The National Addiction Memorial honors the loved ones we’ve lost.

Michael is my middle son. He fought hard trying to stop his addiction to Opana, Xanax, and Oxycodone but the drugs won. They were relentless, exposing their ugly head around the corner or just right up the street.
Michael loved working on cars and electronics. From a very young age he would take electronics apart and once put back together they would work better than before. Working on cars was Michael’s passion. If anyone were having car trouble he would usually set aside whatever he was doing in order to go help the person who needed him. Most times he did this for free, as well as on many occasions he would purchase the part needed if it were not expensive and if he had the money.
The day of Michael’s death, he had just been released from eight months of incarceration. We hoped and prayed that after this stent in jail that he would remain drug free. We were tragically wrong. After our phone call with Michael, my husband and I decided to go visit before I had to be at work. I had been in a bad mood that day. I had woke and had a terrible feeling, I knew something bad was going to happen to someone. I just didn't know who this bad thing was going to happen to or what was going to happen. I couldn't shake this feeling and anxiety was rearing its ugly face. I worked that day. I wanted to call in and spend that day with Michael, but I couldn't because there was no one to cover my shift. Oh how I wish that I had called in anyway but as everyone knows, hindsight is 20/20.
At some point, Michael got his hands on Opana and Xanax, never taking into consideration that he was eight months sober and his 6’2” body could not tolerate that much medication. Additionally, mixing the drugs, he created his own death cocktail. According to Michael’s autopsy report, they found no new track marks so unless he hid it well, he crushed the pills and snorted them rather than injected them. There is a lot more to Michael's story. It would take a lot more time but I know positively that from approximately 8pm until pronounced dead at 2am Michael had fought hard to live.

The city detective was ”supposed” to investigate Michael’s death, but we live in a small town and to them he was ”just another addict” who took more than he should have and died. End of investigation. Michael was an addict but he was my son, he is not just a statistic.
Michael was released from jail at 10am and was pronounced dead at 2am, Michael only survived 14 hours after he was released from jail the day he died.

Ian was a son, a grandson, a partner, a dad, a fierce friend, and a stranger to no one. He wanted the best for anyone he met.

April had such a beautiful soul. She was a mother, daughter, sister, and best friend. She had a passion for life and would light up the room with her presence. She is loved and missed by so many!

Jeffrey John can be best described as a young man that loved passionately. His first girlfriend at 14 became his pillow and he would go on being in love until his passing (he was in one steady relationship from 18-26 and left a baby boy whose mom is raising him with a lot of Love). How long J.J. got high? - perhaps since his first joint at 14 (as told by a teenage buddy who told the story of smoking pot in the backseat of his older cousins car on the way to see the movie "The Fast and the Furious").

Jeffrey's heart opened after a divorce at the age of 13. The usual circumstances involving stepfathers, being uprooted from his community, the loss of his dog, all hurt Jeffrey. He was always a wide-eyed beautiful boy until his demise at 26 years old, three days shy of his 27th birthday.

He rebelled. Family and friends describe a very loving, gregarious young man when they speak of Jeffrey. He always worked and always had a plan. We, as parents, close and far away, did what we could with our sometimes limited resources. Through all of this, he was loved by many (his parents, his partner, sisters, relatives, friends, and co-workers).

I saw my son a week before his passing, on Thanksgiving Day. He emanated a brooding sadness and loneliness that brings near tears to my eyes as I write this. But the following week he would buy a car, be told of his baby to come and he was okay. Jeffrey was not known for being sad; he emanated a great presence, a loving smile, and a hearty laugh. Even his tough persona (some would call him Heff in his fighting days) was spent defending wimps and knocking out jerks. Unfortunately, addiction, a system of illegal substances, and drug dealers in the county killed my son, and today we have only his memory and spiritual presence to sustain us.

The morning they found him in his car (a car he had just purchased) it was too late and now Jeffrey remains our companion in spirit - keeping his memory and presence alive.

www.jeffemanate.com

My son Nicky had a smile that would light up a room. He was always there when someone needed his help. He loved his family very much. We miss his smile, his laugh, his sense of humor. Our family will never be the same without him. Nicky we love and miss you so much, son.

James was an amazing person. He could do damn near anything with his hands, from working on cars to roofing and carpentry. Man I miss him so much. They don't only hurt themselves when they start using but everyone around them. I'm a father of six kids and I see every day how hard it is on my other kids. Their hearts are broken missing their older brother. I try to be strong for them so I go in my room by myself to remember you. James Kenneth, I love you and miss you every day. Not one goes bye that I don't think of you.

Laura Lee Johnson, wife, mother, daughter, friend, and sister, died on Friday May 31st of a drug overdose. While her death was not unexpected, there were always brief periods of hope where we thought she may have found a pathway to happiness.

Born on May 16, 1977, Laurie grew up on a beautiful sod farm in the rolling hills of Pittstown, NJ. She was known for her golden curls, sparkling blue eyes, and contagious laughter.

Shortly after high school, Laurie went to live with her mother in Wilkes Barre, PA. Though she had used alcohol and marijuana in high school, it was here that she was first exposed to opioids, which began a deviant relationship that eclipsed her entire life.

How do you capture a person so singularly in a cold, one dimensional obituary? A girl both wildly loved and who loved wildly, yet whose adult life was riddled with poor choices due to substance use disorder?

As her family, we were first hand witnesses to Laurie’s comedic charm and quick wit. When you were in her company, friends can contend that she wanted to stay. Sadly, in the end, her closest friends were police officers, social workers, public defenders and judges, who tried unsuccessfully to advocate for her through to her death.

Briefly a hairdresser, waitress, dancer, and phlebotomist, her proudest achievement was the birth of her daughter Alisabeth. After having Alissa, Laurie tried unsuccessfully to remain sober. We will remain forever grateful that she had intermittent glimpses of sobriety and hope. During these times, she bestowed her love of Disney Princesses and singing loudly to the infectious music of Prince to her little angel girl.

We know that Laurie loved her family but she struggled to love herself, which only contributed to her downward spiral. Over the last five years, her disease brought her to her knees, and we have all forgiven her for each unspeakable thing that she did, which we know only increased her guilt and shame. We know that her most recent relapse and ultimate loss of custody of her daughter was both unbearable and soul crushing.

Pray for her parents, Laurie’s angelic five year old daughter Alisabeth, and her husband Jahun as they navigate the uncomfortable maze through a loved one’s death.

We trust you are finally at peace, Laurie. Godspeed.

William Andrew Gunby "Andy" was a husband and father of two beautiful girls. He lost his life from an overdose, laying on the floor of a dirty gas station bathroom. He was going to detox the next day in a different state, but his addiction had other plans. I miss his smile, laugh, his way of thinking. He was my soulmate, my best friend, my everything.

Nick was my older brother, and my very best friend. He died of an accidental overdose of heroin mixed with fentanyl, home alone by himself. Went to sleep and never woke up.
His death shocked many people because he did not act like a “drug addict”. He was a great hockey player who played all his life and created many relationships and touched many lives. He was a loving, kind, funny, and amazing person and one of the greatest guys I have ever known. I was truly blessed to have him as my brother.
But he had a demon inside that he could not battle anymore. His addiction was a struggle for six years. Overdosing two times. Second time leaving him with short term memory loss. My family and I did everything we could to help him but it was not enough. He felt too much pain, depression, and loneliness that he needed to “self-medicate”.
He thought he had control of it, until it took him away from us.
We love you Nick, forever.

Jeff was my little brother, but he was also a son, a father, and a friend to many. Smart, funny, compassionate, sensitive, loyal, with a contagious smile and the best laugh (which we always called a cackle). But, among all those wonderful qualities he was also an addict. He struggled and fought the addiction demon more than once--and prevailed, more than once. He passed away when he had been sober for more than a month. An accidental overdose. The impact that day left on me, I cannot put into words. I spent so much of my life as his big sister, trying to protect him and wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. Anyone, or any family, that is dealing with, has dealt with, or has lost someone due to addiction, I truly feel your hurt and pain in the depths of my soul. I miss him with every breath I take, and every minute that passes. His daughter, 4 year old Sarabella Grace, is the most beautiful gift he left for our family. We still get to see a small glimpse of his humor, his smile, and his infectious spirit through her, and for that, we are forever thankful.

My brother Max tragically left us at 27 years old after a life of personal struggles with mental illness and over a decade battling substance use disorder and a heartbreaking heroin addiction. Everyday of Max's life was a fight for happiness, but he always made it clear to me that he never wanted to leave me, our family, or his beloved friends in this world without him until we were old and grey. No matter what demons he was fighting on any given day, he always made it his mission to help others facing their own struggles. 

Max's battle with addiction started far too young. He suffered from undiagnosed mental illnesses since childhood. He was so quiet and could never bring himself to talk about it or ask for help. By the age of 12, Max was using alcohol to cope with his pain, and by 15 he was using drugs and pills. By 17, Max was already consumed by a heroin addiction. After six years of heroin use, he finally asked for help and requested to go into rehab. When he came home, it was so evident how badly he wanted to overcome his addiction. He focused on his health and kept himself busy by working with our uncle who taught him the craft of carpentry and woodworking. Max finally found his passion and quickly became a talented and skillful woodworker. He took so much pride in the craft he learned and has made so many beautiful items for so many people in his life. Once he tapped into this talent, he began expressing so much hope for his future. After over three years of sobriety, he decided it was time for him to move from home and start his own life. It was scary for us all but we wanted Max to experience the life he deserved. In October 2018, he caught himself starting to slip and admitted himself into rehab before he could start using opioids again. As a family, we were worried but we were proud that he was doing everything he could to take care of himself. Once he was out of rehab, he asked me to help him with his resume. I was happy to, and we spent hours on the phone talking about all of his strengths and passions, his goals and plans for his future; something that was very rarely discussed but I am forever grateful to have been able to hear hope in his voice.

Max got himself an amazing job and quickly consumed his time with work. Around Easter time, we started hearing from him less and less. When we did talk to him, he sounded upbeat and talked about how great things were going and that he was staying really busy working almost every day of the week. Little did anyone know he was starting to slip. The rehab he went to gave him Narcan, and a false sense of safety if he relapsed. Max was found unresponsive in his room with Narcan in his hand; he didn't want his life to end, and he tragically was unable to save himself.  Max's addiction destroyed me. At 13 years old, I took on the fear and guilt of his struggles; his demons became my demons, his battles became my battles. No sister, mother, father, brother, or friend should live in fear that they could lose their loved one at any moment. This epidemic is heartbreaking and leaves not a single person untouched. This drug is everywhere in almost every high school, even middle schools. There have been so many lives destroyed, and there doesn't seem to be an end in sight. Max's death does not mean the end of his life or his purpose. His life will always be celebrated and cherished. Max's life will help others to avoid this fate and make a change in this world, that I promise. 

As Max's annoying little sister, I spent most of my life just a few steps behind him. I wanted to go where he was, do what he did, be just like him; I looked up to him for anything and everything. He was so insanely smart and had such rare and powerful friendships that made me so jealous, I couldn't help but do what I could to be a part of them. He would always tell me to go away but he never made me leave. As we got older, I continued to try to follow in his footsteps but eventually, the thought of that terrified him. We had the same group of friends in high school, and any one of them could tell you how much the two of us constantly fought. He always told me that I stole his life: his friends, his career path, his goals. He did anything he could to make me so angry at him that I would leave whatever situation we were in. I always thought he did this out of spite, but I know now that he pushed me away to save me. He did everything he could to ensure that I would have the life he knew he would never have. We had many heart to hearts over the years. He taught me how to protect myself, how to be strong; he gave me the tools to conquer my own demons and taught me that it is okay to be happy. He prepared me for a time that I would have to live without him in my life, though neither of us thought it would be so soon. Max did everything in his power to protect me, and he always told me that I have to be the strong one for Mom and Dad. I was so incredibly close to falling victim to addiction myself, but Max made sure that never happened - even if he had to break my heart to do so. If that is not love, I don't know what is. I wouldn't be a tenth of the person I am today without my big brother. I will forever miss being greeted with "Hey, Stupid" and a bop on the head. I will forever miss his hugs, which I had to do a lot of chasing and convincing to get, but they were the best hugs. I will forever miss his constant teasing, and his dark but hilarious sense of humor.  I will forever miss the fun we had, the fights we fought, the laughs we shared, and the love we had for each other. I was always so terrified of Max leaving me in this world without a brother to grow old with, but I find so much comfort that he left me with three incredible brothers and a sister who are forever family. 

"Max and I may not have been brothers by blood, but we were brothers by bond. We’ve been through a lot together and no matter how much our paths separated, we always ended up back with one another. We were never truly apart. Over the past year and a half I’ve lived with him we learned even more about one another and, ultimately, our bond grew even stronger. I watched him grow as a person, living on his own and battling his demons in search of finding his niche in the world. Everyone who became close enough to him saw how big his heart really was and I know he will be remembered for that. I also hope his parting from this physical world will open the eyes of all those who are battling addiction. Substance use is not a game and rolling the dice affects not only its victims, but those around them more than they realize. Especially loved ones. I will always miss my brother and all the adventures we shared together. Rest in paradise, Max. I love you. - Matt Ianniello 

"The world lost a rare gem on the day Max passed away. Once you broke through the layers of steel, stone, and iron, you found the most genuine and generous person that had nothing but love to give. He would drop anything he was doing to please, and never would you hear a complaint. Max never had to say much, but his wit and sarcasm could make a whole room burst into laughter. He was a gifted carpenter and found time to help any of his friends with a project no matter how busy his schedule. Max was a spark of light in all the lives he touched, and it is sad to see that light go out. Max had so much left to give, and did not even realize how valued and essential he was to our lives. Even though he is no longer with us, there are countless memories that Max gave to us that are priceless and his story does not have to end here."  - Evan and Mary Bishop

"I met Max in the fall of 2008. It was the start of my senior year of high school and his junior year. We had some mutual friends but had never spent time with each other until our mutual friends came together into one big group. That year was the start of a nearly 11-year friendship. Throughout high school and part of our higher-education careers, we were great friends that hung out almost every day. After a few personal circumstances involving the coming and going of friends from our group, Max and I ended becoming absolute best friends. We had cut many of the toxic ties out of our lives and ended up confiding in each other more than we did with our very own families. We spent years upon years visiting each other’s houses, hanging out with each other’s families, playing music and going to concerts, designing and building projects, and working the majority of the odd-jobs we held together. Max spent an incredibly long time fighting his demons and addiction, but he looked to me as one of his main supporters. I can remember getting phone calls in the middle of the night when he needed help and doing all that I could to encourage him to keep fighting. I was there for him as he went in and out of treatment centers and he was there for me during hard times involving personal relationships, battles with depression, and times of loneliness. Some of the most memorable and important moments of our friendship consisted of us literally sitting on each other’s couches and just spending time with each other. Max was never a socialite, and I was far from one myself. I always felt like that’s why him and I got along so well together. Out of everyone else in the world, we actually understood each other. And one thing I understood about Max more than anything is that he always wanted to do good by the ones he loved. We are all torn apart by the loss of Max, but it is a fact that he wanted to live life. He wanted to reciprocate all of the love and support he received from his close-knit inner circle. Max left this world far, far too soon, but I take solace in the fact that he is now watching over me, his parents, his sister, and the other friends that stuck by his side through both the good and bad times. I feel like Max will be my guardian angel; watching over me, protecting me, and reminding me of how precious and short life is. It’s said that after a person passes, their brain stays active for roughly seven minutes. During that seven minutes, the person’s life replays in sort of a dream. I like to think Max dreamed about the good days spent at his home in North Haven, playing our guitars at his father’s house, the amazing shows we attended together, playing with Buddy Love, walking to the gas station, driving aimlessly while jamming out to August Burns Red, and spending hours side-by-side working our hands to the bone at the many restaurants that employed us as teens. Max was a once in a lifetime friend for me. He was going to be the future best man at my wedding and the future godfather to my children. But now, Max will forever reside in my heart and in my memory. I love you Max. Just because you’ve left me during this lifetime doesn’t mean we aren’t still brothers. Once we are reunited, I look forward to sitting on a cloud and talking about the ridiculous, inane things we did while you were here." - Sean Mumford

Michael David Sutton was a spirit of enormous curiosity and intellectual exploration, a musician, artist, writer, and philosopher. Michael was a loving and kind man with literally hundreds of friends with whom he developed active channels of frequent communications, stimulating exchanges, and prolific essays challenging the very foundations of human perception and existence. He was deeply concerned for those who struggle for survival and the social ills of our country. Family and friends miss his creative spirit and unique way of seeing the world.

Michael was 40 when his body was pulled from the Des Moines River May 18th, 2019. He was born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa. Michael struggled through elementary school as a few perceptive teachers pointed out that the education system was not prepared for a child of his formidable intellectual abilities and active questioning of everything. It was a poignant time when the only answer schools offered was immersion in pharmaceuticals to blunt the hyper active child. With his mother’s coaching and without the chemicals, Michael succeeded, showing bright promise. He graduated from Roosevelt High School, and moved on to Kirkwood Community College in Iowa City. It may have been about this time that Michael began recognizing and reacting to feelings of social anxiety, but most certainly, college life exposed him to cocaine and a variety of experimental chemicals.

Living on his own was a greater challenge for Michael. He did not easily accept the social norms of owning or driving automobiles, ownership of property, expectations of economic systems that he saw creating class strata and “slave-wage, soul-devouring occupation.” He struggled to hold jobs, seldom asking for appropriate hourly compensation, seemingly lacking drive to raise or even recognize higher lifestyle. Instead, Michael found his ambitions in studying philosophy, composing music, creating art, and writing. He traveled a bit, living in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Champaign-Urbana, and Chicago, Illinois.

Music was important in his life. Receiving his first guitar at 14, music became central to his creative expression as he learned to play a variety of instruments and developed his own unique vocal style, performing in bands in Champaign, Chicago, and Des Moines. The lifestyle brought Michael exposure to more menacing drugs, amphetamines, and heroin. He became homeless and lived hand-to-mouth on the streets of Chicago for nearly two years, panhandling and selling small paintings.

The family responded to his phone call the week after Christmas 2012, and drove to Chicago in a blizzard to rescue him as sub-zero temperatures descended on the Windy City. The transition was not easy but with good food, loving care, and judgment-free environment we all hoped for the best. We did not know of Michael’s heroin addiction for weeks, though professionals might have recognized spontaneous bouts of paranoia and anxiety.

To the dismay of all, he returned to Chicago after three months, just as we were recognizing clearing of his eyes, relaxed manner, and greater vitality in his posture and movements. Strangely, again, just before Christmas, as minus temperatures plunged Chicago to nearly 10-below, he again asked if we could bring him home to safety. This time he seemed to succeed. Structure and nurture began to bring him back into the fold of family and old acquaintances. With time he found work, rebuilt relationships, and began playing in local bands.

Last year, turning 40 was a quake in his life. Depression had set in; he appeared shaken by his own diminished estimation of himself and his life accomplishments. A series of events seemed to cascade like dominos bringing crushing blows to his self esteem through the latter part of 2018, including being arrested, losing several jobs in a row, being committed for evaluation, and losing his home. Somewhere in this cycle, Michael turned to using meth. Friends and family alike noticed changes in his personality, major episodes of paranoia, irrational feelings, and delusional thinking. The downward spiral culminated near the end of April this year when Michael went missing. How he died remains unknown until we have the final results from forensic tests.

His mother Cheryl Sutton, stepfather Stan Sanders, Des Moines, his father Walter H. Sutton, stepmother Deloris Sutton, Osceola, sisters, Sherrie Lynn, and Rena, survive him. His brother Walter Scott Sutton preceded him in death. He is deeply missed by all.

My amazing brother, Ryan, died due to complications from a heroin overdose last week.

Those who knew Ryan knew he struggled with his demons for years. I find myself angry and heartbroken that I could not find a way to heal him or help him become the person he was struggling to be outside of his addiction.

My relief from some of this pain lies in the fact that he became an organ donor and through others, will live on.

I will forever miss his kind heart, loud laugh, and caring nature.

Addiction has taken so much from my family and I can't stand to see it ruin others.

Greg had a spark that drew others to him. Smart, handsome, and caring. He was as good a son as anyone could have hoped for. Special to me and his identical twin brother and good friend to many. We loved him completely. We miss him intensely. As with too many others, he lost his battle with opiate addiction. He had made repeated attempts at recovery only to die from an accidental overdose. This horrible epidemic has taken so much from so many. There are many reasons why individuals become addicted, but the carnage is inexcusable and unnecessary. Many could be saved if our system was improved. Prevention, evidence based programs and common sense legislation are key to saving our loved ones. If someone wants the help they should have access to it when they need it, for as long as they need it. Our current system has failed! Please support Shatterproof and other such organizations for change.

Bethany is my only child. She is a mom, wife, the first grandchild in our family, a niece, and a friend. he was considered the meme queen of social media, always having a funny sense of humor and quick wit about her. But under all of the laughs, she struggled immensely with anxiety and feelings of abandonment. Her father and I divorced when she was two. After our divorce he chose to not be a prominent figure in her life and it affected her.
Later, Bethany began having severe pain each month from her period that led her to the doctor for help. The help came in the form of hydrocodone, which also helped dull the emotional pain she suffered. As time passed..her anxiety and feelings of abandonment grew and over time the hydro became heroin.
She became addicted. She fought for 3 and 1/2 years, having several months of sobriety. This last stretch, we thought she was going to manage the addiction. She was working, back with her family, and we were experiencing for the first real time hope.
In the end she relapsed. It was a fatal dose of Xanax or heroin laced with fentanyl that took the life of this beautiful soul.
No words spoken or written can ever describe the emptiness that invades my every waking moment as I still try to process the reality of not having my daughter with me. It’s been almost one year and it still doesn’t seem possible that she’s actually gone.

Alec was my firstborn and my shining light. Always smiling and laughing. He was really smart, eager to learn and try new things. He loved sports, especially the San Francisco 49ers and the NY Mets. As he grew he developed a passion for comedy and music, attending concerts as often as he could. In fact, at the time of his death, he was working security at the Capital Theatre, where he could make some money while indulging in his appetite for music. He struggled on and off with addiction, starting out with pills and progressing into heroin. I was unaware of his addiction until about three years prior to his death. He was hospitalized twice and engaged in some outpatient treatment. Alec didn’t like to talk much about his struggles. I’m sure part of it was to protect me but I think he also felt shame from the stigma. He would do well, and then have relapses. The last relapse took his life. The last time I saw him before his death was at my daughter's college graduation party. He looked amazing. He was with his girlfriend of two years, and they seemed happy. He informed me he was applying to go back to college. I couldn’t be happier until my world came crashing down shortly after. It’s a phone call I pray no other parent ever has to get. I would get so angry with him when he was in active addiction, but now I’ve educated myself to see how this is a disease. My son didn’t want to be an addict, it was just too big for him to get a grip on. I think about him every second of every day. We all miss him tremendously.

Callan was a wonderful son. His loving soul was high-jacked after knee surgeries nine years ago.  He knew he was loved, and we were worried about him.  After rehab he did pretty well, mostly, only compromised when visiting his "friends", who we warned him repeatedly to avoid.  These were not his friends, but profiteers from Callan's addiction and trust.  The drugs changed him and although we'd see glimpses of the the old Callan, he was suffering and conflicted with pain and guilt, and never the same.  He was 31 years old when he OD'd.

Despite this overwhelming struggle, Callan excelled at work and strove to keep in touch with us on a regular, if not daily, basis.  His concern for all of us, and for others, is well documented with stories that make us even more proud of him. 

Callan loved sports, especially Pittsburgh teams, with the Steelers being his #1 team.  He loved going to Nashville Predator games and traveling with the love of his life, Kacy.  Being married to Kacy, we feel, was a great blessing for our family and gave us 2 or 3 years with Callan we may not have had.  He enjoyed regular workouts with his younger brother Ethan, and was an exceptionally strong weight lifter.  His concern for his younger sister Rachel, still in high school, was a topic of almost every conversation.

It will be hard to watch Steeler games, or do other normal things we did together.  Our hearts are broken and we all have a huge hole in our lives that cannot be filled.

My brother was a realist who saw everyone for who they were. Addict or not, he saw the very best in you, no matter what. At a young age, my brother and I would spend so much time together, going on camping trips, to the beach, just living life. We always stayed connected even when he moved to Jersey a couple of times. I never knew anything about addiction until we both watched my sister go through a horrible heroin addiction--in and out of many rehabs, letters--we watched and were a part of it all. Except there was one thing I didn't know about my brother....I didnt' know that he was addicted to heroin. Joey and I got into our fair share of trouble but we were thick as thieves. We were always together. He used to live in Downingtown and that's when I first tried coke. We stayed up for hours talking about life and so much more. He may have had an addiction way before any of us finally figured it out. He loved his family and friends. Being around a lot of people at one time was his thing. He wanted to be around as many people as possible and now I understand why. Whenever we would hang out, we would take some pills, do a couple lines of coke and drink a little but I never thought anything of it. He was the most caring person I've ever known in my life. He made a huge impact on everyone he came into contact with. He was a huge player, and looooooved the ladies, but when he was actually in love, he loved hard. There was a period of time where he and I lost contact, but I'll never forget the night he called me just to talk. He went to a bar in one night and someone accused him of harming a female. If you knew my brother and everything he stood for, you would know that what he was accused of wasn't right at all. He was a firm believer of hit first ask questions later, and that's what he did. He called me and told me that someone was accusing him and he didn't like it. He had enough and beat the guy saying all of this rude, disrespectful stuff to him. Then, he said I can't do this anymore. I wish I would've been more attentive to what he meant instead of just agreeing. The next day he came over and I could tell he was different by the way he stood there with the blank stare, not talking, trying to make jokes but it was directed at his own pain. I was watching someone I loved so much die right in front of me. I'm not sure when his addiction started, and my sister believes and carries the weight of believing that she was the one who caused him to become addicted to heroin. It could've started when he was in the hospital for a number of things, broken bones, liver problems, or it could've started in 2009 when our grandfather took his last breath. But I didn't help. You see, I was an addict myself, except my drug of choice was crystal meth. I didn't care about anyone but myself and how I was going to get my next fix. But I was dating the dealer so I stopped worrying, and I started thinking about how much I needed to get me through the rest of the day and how much I needed for the next day. I was already a mother of two, heavy meth addiction, toxic/abusive relationship. But Joey was always there for me. He was my protector, my safe zone, my go-to guy, he was me. Joey had a contagious smile and laugh, and pure happiness, joy, and love expelled from him. It was to hard to ignore. He was the life of the party, and there was never a dull moment with Joe. I was five years into a really toxic relationship, and the person I thought I was going to spend my life with took a turn for the worse. I was mentally, emotionally, and verbally abused for majority of our relationship, but Joey was always there to lift me up even if he didn't know the real reason behind my pain, even while he was drowning himself. I'll never forget the day I was told that he passed. It still haunts me to this day. I was pregnant with my third child, it was 21 days after his birthday. I was still in my active addiction. I was coming back from a doctor's appointment at the ob when my mom called me and said she had something to tell me and that I needed to get there right away. Taking a step back, my parents got divorced shortly after my 21st birthday and Joey was still alive but we never spoke. When I showed up to my moms house, both my mother and my father were on the porch waiting for me. They did that stupid look that parents do when they have something important to say but no one wants to say it. They looked at each other and I was pissed off cause well I needed my drugs and I didn't care what they had to say, so I shouted to spit it out! I'll never forget this. I watched tears well up in my father's eyes. He looked at my mom and then they said what I was hoping to never hear. Joey passed away this morning. He was found alone, blue, not breathing for sometime. My brother died of an overdose, alone. I dropped to my knees and cried like a baby, and then I ran. It's been almost three years since he's passed and I still haven't accepted it and I don't think I really ever will. My brother meant everything to me and life is not the same anymore. But because of his death and this disease, I am two years sober. I made the decision to better myself and my life for me, for my kids, and for my family. Joey, today I am sober because of you. Today I can share my experience, strength, and hope with other people. It's because of you that I love everyone a little bit harder, and it's because of you that I can make people smile even when I'm struggling. It's because of you I learned how to be selfless and more caring to those around me. You've taught me so much as life went on and I carry those things with me for the rest of my life. You were an amazing person, a wonderful brother, grandchild, father, nephew, and uncle. You were the light everyone was proud to be around. I miss you big brother, and thank you for touching so many lives. Your memory lives on. I wish I would've been able to say goodbye. You were the life of the party and this party is dull now. Truly missed and loved, and damn sure never forgotten. Live free 🖤

Jared was a loving, caring young man who was taken from us much too early. In his short time on this earth, he touched so many people with his kindness and his warm smile. He will be missed and never forgotten. May he rest in peace.