‘Mom, what’s wrong with my uncle?’ He moved on to trying new, stronger drugs. My twin brother died that day.
“I got a call from the police at 5:55 p.m. ‘Are you with anyone? Is there somewhere you can talk?’ My daughter had received a ‘Christmas present,’ a free bag of what she thought was heroin. I fell to my knees in the snow, then rushed over in record time. She was blue-faced. I wanted to hug her, but couldn’t. There was ‘lethal powder’ still on her. She wanted so badly to stay clean.”
“I baked cheddar scones — they were Jared’s favorite. I took a nap. When I awoke, it was dark outside, and he wasn’t in the house. He said he’d gone out for air. When he came back, he went straight to the bathroom, yelling at me to ‘mind my own business.’ He never talked to me like this. His voice dripped with anger. I don’t know why, but I listened. I got in my car. When I came back, the washing machine was running. He’d started my laundry. I walked through the kitchen and that’s when I saw him face down in our living room.”