God bless you.
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I fell asleep on the couch after school. I laid there with the pink, flowery crocheted blanket. It was the night of Tuesday October 14, 2003. Every once and a while I woke up from the sound of the television, but overall, it was a pretty dead sleep. I heard the doorbell ring, but saying as how I was only semi-conscious, I just wrote it off as being a noise from the TV. Then the doorbell squealed (it almost sounds like a dying pig) again, this time more persistently. My step-dad, Gene, opened the door for the two state troopers standing on our front porch. For some reason there is nothing that will wake you from a sleep more than seeing two state troopers walk into your living room. I hear them tell Gene that something happened concerning Craig. He tells Gene that Craig was found dead late that afternoon in his dorm room and that he’s sorry. I stare at the trooper in disbelief, thinking “no, no, no, no, no.” When it finally hits me, about thirty seconds later, I fall to the floor sobbing.
So many detailed things went on that dreadful night. If I were to tell you them all, this story would go on forever. That’s basically how it felt… after 6:30 that night, time stopped. I was in a completely different world than the one I was in at school that day. A world to which, at that moment, I felt I would never be able to return to. Anyway, Gene woke my mom up (she’s a third shift nurse, so she was resting) and after they got my mom to sit down, the trooper told her that her first born son was dead.
My mom fell to pieces. It tore her apart. After many phone calls, and a hysterical mother pleading to a kind women at the coroner’s office, it was decided that we would be allowed to see Craig’s body.
How can I describe the ride to go see the dead body of my brother? It was a 45-minute drive. It felt like 45 days. I was far past crying, now I just blankly stared out the open window, letting the pouring rain sting my face.
After waiting in the emergency room for Jody, the kind women from the phone, we were taken to a private family room to discuss some things. An investigator was there to ask a few questions and try to make a few connections. He promised that he would try and find all the kids involved in the drug trafficking. He also explained that it was unlikely that they would catch anyone, because most kids won’t tell; either because they wanted to protect their “buddies” or because they knew their lives would be risked if they gave up all the names. All it takes is one thug to not be caught to go and “take care of business”.
Jody also had to explain some things to all of us before she let us see Craig’s body. It was basically just precautionary so we wouldn’t vomit or faint or anything like that. She explained that it was likely that Craig had been dead for 12-24 hours by that time. Because it was a holiday weekend, his roommate hadn’t come back until 2:30 PM on Tuesday. So, Craig could have been dead anytime after nine Monday night when he went back to his dorm to whatever time his roommate went into the dorm. She explained how his skin would have a bluish-purple hue. Also, because the drugs slowed down his circulatory system, he would have salivary secretions from his mouth and nose. The secretions would be somewhat blood tinged. She said how his muscles would be very tense since he was dead for such a long time and how his body would feel almost icy cold to the touch.
When she was done explaining all these things, and we decided that we all wanted to see the body, we headed downstairs to the morgue. It was the most devastating walk I have ever taken.
When we entered the room, I saw his body on the steel table. There are no words to describe how it feels to see your brother, the color of a blueberry just before it reaches ripeness, laid out on a table. I thought he might look peaceful. He didn’t. The first thing that I noticed was his right arm sticking out about a foot or two from his body with a clenched fist. I reached out and held his hand. It felt like a cold concrete floor in the middle of a winter night. My mom threw herself over his body, and the stiff, outreached arm just kind of went down and sprang right back up after she took her weight off it. His face… His face was, I don’t know how to describe his face. His eyes were wide open, like he was staring at a murderer clenching a knife in front of his face. His mouth was wide open, with a red, bubbly substance dried all over his nose and around his mouth... there was even some coming out of his ears. He had that same substance on his arms, in his hair; it was everywhere. I wondered as I looked at the outreached arm; was his death so quick that he held out his arm, shot the heroin in his vein, and died, still clenching his fist? He always shot up in his right arm even though he was right handed… Or maybe his death wasn’t so quick, maybe he was trying to reach for the door knob or the bed cover. I wonder if he knew he was dying as the drug circulated through his blood? I wonder if he thought about his family and how it would change their lives forever if he died?
I felt entirely numb. This couldn’t be my brother. This couldn’t be happening to me. How could this happen to me? I was the girl who was against any type of drug. I had helped others get through leaving drugs in the past. But then why couldn’t I help my own brother? Who was this boy laying on the table? It just couldn’t be Craig. So many questions came up. What if I had done this? What if I hadn’t done this?
But in the end, nothing that anyone did made any difference. Yes, someone out there did have to supply him with the drugs. Yes, there was that one person who “did him a favor” and hooked him up for free the first time just to be his “buddy”. But the only reason anyone would ever give out free drugs is in the hope that you might enjoy the particular drug. Then, you go back asking for more, but this time it’s not free. But it also isn’t too expensive. “Hey, I can get a bag of heroin for $10. Not bad…” Then the addiction starts. You might eventually want to quit but it just doesn’t work that way with heroin. See, once you shoot up with it, snort it, smoke it, your body depends on it in order to function. Just like my brother, “I don’t need help, I can stop on my own. I just need to get a handle on it.” But you can’t. It has nothing to do with being strong or weak. It is a mental and physical addiction. Then, again just like my brother, one bag of heroin doesn’t always cut it. You need to start buying two. And with heroin, every bag isn’t the same. It’s not regulated. One bag could be very potent. One could be relatively weak. Just because a certain amount gave you “the high you liked” that one time, doesn’t mean that the same amount won’t kill you the next time.
Then again, not having anything to do with potency, one bag of heroin could be laced with rat poison, cyanide, or any other random drug or poison. One person I know who’s been addicted to heroin is in prison for what I believe is the third time now. Even after being clean for years, as soon as he got out, he went right back to the drugs. One of the times, he shot up with heroin and it was laced with rat poison. He was completely blind for nearly a week. And as soon as he could see, he went right back to the drug, he just got it from a different dealer. Somehow this doesn’t seem all that intelligent to me, but then again, I’m not addicted.
You see, the drug dealers are actually quite intelligent. The prominent ones don’t even take the drugs they sell. They are in it strictly for the money. They look at the people who buy the drugs from them as little lab rats. They don’t give a flying fuck about them. If they get bored, they might throw in some chemicals or poisons just to see if the person comes back or if they’ll see their picture in the obituaries...
Not only do you run the risk of overdosing and poisoning, but also being killed just for being involved in the whole thing. The weekend before my brother died, my mom took pills that Craig filled with ground psychedelic mushrooms away from him. These were made so that if someone didn’t enjoy the taste of eating the mushrooms, they could swallow the convenient pill and get the same trip.
In the end, the choice was all up to Craig. He chose to stick that needle in his arm for the first time and from that point on I don’t think he had a choice in the matter. He needed it. Some people try and pick and choose which drugs are really bad and which ones aren’t so bad. ALL of them are bad. And the drugs are all connected. With my brother, it started with marijuana. But after a while it didn’t effect him in the slightest, so he got bored and moved on to the harder drugs. So, if you do find some drug that you don’t think can possibly be bad in any way, then congratulations for being gullible. No drug can ever be safe and they all start the cycle of relying on drugs to cope with life; even though drugs only dig a deeper hole.
Even if there were such a drug, why would you need to take it? Life is never that bad. For every situation where you feel depressed or like you can’t go on, there is someone whose life is ten times worse, yet they go on. You don’t have to go through life and all its pain alone. There is always at least one person who cares for you and who would do anything in their power to help you. Others can’t always know that you need help. Sometimes you need to reach out to them and ask for it.
Along with the people who think that certain drugs aren’t bad, there are those who think that Craig must have died from his own fault. He must not have known enough about the drug or how to use it correctly. He must have just messed up. Well, Craig did mess up by allowing drugs to take over his life. He turned to them to make him happy, but instead they just brought more pain after the trip was over. So, he would go and experiment more and more. He needed drugs in order to feel happy. However, his fault was not in lack of knowledge. Craig was the type of kid who could throw out facts about anything. You couldn’t win an argument with him because he knew all the answers. He knew every drug that was out there. He knew all the side effects, how to use them, everything. Then why would he use them, you ask? Because from knowing all this information, he just kept it in head that he knew what he was doing. He knew that he wasn’t stupid, he knew all about them, and he was invincible. But, alas, he was not invincible. Even the teeniest tiniest amount of heroin over your body’s tolerance will kill you. And your body’s tolerance changes from time to time. And once it’s in your body, you have no control over it… there’s no turning back.
I could go on and on talking about all Craig’s problems with drugs; all the types that he eventually tried, all the trips to the ICU, all the heartache it brought to our family. But that isn’t the purpose of this story. The purpose of it is to try and prevent others from falling under the same fate as Craig. Drugs are not the solution to anything. They tear lives apart. They kill. They do not help in any way, shape, or form. They only delay the problem that you’re running away from for a sort time. That problem will still be there. If you can’t deal with life, don’t resort to drugs. Find help. Go to someone, a friend, family member, or even a counselor. If you already are doing drugs. Don’t try and stop on your own. It is impossible. You NEED help. My family tried to let Craig help himself. And look where he ended up… So PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE get help. You are not alone, even when the road looks like its coming to a dead end, there will always be a way out other than drugs.
Please don’t put anyone through what my brother and my family have gone through. Drugs tore his life apart. A once happy kid ready to take on the world with his wit and talent was pulled into a deep hole that just kept getting deeper. And he thought that he had found true friends mixed in with the drugs. As we came to find out, the two guys that he was hanging out with that night, who very well could have sold him the drugs, knew that Craig was unresponsive and just left him in his dorm. He passed out after he snorted the heroin but he was still breathing, so they figured, “Hey he’s still breathing, why should we call 911 and risk getting our asses in trouble.” We know that the kids tried to revive him because the guys in the dorm next to Craig’s heard people saying “Wake up Craig, wake up.” Last July, one of Craig’s friends found Craig breathing but unresponsive, and he did the obvious choice of calling for an ambulance. They treated Craig in the ICU and he was fine. So, if any of the kids called the ambulance that night; whether it was the two trying to revive him, or the others who heard him trying to be revived, he most likely would have been fine. But instead, they were selfish and afraid of what might happen to them, so they just played it safe. Those are some good friends, aren’t they?
That’s just one of the things that hangs on my conscience and brings this horrible empty feeling in my heart. And you can’t even come close to imagining how it felt to look at his cold, lifeless body, knowing that I will never get a chance to talk to my brother again, knowing there’d be no more wrestling where I’d walk away the loser, no more late nights playing pool, no more teasing, no more… no more Craig. He was gone. I will never forget him. But it seems like I’ll never be able to come to terms with his death. It seems that there is nothing that can be done to stop this from happening to others. I hope that something can be done. The drug dealers will never go away as long as there is a demand for them. They will never all be caught, only the tiniest percentage of drug dealers are caught and most are eventually let out on probation. So, how can we try to stop this horrible cycle? Well, it starts with the people. People have to stop turning to drugs. THEY DO NOT SOLVE ANYTHING! Drugs only complicate things and make life even harder to cope with. If you think that they help you cope, then you are in denial. If you say that you aren’t in denial, then go to the cemetery where my nineteen year old brother is buried and tell me that drugs aren’t bad and that they don’t ruin lives. If I stop just one person from turning to drugs, then I like to think that in some small way I justified my brother’s death. Please, just don’t throw your life down the drain. Be strong and just stay away from drugs.
IF YOU EVER NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO OR JUST TO LISTEN TO YOU, DON’T EVER HESITATE TO CALL ME. DON’T EVEN WORRY IF YOU’RE NOT REALLY CLOSE TO ME, I WILL BE THERE FOR YOU TO TRY MY DAMNEDEST TO SUPPORT YOU IN ANY WAY I CAN… I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU’LL EVER KNOW! 
