This is the story of my 22-year old son. He used from the time he was 14 until he passed away. At 4:30 am, on the morning of May, 28th 1999, a police officer came to my door and told me my son had died.
He took a .38 handgun and put it in his mouth. He tried kicking his heroin addiction by himself. He started out with pot, and then moved onto mushrooms, coke, crack and finally heroin. There were times when he was sober, but when he was off the hard drugs, he drank alcohol.
It killed me inside when he passed. I spent a lot of time chasing him, trying to save him. I couldn't save him. I kick myself for not calling him one more time with the intention that I could have saved him.
I saw him at his worst -- strung out -- wondering the streets of Bradenton, Florida. It was a nightmare. He ran away from rehab. God, it was awful.
I never thought my son would come home to Michigan in a wooden box.