Seven and a half years ago my older brother, Matthew, died at home due to an accidental overdose on heroin. He was born into our family, the second, of nine children. Matthew was a free spirited, fun-loving person who enjoyed life. The end came about, one evening, when he was out driving and about to be pulled over by the police. He had a bag of heroin on him, wrapped in wax paper, which he decided to swallow to try to hide it from police. His girlfriend was with him and he assured her he could force himself to vomit it out later. After being taken to the police station and held for some hours, he then went to Wendy's, bought a large amount of food, scarfed it down, and tried to vomit it up. The heroin did not come up. Maybe this frightened him, or maybe he thought that it would be passed in his stool the following day, so he went home and went to sleep. The wax paper wrappings did not withstand the acidity of his stomach, and it was broken down. My family and I found him, cold and gray, that Saturday around 3pm. Matthew was one of 6 boys and 3 girls. We were crushed when we lost him. He was just 29 years young.