I had an inscription put on my son’s urn: “If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.”
I lost my 32-year-old son almost two years ago to a fentanyl overdose; we all battled his addiction right along with him for more than a decade. He was in and out of jail, and actually skipped out on a court-ordered rehab .
He was homeless at times because I couldn’t let him live with me; I was not going to be stolen from, but I did buy him groceries and clothing as needed. When he was sober, he was an amazing young man -- intelligent, loved to read and draw, was a wonderful musician, was funny and silly with his niece and nephew, and was very giving of his time and energy to anyone who needed help.
Most days I still cry a little bit because I miss him so much. I, too, have guilt about everything. What more could I have done to save him? The only options that I can see would have completely torpedoed my own life, which means they weren’t really options.
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