As a seventh grader who got in trouble on a regular basis, I was not surprised when a phone call interrupted by Spanish class and my teacher instructed me to go down to the main office. I assumed it was was most likely for being late “again” to homeroom. However, this time, that wasn’t the case.
When I arrived at the front desk, the receptionist told me my father had called, and he needed me home right away, rather than staying after school for field hockey. I suddenly felt a pit in my stomach, and immediately assumed the worse. For anyone who knows my father, they can attest to the fact that I was probably on my way home to some sort of punishment for a number of things. Considering I wasn’t always the best behaved child, this was totally warranted.
I felt anxious on the 20-minute bus ride to my house, wondering why I needed to come home right away. But, I would soon find out that it was nothing my 12-year-old self would ever expect.
I opened my front door, expecting my father to be there, arms crossed, with a stern look on his face. Instead, my father was hunched over at our kitchen table with his head in his hands. He hadn’t heard me come in, but as soon as he realized I was standing in the doorway he sprung up startled. He looked at me with that serious look on his face, but rather than anger coming from his words, he spoke with sadness.
“Meghan, your cousin passed away suddenly this morning.”
At that moment it had felt as if time was standing still.
It took some time to process what I had just heard. I was extremely confused. My cousin was only 23-years-old and in very good health. He wasn’t in an accident or anything of that sort, so why did he die?
It took me several years to come to terms with the reason behind why my cousin had to leave us. My cousin died from a disease that isn’t always apparent when looking at someone. A disease that does not always make sense to someone who has no knowledge of it.
My cousin died because of a drug addiction that eventually led to an accidental overdose.
I used to feel embarrassment and judgement from that statement. And, in the first few years it was very difficult to share that news with anyone. Nobody likes admitting they have a problem, and nobody likes admitting that someone close to them has a problem, especially one that is socially frowned upon.
I would have never characterized my cousin as a drug addict. He was brilliant. He had a lot of friends, and it showed at his funeral when more than 300 people came. He always wore a big smile, and never failed to let all his friends know that he had two adorable cousins who he loved very much. You would have never known the pain he held inside, because on the outside he was a different person.
They say the only thing harder than being a drug addict is loving one, and I can relate to that statement. But what many people fail to understand is what exactly a drug addict is, and what their family goes through because of their disease.
If you would have asked me what I thought a drug addict was before knowing anything about my cousin, I would have said to you that drug addicts are easy to pick out. They usually have a grungey look to them, and a non-existent personality. Their eyes look hazy, and they have a tendency to come from “corrupted” families. However, that is the furthest description of one. Drug addicts look like ordinary people. They can be a father, a mother, a sibling, a friend, a boyfriend or girlfriend, or a cousin.
I wish more than anything that I could have seen all of this coming, but I was blind and naive to it. To anyone out there who has a loved one lost to drugs either in heaven or on earth, remember that their actions are not your fault. At the same time, don’t blame them, and try not to be angry with them, because it isn’t all their fault either. Drug addiction is a disease that requires love and support to help cure.