Planning for a Funeral

I spent all day Tuesday planning my brother’s funeral.

In my head.

I composed a eulogy that I would say while standing next to his lifeless body. It was an angry eulogy directed at him. Whenever my words would come to surface all I could do was cry.

I cried over and over on Tuesday.

At 3:01pm the tears started flowing and wouldn’t stop. I convinced myself that this was the precise moment he died.

But I was wrong.

He didn’t die.

He was in jail.

The safest place he could ever be.




My brother is on a bender. The text messages have begun and he wants to die. Sick from withdrawal his angst filled text come to my father’s inbox. And then they stop.

His phone is dead.

He may be dead.

We don’t know where he is. We don’t know if he’s ok or if he is in trouble. His roommate has called us to let us know he stayed in a motel last night but now has disappeared.

The saga of the poppy continues. His veins full of death just waiting to take him one last time.

All we can do is wait.

All I can do is tell my dad how much I love him and how this is NOT his fault. He didn’t put the needle in his arm. He didn’t make that choice. My brother did. My words fall on deaf ears as I watch my father wait for him to die.

Heroin is such a mother fucker.

My Brother is a Heroin Addict & There is Not a Goddamn Thing I Can Do About It

It’s so funny what will make me have a meltdown when it comes to my brother. For the most part, my skin is thick when it comes to him. I’ve built my wall and it rarely comes down. After seven years of watching him stick a needle in his arm you’d think I’d be numb by now.

And then something makes a crack. Today it was this song. A hairline fracture forms and within moments my wall is down and I…am crumbling. The tears begin and all I know how to do is blindly stare at a computer screen through waterfalls of tears and write. I write about how this disease never ends and how it’s hold on my brother is a million times stronger than our love for him. I write, through the¬†tears, about how I ache for my father, who holds the blame for my brother’s addiction on his shoulders even though he shouldn’t. I write because I am sad and I miss my brother. I write because my children will never see the boy I do. They will never see the sparkle in his blue eyes or hear the carelessness in his laugh. They will never know him like I did. No one will ever again.

Heroin has changed him. Gone is the twinkle and the laugh, forever replaced by an ugliness that never leaves. A shade of gray he has become.

This time I don’t know how to recover. I don’t know how to forgive him for going back to the thing that nearly destroyed him so many times over the past 7 years. I don’t know how to stop fucking crying for him. I don’t know how to stop hating him. I just don’t know.

My brother is a heroin addict and there is not a goddamn thing I can do about it. 

Cold is the water
It freezes your already cold mind
Already cold, cold mind
And death is at your doorstep
And it will steal your innocence
But it will not steal your substance

But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand
Hold your hand

And you are the mother
The mother of your baby child
The one to whom you gave life
And you have your choices
And these are what make man great
His ladder to the stars

But you are not alone in this
And you are not alone in this
As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand
Hold your hand

And I will tell the night
Whisper, “Lose your sight”
But I can’t move the mountains for you

-Mumford & Sons