun, we lost him. There are days, when the tears roll from what seems nowhere, and I am struck, how lucky I was to have him as a teacher of so many things for the time I did. I feel his presence at times. I don’t have any of his things, but I have the memories that I share with his kids and photos. It’s been 5 years and this year I wanted to have a solid long lasting memorial. I crowdsourced a tribute bench that will be installed this Memorial Day at our childhood swimming pool. A place of fun and much laughter and our beloved swim team practices and meets. Stephen was a jokester, a friend to many and source of enduring fun. I can say, that the pain of losing him in such a tragic way is slowly being replaced by sweet, long missed memories. My tears now reflect my love for this man. I don’t mind when they flow, even if its in public.

    I wish you peace and love as you sit in your brothers chair.

    I look forward to reading more of your honest and real writing.

    Reply
    • I am so very sorry for you loss. What struck me as so moving was the bench that you will have installed in his honor—-how lucky he is to be so well remembered and held on to like that. <3 Thank you so much for reading the piece and for being here. I love this chair. I'm sitting in it right now while I am reading all these wonderful comments (including and especially yours) and I just feel like there's such a good feeling around me. <3

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  11. I was once your brother. I was once the one who died from that fix but fortunately there was someone who loves me enough to save me there. We now have a some what normal life, other than the mess we are still cleaning up. But I can tell you without even knowing him your brother loved you. Probably more than he loved himself. He probably never wanted to hurt anyone but it gets exhausting living that life. You love it but you hate it and it’s such a vicious cycle. I hope you find peace. I lost a part of myself to heroin. I lost the opportunity to be a good mom for the first 3 years of my sons life and I lost the chance at a normal life. But I can’t change the past I can only redirect the future.

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    • You made me cry. I am so freaking lucky that I get to “talk” to people like you in this whole crazy process. He did SO love me. He was SO nice and sweet and kind. He was exhausted. I’m sad how well you know all this, because you lived it too. But holy hell, girl—you did something that I know so many people can not and you should be so PROUD! I spend a lot of time over on the Reddit/opiates and I know how painful that struggle is and how brave you have to be to take it on. I’m sad and glad I met you—I am so rooting for you and thankful for the peace you sent my way tonight. xoxo Nicole

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    • Heather, all my life, through divorce and loss and happiness and autism and now remarriage and this wonderful space—the only thing I ever really wanted to do (besides be a mom and a wife and a good friend) was write. I’m such a late bloomer, 36 and just now finishing my degree and starting to figure out what I can and can’t do. Thank you for the encouragement—it inspires me to keep on keeping on. Your words are a gift to me.

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  12. Wow! Though I live a (wonderful) life where I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, I’m afraid to breathe (er…type) just how I connected with your post. Afraid to type exactly who it is in my life that has ties to such an addiction. I do want to say that in addition to relating to so much of your post & commenters, I absolutely could relate to the guttural sobbing & crying in your spaghetti when your husband doesn’t have to ask why or what caused it, but just scoops you up. That really stood out to me. ❤️ I’m so sorry about your brother. So so sorry. This is the first I’ve ever read your blog & I can tell I’m going to love you! -Nissa

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    • Nissa—I’m so sorry. I can tell that you are going through a difficult space—addiction is just the worst. It has no mercy. But I have learned, through the community here and other places, that it does not always end like it did for me. I hope that is the case for you, and yours, too. Thank you for reading and for being here. It means so much.

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  13. You bring so much comfort and tears to me as well by reading this. I hope your journey in writing continues. Your writing is one of tbe driving forces to help me get through when there are “days” like i cant l finish my “spaghetti” without breaking down. Thank you…..

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    • I’m so sorry, Gaia. I can just tell there is so much pain in where you are right now—wishing you peace in any way it finds you. Thank you so much for reading and for reaching out to me. Take care, friend.

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  14. This post was beautiful. I was addicted to heroin for almost a decade, and by some miracle I was given the chance to live a clean & sober life 7 years ago. I can’t tell you how many people I know who’ve list their lives to the disease of addiction, and I’ve come very close myself. We buried my cousin 2 years ago as the result of a heroin overdose, she was 22. I don’t know why some of us get to live and some of us don’t. I’ve asked myself that question so many times, but I do know that I plan to hold on to this gift I’ve been given with everything I’ve got.

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    • Maddy, you should be so FREAKING PROUD of yourself for being sober. I spend a lot of time over on the Reddit board for opiates and I have learned just how truly devastating the effect of heroin is on willpower—I think it must be one of the hardest challenges to overcome, to give it up and give it up for good. Your comment breaks my heart and gives me hope and makes me thankful. Thank you so much for reading and for being here. For BEING HERE! Truly. <3

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  15. I was addicted at a vwry young age of 16 . I became sober at the age of 21. I am now 37. Even today ,16 years of being sober I still have my days that are so bad but nothing a fix couldnt help . I still get cravings .
    Addicts never think about the family and friends that get hurt in our addictions ‘ I remember saying all the time ” I am only hurting myself “looking past my mothers tears . Not remembering the times shes bailed me out of jail and my asking for her last $20 because I was dope sick .
    I am glad that since that long and painful 5years ,that I am able to write this to you .I could of been, like your brother ,not here anymore . Thank you for sharing the family pain of adfiction .
    Today I am a registeted nurse . I see herion addicts come to the hospital because they have overdosed. I remember savings a 18 year old boy from dying from a overdose by using narcan to reverse the affects of the drug.
    He woke up dope sick and.yelled.at me “why didn’t you let me die . I hate my life and who Ive become . It would of been easier on my family to bury me and not have to be ashamed of me . It broke my heart . To this day I think about this kid and wonder where is he ? Is he dead ?Did he get help ?Lord be with him .
    Thank you for this article . I never seem to comment on anything but this hit home . You are a.amazing writer . Cant wait to read more if your work .

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    • Karen, I know I’ve mentioned it above in other comments but I just want to tell you how amazing I think it is to have made it through the process of addiction and be on the other side of it. And a NURSE! I read what you wrote about that boy and it made my heart hurt. I think that was my brother at different points in his life. In some ways, as strange as it sounds too, it gives me peace. I have no clue why things work out like they do, but I know they work out like they are supposed to work out. And I’m thankful you are here and health and able to help other people—and reach out to me to give comfort too. Thank you,friend.

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  16. I was led to your blog from a link on Facebook and I’m glad I landed here. I have a brother in active addiction and my husband is in recovery. I have seen the things you mention in this post and they never leave your mind or your heart. You have such an incredible gift for words! Thank you for sharing and I am so very sorry for your loss.

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    • Nicole, I am rooting so fiercely for you, for your husband and for your brother. In so many ways, the sober member in the midst of this (you) is the one who is feeling it all–they have the hard work ahead and you have the emotional toll. I’m so glad you landed here too. I’m wishing all of you strength and peace and happiness. Thank you so much for reaching out and for reading.

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  17. I’m so sorry for your loss. I lost my father 3 years ago this month. He too was a heroin addict. I’m happy to say that he spent the last 18 years of his life, however painful, sober. What I wouldn’t have given for another 18 years, but it was not to be.This is the first time I’ve ever been moved by story to actually comment.

    On a happier note, I love your writing! I’m laughing! I’m crying! I’m sitting at my computer, nodding in agreement! You have a gift. Please keep sharing! 🙂

    Reply
    • Rhonda—yes! I love that I can make you laugh (and maybe even cry)! I’m so blessed you took the time to read my work and to comment—thank you so much! I’m sorry for your loss, also. I do know how hard it is and how the hurt comes up unexpectedly. Thinking of you.

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  18. Wow. Really beautiful essay. I know people who also had their demons and went too soon. I’m not sure why they had them, but they did. At least he had a loving sister in you.

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  19. I am so sorry! I wish I could find the words to tell you how sorry I am. I Watched my daughter for 2 years. She stole from me and her 12 year old brother but we stood by her. I saw her walking the streets, dirty, begging for money. It hurt. she stole from stores, my princess who never even said bad words. She went to jail for drug possession and is on 5 years federal probation. I stood by I didnt want to. She hurt me. She hurt us. She hurt herself! She used water from a puddle for her addition. The PO sent her to rehab, she’s been clean 9 months now and is pregnant and due in November. She looks great. She did it with suboxen. I’m proud of her, so proud of her. She hurt us but I’m here for her!!

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  20. My brother is in trouble right now. Probably not there yet, but dancing dangerously just the same. As one sister to another, I send you good vibes. I lost my mom 10 yrs ago in August and that loss is still like a knife to the heart ALL the time. I don’t want to lose my brother, but I know he’s in a very dark place. I’m afraid he doesn’t want to see the light anymore. I’m tired and afraid.

    Reply
    • I wish I knew some way to make this better for you—I’m so sad for you. I hope, hope, hope he finds something meaningful to hold on to and holds on tight. Thinking of you, wishing you (and your whole family) the best.

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  21. This post brought me to tears. My story is so very similar to yours. I have an older brother he is 24 and I am 23. He towers over me just like your brother did. He has been struggling with addiction since we were in high school. I’ve experienced the same feelings you mentioned- as though my world is opening up and his is shrinking and it’s heartbreaking. I never ask my brother about his friends because It makes me angry to think about the people he chooses to surround himself with. My brother fell into an oyster bed a few months ago when he was “messing around with his friends” and asked me to buy him a bottle of vodka to “help with the pain.” I love my brother so much. Thank you for sharing your feelings because it helped me feel mine. If you have any time I could really use some guidance about what my role as a younger sister is in my brothers struggle with addiction should be.

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  22. You are a beautiful writer, truly. I’m so sorry for your loss; but grateful you choose writing as an outlet. Thank you for being so profoundly honest.

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    • That is EXACTLY what it is for me, Laura—a wonderful healing outlet. Thank you for seeing that—and for reading and the comment too. <3

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  23. I ran across your blog on Facebook and this one really caught my attention. Im very sorry for your loss. I have a few family members that have gone down that path. It scares me because many years ago i had friends that were addicts and to see what they went through and what their families went through was just awful. I have been through the worry, the pain, feeling disappointed that my child could do this.he went into the army at 17 and spent 15 months in Iraq he now has ptsd and is now on suboxone but i worry about that drug and methadone. I know it keeps them from getting sick and doing opiates but my god I’ve seen him look high off those And no one tries to get them off those so to me its changing one drug for another.I’m always worrying .i love reading your blogs because like others have said they are real stories that do hit home for some of us and at least we know we are not in this alone.

    Reply
    • “The pain of loss lessens, but it never goes away…”. This is exactly, exactly how it feels. Thank you for that. <3

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  24. So so sorry for your loss Nicole. My dad was told to expect the same outcome from my life. That was 26 years ago!!! I’m beyond thankful for the second chance at life I was given!!!

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    • Candace—-I bet your dad is so grateful that “promised outcome” was wrong—every single day of his life. <3 Thank you so much---second chances sometimes are the best chances. <3

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  25. Beautiful and beautifully written <3 I´m so sorry for your loss.
    This had me crying. It reminded me of my younger brother who died 23 years ago, at the age of 4.

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    • I’m sorry for your loss too. Being a big sister is an important job—-it stays with you forever. Thank you for being here. <3

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  26. Thank you for this my brother is 32 and a heroin addict and I understand what you went through. This is beautiful and brings my worst fears to the surface I had tears streaming down my face as I read this. I was once a hard core addict so I know you cannot change them no matter how hard you want to. I’m sorry for your loss

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    • Jennifer, I want to cry just reading your comment here. “You cannot change them no matter how hard you want them to”—this alone gives me comfort now. I always think about what I could have done until I remember this part—it really helps me. You do the best you can and above all you just hope that something within the person you love changes. It happened for you. You should be so proud of yourself for figuring a way out. I will pray for your brother. Thinking of you. <3

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  27. My life and relationship with my brother for the last 20 years so near the mark i hope and pray alway for him to have a life full of love given back to him as he has done for others through even his most dark and desperate of times for him he has found love unfortunately she too is and addict but they try to be the best they can be and have each other when they fall
    So sorry for your loss

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  28. You write so beautifully. Thank you. I am very sorry for your families loss. But I’m sure knowing you loved him meant as much to him as knowing he loved you meant to you. It’s a hard road but at least he had you to share the journey with.

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  29. I lost my 38-year old baby sister to cancer 13-months ago. She was my light, moon and stars–my best friend, really, and I miss her practically every second of every day. The strange thing is that even though I miss her physical presence something awful, I can say in all honesty that I still FEEL her, like she has inhabited my soul, mind, and areas of my being that aren’t physically palpable, and because of it, I feel a sense of strength that I’ve never known before. Death is not the end because love never dies. If you let it, it will make it’s presence known.

    Thank you for your beautiful story, and the personal glimpses you share with the world through these blog posts. It makes us all feel less alone in this great, big, confusing world.

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  30. My brother died of an overdose 15 July 2015. This text really hit the the soft sore spot. I read a lot of what I myself feel. I too cry sniffing his hoodie. I too was not terribly close with my brother. He was 24. My parents, oh you know exactly how they are (((((( how all of us are.

    Thank you for sharing. For a minute I didn’t feel alone in grief.

    Polina

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    • It’s a simple comment like yours, Polina, beautiful and so like my own experience, that makes me so glad I get to write and share pieces like this. It makes ME feel like I am not alone too. I’m so very sorry for your loss. Thank you so much for reaching out. <3

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  31. I came across your article, To My Children: I’m Sorry, on a Facebook group page titled Scarey Momma. I am trying to find articles to help guide me with my step daughters. I can’t have any children of my own. I want to better understand them, why am I always in competion? How can I protect the eight year old from her own mother who is addicted to drugs? If you have any articles for StepMoms, and ways to help them, or have any suggestions of other articles that would be greatly appreciated!!

    Then, I found this article! In the mix of trying to protect my 8yold. My little brother, 36, died on Mothers Day!! From a drug overdose!! He was suppose to be my past, present, and future!! My relationship with my mom is becoming resentment. I feel like the “lost mourner”. Nobody ask me how I am doing. It’s, “how are your parents”?

    Nicole, I feel so lost!! So angry! My heart hurts, I have no patience for anyone, or anything. I say “I’m Sorry” a lot! To my husband, the kids, and what friends I have left, that I haven’t pushed away. I cry every night. I don’t want my husband to see me cry anymore. Before I go to bed at night I go into the living room, lay in the recliner and just cry. (His chair) Then every morning when I wake up, I look at the front door and realize it’s NOT a nightmare. I realize he will never walk through that front door ever again!! Thank you for the articles, thank you for letting me vent!! Please continue to write, as it warms my heart, and reminds me that I am not always alone. I am so sorry for your loss, because now I feel your pain. Every bit of your pain, is inside me too!!

    I just realized you wrote this last year, but I do hope you are able to still read comments. 💔😭💔😭💔😭💔

    Reply

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