My nephew Brian died on December 13

He died at home in his mother (my sister's) bathroom. Brian was addicted to heroin but had recently completed a 30-day inpatient treatment program.

Brian's Story
Brian was arguably the cutest baby I've ever seen. I have a big family and there are 20 grandkids, all tow-heads until Brian arrived. Dark hair, dark eyebrows and a smile that warmed your heart. He was always a little chubby in the cutest way. He was a sweet, sweet boy.

My sister and Brian's dad divorced when Brian was pretty young (4?). They had Brian pretty young, so after divorcing they both remarried and had more children - two each. Despite the divorce, Brian was raised with a strong foundation, attending a private school through eighth grade. In high school he was on the football team and continued to be influenced by solid, life-long friends like Josh and Kevin. But somewhere along the way, Brian got lost.

After high school, a variety of jobs were started and lost. He gained and lost weight and seemed to have self-esteem issues. His cousins, a tight-knit group, would have to work hard to persuade Brian to attend family functions. I learned later that Brian felt inferior to his "successful" cousins. Then at some point he began to do prescription drugs.

Last year on Christmas Eve, I called him out on his suspicious behavior. He had a duffel bag with him at all times, continually moving it, checking and re-checking it. He and his mother were upset when I challenged the behavior. I knew something was up. Joan insisted he was clean. It caused a bit of a rift between Brian and me.

As happens with many addicts, he started to steal money next. He stole money from my sister too many times to count. The most recent time - last summer - he emptied her checking account. As a single parent, having your mortgage money taken is pretty scary! I helped her with her bills but convinced her that Brian had to leave. She didn't want to kick him out and worried about where he would go.

I came to the house that afternoon alone. Brian was beligerant. He insisted that he would leave at 10pm, but I knew that if I didn't make him leave with me, my sister would cave in later. I told him I would drive him anywhere so finally he agreed. We loaded a few big bags into my car and I took him to his friend Josh's house. When I dropped him off, I handed him $30. I told him I loved him and that I would help him any way I could if he would agree to treatment.

A few months later, Brian entered the 30-day program in Oshkosh Wisconsin. We were all so happy! Joan talked to him a week or so later and reported back that Brian said he felt great. I got his mailing address and sent him a long letter telling him how proud I was of him.

When the program ended, Brian came home to live with his mom. Prior to treatment he had a few run-ins, resulting in losing his driver's license. He felt trapped and repeatedly stated the he couldn't find a job without a car. We pointed out to him that lots of people take the bus but he resisted. His self-esteem continued to drop while his weight rose. During this period, Brian was very concerned about his mother, who was struggling with her own addiction to alcohol.

One day in early November, he sent me a series of text messages. "I'm worried about my mom - please call me asap!" and "Please don't tell her I'm contacting you but I'm so worried about her." I called Brian, calmed him down, got my sister Patty involved and Joan checked into a recovery program a few days later. Life is so busy - without Brian's frantic text messages I don't think we would have discovered her crisis for a while.

The last time I saw Brian alive was November 11th. I was hosting a birthday party for my brother and Joan was in rehab. I invited Brian and his two younger sisters to the birthday dinner. Brian was rather quiet that night but it was good to see him. I remember thinking that he was really big. At 5'7", it is hard to conceal weight gain.

We're not sure if December 13 was Brian's first relapse. His friend Josh told me at the funeral that he thought Brian relapsed once prior but he wasn't sure. Brian told Josh over and over that he didn't want to be an addict and that he felt like he was in a big hole he couldn't climb out of. Josh did his best with Brian, taking him away for a hunting weekend and encouraging him to set attainable goals for himself. Josh was one of ten pall bearers. I'll never forget Josh's face with tears streaming down his cheeks while he carried the casket.

It's only been two weeks but the really weird thing right now is the amazon strength of my sister. She got her first tattoo - with Brian's name and birthdate - last week. She is committed to sobriety and believes that her drinking would dishonor her son.

I'm proud of both of them. He is a hero for saving his mom and she is a hero for saving herself.

Three scenes from a funeral

Today we buried my nephew Brian, a sweet young man with a heart of gold and an addiction to heroin. Brian's addiction got the best of him and he died from an accidental overdose. More info about Brian will follow, but I wanted to capture a few scenes from the family gatherings and funeral. All of this really happened. Serious.

Scene #1: Father Fudd. Elmer Fudd
Brian's funeral service was held yesterday at St. Charles, where he was baptized and attended school through eighth grade. A new priest, Father Carmelo, celebrated his funeral mass. Father is completely deaf but speaks fairly well. It was interesting to hear that type of speech impediment when Father began to speak. "Today we way to west ower deaw bwother Bwian." It took a little getting used to but 'aawwwww, well GOOD for HIM!' I thought sanctimoniously. However, things quickly took a dark turn.

During the homily, Father began by talking about how difficult it is when someone "takes their own wife." Naturally this raised a few eyebrows. Lots of sideways glances followed from the family. "Ok," I rationalized in my mind, "you could argue that administering drugs that accidentally kill you is taking your own life". Then he said . . . the S word. A collective gasp from the audience. Father, not hearing anything plows ahead with the S word again. And again. And again. And again. S S S S S. That wascally wabbit just turned my newphew's funeral into a giant bwooper.

My brother shouts out "it was an accidental overdose!" Nothing. He says the S word again. And again. Then Brian's grieving mother, my sister, takes matters into her own hands and bolts onto the altar. Father doesn't hear her saying "Excuse me!" He is looking down and finally looks up when she is standing next to him. "It wasn't a suicide" she whispers. He has a puzzled look. "it was NOT a suicide" she says. Finally he takes a step back to read her lips and she says it again.

He nods and she leaves the altar. Father Carmelo looks down and pauses much too long, then picks up where he left off. We are left waiting for a retraction that never comes. Then he starts warbling awkwardly "wet us pwocwaim the mystewy of faith". It was fight or flight. Giggle or Grimace. Among the family it was 50/50.

Scene 2: Backstage with Omar
Another nephew, Omar, is mentally and physically handicapped. A brain injury at birth has left him without the ability to speak or reason. He is 24 years old and severely autistic, with a penchant for taking off his clothes in public. On airplanes, in stores, and now, in church. My sister Carol cares for Omar every day with patience and devotion. Omar was not happy about being in church, so my husband Bill took him out to let him walk and not disrupt the service. Omar needed to use the bathroom. Coaxed out of the women's room, Omar went into the Men's room, then removed shoes and socks. While Bill picked up the discarded items Omar shed his pants in the blink of an eye. My sister is clever - for underwear Omar wears snug-fitting under-armor. That was the only thing standing between Omar's junk and Bill. Bill wrestled Omar's pants back onto his 180-lb nephew while he thrashed like a gator. Finally Bill won. He collected Omar's shoes and socks and headed back to the sanctuary.

Scene 3: Martinis, Carbs & Tantrums
Scene 3 is all about the twins: GpaK and Omar. It was a long day. Visitation went from 3-6pm, followed by a long debacle-of-a-mass. My family met up shortly later at a local Italian restaurant.

As you know from this blog, GpaK is a character. He loves his martinis and has a history of occasionally having one too many (which happens to be two). I decided to let the other family members sit with GpaK at dinner, since some were in from out-of-t0wn. I noticed that his empty martini glass was full again. During this second martini and 14th piece of bread, someone made a suggestion that he stop the carb cram. He didn't like that . . . and a struggle ensued for the bread. GpaK and my brother John were going AT IT for a crust of bread which eventually flew up and showered crumbs on the table. "So you're the hand of GOD, reaching down to grab my bread?!" yelled Gpak. "You're acting like a two-year old!" shouted John. "You're acting like a ten year-old!" replied GpaK. To retaliate the destruction of the bread, GpaK eats a heaping spoonful of parmesan cheese while glaring at John. Good times.

Meanwhile, my sister Carol is enjoying a bit of freedom. Surrounded by family at the restaurant, she has left Omar sitting next to me at the table. I am buttering bread for Omar at a frenzied pace and continue to glance up to see where Carol is but only see the back of her head. Omar's shoes and socks are off but that's a battle for later. He's rocking back and forth, water glass down, more bread, back-of-Carol's head. Rinse, lather, repeat. Butter, bread, back-of-head. He's eating butter from foil packets. Carol's hair is really kind of pretty from the back. Glanced up too long and Omar slips out of his pants like Houdini. Bill runs around to help me, reaching OVER my brother Bob who has been enjoying a peaceful dinner across from Omar. Bill starts wrestling with Omar and his slippery pants. Bob thinks three is company and four is a crowd and continues to eat while Bill is on his hands and knees. Carol's hair is still looking really nice.

"I would so look forward to smoked sausage and sauer kraut."

He says funny things like this sometimes.

Another good one this morning, while I was emptying the dishwasher and making sure he had his blood sugar/insulin supplies and morning meds: "Were you planning to make me a cup of tea this morning?" I've never made him a cup of tea. Not ever.