Recently, while catching up with an old friend, our conversation shifted to the troubling opioid crisis that has gripped our nation. What once felt like a distant third-person story has morphed into a personal struggle, one that often involves the heartbreaking reality of watching loved ones succumb to this relentless disease.
That night, around 11 p.m., I shared my fears about my beloved cousin, “my Danny.” I never thought I would see him alive again. The childhood hero I idolized had been fighting addiction for years, and I felt that he was too far gone. My heart was heavy, and little did I know that he had already overdosed earlier that same day. His battle had tragically come to an end; we just hadn’t realized it yet.
Receiving the news didn’t make it any easier. Our family was shattered. We were left with the familiar questions that often haunt grieving families: “What if?” “How did it come to this?” and “Did we do everything we could to help him?” In the midst of our sorrow for our 31-year-old son, brother, nephew, and cousin, we couldn’t help but remember the goofy, sweet boy with big ears and thick glasses who once filled our lives with joy.
We were at a loss to comprehend his struggles because we hadn’t faced them. Our fight to reclaim the Danny we cherished was nothing compared to the hell he wrestled with daily, just to stay clean for a week, a day, or even an hour. For nearly half his life, Danny fought his demons while aspiring to become the man he longed to be. A talented athlete with a heart as expansive as his ambitions, addiction proved to be far stronger.
After Danny’s passing, his mother discovered a letter he had penned to himself almost 21 months earlier. It was tucked away in a small drawer beside an old Bible and a list of daily tasks. He was broken and wounded, but during that fleeting moment, he had managed to stay clean. As his brother poignantly noted in his eulogy, “In his moments of clarity, Danny recognized he had a disease and desperately wanted to overcome it.” His words are now a haunting testament to the inner turmoil faced by those grappling with substance use disorders, often in their final moments:
“I AM STRUGGLING…BAD! Inside I’m screaming. Each day I wake up and reflect on my life. I truly despise myself! I feel so out of place that it revolts me. The pain I’ve endured is relentless and driving me insane. Often, I don’t see the point in continuing. I’M COMPLETELY DRAINED. I’m tired of hurting.
Let’s take a hard look at my life right now. It’s downright pathetic. In just one week, I’ll be thirty years old. I haven’t had a driver’s license in over nine years. For nearly a decade, I’ve had to rely on others for rides, begging and walking countless miles, trapped in my own mind. How can anyone make progress in life when they can’t even get up and go when they want? I’ve felt confined in every place I’ve lived. I AM TRAPPED! I couldn’t even finish college, despite all the money my parents spent on my education. Once again, I’ve let my family down! Football? That’s just a bad dream now. A sport I excelled in, my passion, my love… I ruined that too. It pains me, and I know it hurts my Dad. I guess “other things” took precedence over football. Relationships? I’ve shattered them. The people I’ve hurt over the years make me sick. Since high school, I’ve felt like I’m always playing catch-up. And over time, you fade away; the negatives overshadow the positives until you accept it. Failure is all I know. I’m a thirty-year-old loser!”
Listening to Danny’s words, I glanced around the room at my family, most of whom were hearing the letter for the first time. My gaze landed on my uncle, Danny’s father—a former athlete himself—when he mentioned how he knew it hurt his dad. This feeling of “disappointment” is common among families facing this struggle. In reality, we never felt disappointment but rather profound sadness. It was painful to witness his decline until he slowly faded away.
He continued: “Addiction has taken its toll on me. It has chewed me up and spit me out. I was raised to avoid drugs, taught how destructive they can be. Yet, I got involved anyway. Drugs have obliterated me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. My relapses have battered me repeatedly. The last five years have been a nightmare, making it hard to get over what I’ve seen and done to my loved ones. I’ve lost track of where home is anymore! I’ve lived in four different states in five years, meeting countless people who have succumbed to this disease. So many I’ve known are gone! From twenty to twenty-five, I was in college, so I could excuse being a nobody. Now, from twenty-five to thirty… WOW, I’ve done nothing. The only thing I’ve gained in five years is PAIN. I don’t know how to cope with it. I’m just existing.”
It’s true—he was merely surviving, frequently in and out of halfway houses and rehabs, losing friends, and having nothing to call his own. The physical toll of addiction goes beyond mere weight loss and lost brain cells: depression, anxiety, panic attacks, painful health issues, and more compound the struggles of those in dire straits. Just imagine watching your son or daughter deteriorate before your eyes.
He pressed on: “I have no friends. I’m so lonely, and because I can’t drive, I can’t visit my brother and his kids. I can’t even be a normal uncle. I’m the uncle with a dead-end job who can’t afford to buy them gifts. I’m pathetic! I keep making the same mistakes. I know the consequences and I’m terrified. I feel like I have nothing left. I’m exhausted from fighting. I’ve led a hopeless life, and I’m sick of it. I hate myself… I truly hate myself! I have a big heart and am a loving person, but it gets me nowhere. If I were to get married tomorrow, who would be at my wedding? I can’t even think of five friends who would show up. How embarrassing is that? What if I died? Who would come to my funeral? These thoughts haunt me.”
“OK, what if I died?” hung heavy in the air, only broken by the sounds of heavy breathing and muffled sobs. Everyone in the room clung to one another, fighting back tears. Danny was a loving, funny guy who always tried to make people laugh, and understanding the extent of his self-hatred was excruciating. It highlighted everything he could have achieved. Like so many others battling addiction, their lives and potential are tragically cut short long before death arrives to end their pain.
But here’s the truth: We would always be there for him. Yes, life progresses, and responsibilities take center stage, but his wedding? I’d be right in the front row. And his funeral? I sat right behind his brothers. For anyone questioning whether anyone would care—there are likely more people than you realize, and amidst your darkest moments, countless individuals are eager to help. There are people who love you and want to see you happy.
To address Danny’s worries: Yes, we would have been there. We’d always be there.
In his final words, he expressed: “I’m so SCARED right now! I hate myself for messing up AGAIN! I can’t see a way out of this mess. I’ve ruined my life. Is GOD not on my side? What do I need to do? I keep falling and don’t want to get back up. Why fight? Should I keep fighting just to exist?? I’ve taken so many beatings. I’m trying to go to meetings and reach out. I’m just so scared for my mom. She doesn’t deserve to see me fall apart. I love her more than anyone. I’m just tired of this nonsense. I hate struggling every second of my life. Something positive needs to happen in my pathetic life. SCREW THIS PAIN!”
When discussing sharing Danny’s letter with his mom, her immediate reaction was an emphatic “Yes!” Both she and my uncle had decided to forgo any sugarcoated version of Danny’s death. What good would that do? Instead, she opened up about the daily turmoil of loving a child who is slipping away—battling anger, pain, and doubt. Did she do everything within her power to save him? The “what ifs” consume parents in this situation.
Ultimately, she knew they had done everything they could to support their son. They attended meetings, sought counseling, financed rehabs, and read up on everything they could find. They tried tough love, and when that didn’t work, they brought him home, afraid of enabling him. Yet, the cycles never changed, and his cravings persisted.
One key takeaway from Danny’s mother is this: Your worth as a parent isn’t defined by the path you choose or the lengths you go to help your child. There’s no quick fix to this situation, and recovery doesn’t happen overnight (if only).
In many cases, the conclusion is a parent’s worst nightmare. Ultimately, there is no right or wrong way to love your child. You will always love them because deep down, you still see your child—the precious, wonderful kid you’ve always known.
Our family hopes that sharing Danny’s letter can help reshape the narrative surrounding love for those grappling with substance use disorders and create a more profound understanding of the complexities involved.
For those seeking more insights on fertility, check out this excellent resource, and if you’re interested in home insemination, you might find our post on the BabyMaker Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit Combo quite engaging. Additionally, learn about our new Director of Operations, Caitrin, who brings authority to this topic.
In summary, addiction is a relentless struggle that affects not only the individual but also their loved ones. It’s essential for families to understand that they are not alone in their grief and that there is a network of support available. Addiction can be devastating, but love remains a powerful force.