recovery is possible

‘Hun, whatcha doing? You ok in there?’ Silence. ‘Hun…?’ I tried turning the knob. Locked. My heartbeat grew faster. My voice got louder. I banged my fists on the door. I couldn’t save him.’

“We went to bed, said our ‘I love you’s.’ He rubbed my back as I drifted off to sleep. At 5:00 a.m., I awoke to use the bathroom. I guess he couldn’t sleep? He wasn’t in bed. He must be downstairs. The TV wasn’t on. No living room lights. Just a faint glow from the bottom of the bathroom door.”

‘I heard two words: ‘fugitive felon.’ I caught my son’s eye. His shackles made my stomach flutter uncontrollably. His public defender smoothed her beige suit, and approached him.’

“The severely criminal charge was, in fact, a reference to my 24-year-old. I never imagined that term would apply to him. An unexpected call helped me through his transfer to prison. It had been weeks without contact when I answered the unfamiliar number. I fought back tears. He told me how much my son loved me.”

‘Miss, I have your father’s autopsy results,’ the coroner said. ‘He felt absolutely nothing.’ I quickly asked, ‘It wasn’t an overdose?!’ ‘No drugs were detected, ma’am.’ I cried hysterically.’

“‘We can’t reach him,’ he said. My grandpa was at my dad’s apartment trying to get in. Police arrived. ‘Do we have permission to break in?’ The officer kicked the door down. ‘Dad!,’ my sister screamed. A police officer held our grandpa back. ‘Dana wake him up, get him up!’ All she could say was, ‘Grandpa, I am so sorry.'”

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