I miss you Luke… I wore purple for you yesterday. I drove to your favorite drive thru where I would bring you your favorite meal. I sat outside crying. I went to the store that I would stop to buy you all of your favorite snacks, with enough to share with your roommates. I did this once a week on my way to our weekly visits. You always said it was your favorite day of the week. It was mine too. I would pull up and you’d be waiting outside with your big beautiful smile. You would get in my car with so much excitement. Give me the biggest hug. Eat your food, thank me for bringing all of your favorite things. You would hijack the the radio to connect your phone and play your latest beats that you had written. Listening to your vulnerability in your music lyrics felt like I was getting a glimpse of your diary. What a privilege. You were so much more than your addiction. I know you couldn’t see that over the last few years. Being in facilities all day long reminding you of the very small percentage statistically that would succeed in sobriety. That had to feel so defeating. If I could go back and do things differently for you, I would. People suffering from addiction need to feel like part of a community with support. Pursuing their passions and purpose. I’m so heartbroken that the greed of money to some of the facilities that we trusted only exploited your pain and desperation. Using you to continually bill the insurance. Kicking you out on the streets of California and scaring you with having no other place to go unless you would leave, use drugs again, and return dirty to start the process over again so they could bill the insurance. They even incentivized you by giving you a cut of the money. It seemed you were trapped. I should’ve paid more attention to the tone of your voice, using their phones and having conversations monitored. They only allowed you to leave on a plane to Arizona to see me when I had emergency surgery and wasn’t doing very well. I’m so glad you got out of that evil place of corruption. I never did get the chance to see you alive again. The next time I would see you would be at the funeral home when the nightmare of “the call” became a reality. You went directly from the airport, to detox (where I confirmed you were clean) it was a necessary step to get you out of there and to have the cost of your flight covered. You then left and visited friends. I’m sure I’ll never know the truth of what took place that night. I only know that the other two friends that supposedly smoked with you are still alive today. I believe in my whole heart that you had no knowledge of what they had offered you that night. Inside your vape where you were smoking what you thought to be medicinal marijuana, the medical examiner found a lethal combination of fentanyl and meth. Your cause of death is listed as an “accident”. Speaking with you the night before you visited your friends, you were very positive, motivated, ambitious, and ready to move mountains. At some point in the night the angels took you home. I’m so thankful that you went in your sleep with a clean slate and a sound mind. I know you didn’t know what you ingested. I know you didn’t intend to die on your friends couch. I’m struggling to say that you died of an overdose. An overdose implies that you knew what you were taking, and took too much. Whoever is responsible for selling deadly fentanyl pills cut with another lethal substance have to know at the time that they are preparing these drugs for distribution, that the person taking this will not survive. How can these people sleep at night? These people struggling with an addiction have desperate heartbroken parents, families, and loved ones, at home begging, pleading, and praying that the person that they love so much will overcome this battle. I was forced to grieve you Luke much longer than the day you actually lost your life. I saw glimpses of losing the boy that I once knew. No matter how much I prepared myself to grieve my living son, nothing prepared me for the reality of losing you completely. The reality is so heavy. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the heart. I will always miss you Luke. I will always grieve everything that was taken away when I lost you. I take comfort in knowing that you have been set free from the chains of addiction. I have peace knowing where you are now and where you will be for the rest of my entire life. I feel joy knowing that I will see my precious son again. I look forward to that reunion. I will spend the rest of my life raising awareness, offering support, giving hope, and loving on every person that I come in contact with that is either struggling with addiction themselves or has a loved one stuck in this cycle. The shame makes it so hard to ask for help. The crooked facilities using people for money only solidifies their feelings of worthlessness. That system is counterproductive. I know there are many great people in the recovery community that will help at no cost. Sadly this wasn’t our experience. My boy was brokered. He was a transaction. A dollar sign. The boy that these money hungry evil people used to get an insurance cut, was my son. Luke was amazing, talented, brilliant, ambitious, creative, hilarious, compassionate,and loved by so many. His life mattered. 10/25/94-6/2/20 💜forever25💜
This breaks my heart, My God, When did such horrible humans become so driven by money that human life has Zero value.
I have periods time, where I think we can change this whole industry , But how do you continue to fight such evil and not feel hopeless most of the time. So many lives have been, lost its so devastating .I can say people are waking up
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I think that’s all we have, Gina, is to bring awareness and education.