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.