My friends’ son died of an overdose this morning.  I assume it was fentanyl, given his history.

I woke to a happy text from his mother, letting me know he was home from county jail, where he had been for months.  He was only home temporarily, as he was set to enter the Mecklenburg County Supervision, Treatment, Education, and Prevention (S.T.E.P.) Program.

We were cautiously optimistic.  He had gained sobriety in jail for the first time in a long time.  His family enjoyed conversations with him that they had not had in years.

I replied to my friend’s text, supportive of her son being home, curious what next steps would be.  He needs a job, he needs a car, he needs permanent housing … 

While I showered, she responded that he was dead.

He was released last night and called her at 11:27pm to come get him.  She texted me today at 6:13am.  My understanding now is that he was dead within that window and we just didn’t know it.

I have had a special place in my heart for addicts my entire life, being raised by two recovered alcoholics.  I spend a lot of time wondering why some people can pleasantly, responsibly enjoy what others can only unhealthily indulge, why some people dip toes in both of those ponds, why some people are tee-totalers.  I don’t think fentanyl is anywhere on the “enjoy responsibly” list, and when mourning someone’s loss, perhaps the why is insignificant.  What seems hugely significant today is the absence of a 29YO man I hoped was recovering so I could meet his greater self.  What seems hugely significant today is the breaking hearts of my friends, their extended family, and even the little family we have formed over the last couple of years.  What led us here no longer matters.  What matters now is moving forward, one sad little day at a time.