When I was 12 years oldI watched my mother choke to death in front of me. When I was 30 years old my father died of cancer. As a mother, I never thought that I would have to bury one of my children.
After years of watching my parents alcoholism, I swore I would never drink. Well, that didn't last long. I started drinking in my early 20's, I started using Meth in my late 20's to early 30's. I had 3 children by then, all boys. They never saw me high on meth as the 2 older boys lived with their dad in North Dakota. They did however see me drunk more than Icare to admit.
I had no idea that my oldest son was dabbeling into drugs when he was 15. I thought it was just pot, but I didn't do my homework. When he was 17 he called me and asked me to help him because he was tired of getting high. That's when I found out that he was into more than just weed. Meth had taken control of his whole world. So I called up his father and we decided to get him into treatment.We did this several times, but apparently he wasn't as ready as he thought he was. I could tell by the letters he would write to me that his depression was getting the best of him and he really wanted to quit, but didnt know how. He was like his mother, always wanting the easy way out. He wanted an instant miracle. I think he thought that he could go into the facilityand they would give him a pill or something to stop the cravings or that they would just disapear once he got out. This went on for a few years.
One Sunday morning I got a call from his dad trying to tell me thathe was dead -- thatBrandonwas dead.It was my biggest fear.My baby was dead. He was only 20 years old. I couldn't wrap my head around that, so I started drinking like immediately after I hung the phone up. That's what we alcoholics do, instead of face the situation we drown it out. I have no idea how I got through the following days or weeks, but I did.Toxicology reports determined that my son died of an accidental methadone overdose. He was taking it recreationally, I'm sure he didn't know that toomany pills could kill him. That's another thing about us addicts, a little is never enough. My sick mind kept telling me that he died of trauma to the head because 2 weeks before he died he was beaten up with a crowbar. He had to have 5 or sostaples put in his head.
I just simply didn't want to believe that he died of a drug overdose. I was 38 years old and burying my oldest child. I cursed God, my mother, my father and Brandon... I felt abandoned. I didn't think they loved me enough to stop using, all three of them. My mother died from a direct result of alcohol. I had issues and the biggest was being an alcoholic myself, It took me a few years and some work but Ive been sober now for almost 4 years. I've learned this disease and the disease of addiction. My son did not die in vain. He was a loving and incredibly gifted boy. His life wasn't all about the drugs, it was about his happiness. He was a good kid who just made bad choices that cost him his life.