My son Brad died of a heroin overdose on July 11, 2009. His father found him in his room 1 1/2 hours after he had gotten home from the hospital. His father had called EMS earlier because he was lethargic and couldn't walk. He was awake by the time he got to the ER and mad. He said he was sick because he was detoxing and had taken Benadryl to help him sleep. He was coherent and stable and refused to stay.
I talked to him on the way home and he said he was okay and his Dad overreacted. I believed him. I told him to drink lots of water and call me in the morning. I told him that I loved him and was proud of the fact he was detoxing and trying not to use. Well, I guess he wasn't telling me the truth.
He almost died one year before this, but we found him in time to revive him. At that time we had no idea he was using heroin. We knew he had experimented with other drugs, but never heroin. Our trusting love blinded us to what was really going on.
We tried to get him help, but like so many others, he was resistant and told us he was clean. He only told us what we wanted to hear. I loved my son and only wanted the best for him and wanted to believe everything he told me. Pretty soon, you learn not to believe anything they tell you. That hurt me to have to feel that way about him.
Brad had become disinterested in going to college or finding a job. He had been in trouble with the law and had spent some time in jail. We were always frustrated and mad about his lack of wanting to better himself.
We weren't sure if he was still using. He told us he wasn't. He tried to hide it from us. He was ashamed of it. Even if we did know, I'm not sure we could have helped him. We should have tried harder though.
Brad was a good guy with a big heart. He was lively, fun, sensitive and a champion for the underdog. He was friendly with almost everyone he met. He was so handsome. He wanted things out of life. This drug robbed him of his dreams, his passion and his ambitions. It stole his life away from all of us forever.