At 47, I'm the youngest of three siblings. My brother is five years older than I am, and my sister, who passed away at 44, was nine years older. She was born when my parents were both just 16 years old.
My family has long struggled with the effects of my father's alcoholism and my mother's narcissism. On top of that, my father died of cancer at 47, and my sister died of a heart attack at 44. My mother is still alive, but we have minimal contact due to her malignant narcissism.
My sister left behind three children who were 16, 20, and 23 when she died. Her middle son, Bill, has struggled tremendously since losing her. I understand that kind of loss. I was 20 when my father died, and I've spent my entire adult life wishing I could have shared more of it with him. After his death, our immediate family drifted apart. He had been the glue that held us together. My sister played that same role in her own family. It was devastating when my father passed, but I was finishing up college and off to dental school in a few months, and I really didn't have time to linger on his loss. Of course, I had moments of intense grief, but I worked hard to reframe that grief into motivation.
Bill had battled addiction for years. Before my sister passed away, he had been hospitalized multiple times for overdoses. On two occasions, he developed aspiration pneumonia and remained intubated for more than four weeks.
After my sister's death, Bill seemed to turn a corner. He landed a good job at a smelting plant with excellent pay and benefits, genuinely enjoyed the people he worked with, bought a house, and appeared to be building a stable, comfortable life. Over the years, he also dated on and off, and has had a long term girlfriend for the past couple years.
Last week, Bill overdosed and was revived at the hospital. When his sister went to his house to pick up his dog, she found a note that read, "I just want to be with Mom again." She immediately informed the hospital and argued that he should be placed on a psychiatric hold. She works for the State of Connecticut with at-risk teens and young adults, so this is very much within her area of expertise. Despite her concerns, he was discharged the following day.
Three days later, on Tuesday night, Bill died from an overdose. He was only 33 years old.
Bill was one of the sweetest, most sensitive people I've ever known. Addiction never changed that. I'll miss him very much.
My family has long struggled with the effects of my father's alcoholism and my mother's narcissism. On top of that, my father died of cancer at 47, and my sister died of a heart attack at 44. My mother is still alive, but we have minimal contact due to her malignant narcissism.
My sister left behind three children who were 16, 20, and 23 when she died. Her middle son, Bill, has struggled tremendously since losing her. I understand that kind of loss. I was 20 when my father died, and I've spent my entire adult life wishing I could have shared more of it with him. After his death, our immediate family drifted apart. He had been the glue that held us together. My sister played that same role in her own family. It was devastating when my father passed, but I was finishing up college and off to dental school in a few months, and I really didn't have time to linger on his loss. Of course, I had moments of intense grief, but I worked hard to reframe that grief into motivation.
Bill had battled addiction for years. Before my sister passed away, he had been hospitalized multiple times for overdoses. On two occasions, he developed aspiration pneumonia and remained intubated for more than four weeks.
After my sister's death, Bill seemed to turn a corner. He landed a good job at a smelting plant with excellent pay and benefits, genuinely enjoyed the people he worked with, bought a house, and appeared to be building a stable, comfortable life. Over the years, he also dated on and off, and has had a long term girlfriend for the past couple years.
Last week, Bill overdosed and was revived at the hospital. When his sister went to his house to pick up his dog, she found a note that read, "I just want to be with Mom again." She immediately informed the hospital and argued that he should be placed on a psychiatric hold. She works for the State of Connecticut with at-risk teens and young adults, so this is very much within her area of expertise. Despite her concerns, he was discharged the following day.
Three days later, on Tuesday night, Bill died from an overdose. He was only 33 years old.
Bill was one of the sweetest, most sensitive people I've ever known. Addiction never changed that. I'll miss him very much.
