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“Challenge any descriptors that reduce individuals to objects. Words carry weight. If you wish to nurture something, you call it a ‘flower’; if you wish to destroy something, you label it a ‘weed.’” ~Don Coyhis
Experiencing the loss of my brother to a substance use disorder imparted lessons I never sought. Insights that no one prepares you for. Lessons that transform you in ways you never imagined.
It taught me that you can love someone with such intensity that it causes physical pain—and yet still be unable to rescue them. It educated me that you can grieve for someone you cherish long before they are physically absent, and no one prepares you for the helplessness that accompanies it. The humiliation. How you begin to negotiate with the universe in silence: Take anything you wish from me. Just grant him a little more time.
But the universe didn’t heed my pleas. Addiction didn’t negotiate with him. It simply consumed. It took his essence, his thoughts, his spirit, and the brightness from his gaze.
Before his passing, I continuously attempted to cling to the version of him that I knew—a true version. The one who playfully teased me until I couldn’t breathe from laughter. The one who was there for everyone else, even when he couldn’t be there for himself. The side of him that remained unseen by others. I grasped those memories like lifelines, because the reality of addiction felt akin to watching him sink in slow motion.
And here’s the aspect most people will never comprehend unless they’ve endured it: you begin to grieve long before they pass away.
Every relapse feels like a memorial. Every “I’ll call you back” becomes a silent hope. Every moment of silence turns into a question you’re too frightened to utter: Are they alive? Are they gone? Are they by themselves? Each inquiry drives you to contact hospitals, jails—anyone who might know their whereabouts and can help you locate them… alive.
Then the moment arrives when the phone rings for real, and your entire being senses it before your mind does. You answer nonetheless. You listen. You shatter. And a piece of you that can never be restored crumbles alongside him.
After his death, the world anticipated me to be “strong,” to utter phrases like “He’s finally at peace” or “He’s in a better place.” I ached to yell. I longed to flee. I wished to be anywhere except here without him. I didn’t want him in a “better place.” I desired him here. Unrefined, flawed, striving—but alive. Alive and capable of witnessing his daughter grow, to see his niece and nephew evolve into who they are today, and to become the person I always knew he could be, sober.
What his passing taught me is not gentle. It’s not lyrical. It’s raw and excruciating. It removes a part of you that you never anticipated losing. It makes you feel as though you can’t inhale. You can’t rest or nourish yourself, and you feel guilty for smiling throughout the day.
I discovered that people judge addiction until it affects their family. Suddenly it turns into “complicated.” Personal. Human. Before that, they toss around terms like “junkie,” “choice,” and “his fault.” They’re unaware that addiction belongs in the same realm as a terminal illness—cruel, consuming, frightening, and unjust.
I learned grief is ferocious. It shatters your perception of reality. You expect to cry and navigate through it, but grief has claws. It pulls you back into memories you weren’t prepared to relive, dreams that seem too vivid, and guilt you didn’t earn but bear regardless. I realized it can strike at any moment, at any hour, and hit you like a freight train. It becomes all-encompassing. You feel it deep within your core, and often you believe you will never emerge from this nightmare.
I learned I can feel anger and love him simultaneously. I’m furious he didn’t attain one more day. Angry the world failed to comprehend him. Angry at everyone who judged him. Angry that he left me here alone, something he vowed he’d never do. Angry at addiction for having the final say. But my love for him never wavered and never will. Not for a single moment.
And here’s the most difficult lesson his loss imparted:
You cease to expect resolution. You stop waiting for the pain to diminish. Instead, you learn to coexist with it—like a bruise that never fully recovers. You learn to smile through the hurt. You become adept at allowing grief to surface when it arises, and to continuously speak his name and his truth.
Yet there were teachings as well—the kinds you only grasp after being shattered:
I learned to be truthful. Not the polished rendition of his tale. Not the version that makes others feel at ease. I share the narrative where addiction was part of his existence. Not because it defines him, but because concealing it eliminates him.
I learned to recognize suffering in others—the silent kind that lurks behind grins and “I’m fine.” Losing him made me more empathetic toward strangers, more patient, more protective. It opened my eyes to the realization that everyone is bearing something they dread voicing.
And oddly, painfully, I learned love doesn’t perish with the individual. It embeds itself in your bones. It becomes something you carry for the remainder of your life—the ache, the rage, the appreciation, the memories, all intertwined.
Losing my brother showed me that the world can shatter you… and you can still move forward. Not because you’re resilient, but because you have no other option.
I would rather not have these lessons. I wish he were still with us. But since he isn’t, my only choice is to carry him authentically—not the sanitized version people favor, but the genuine one.
The brother I lost. The brother I cherished. The brother addiction could not erase. The brother who will forever remain in memory.
In loving remembrance of Joshua O’Neill Gray (August 6, 1982 – August 29, 2019).
About Sheena Crist
Following her brother’s passing, Sheena committed to raising awareness about substance use and prevention. She earned her degree in Behavioral Health Science with a focus on substance use disorders, and she has made it her pursuit to speak Josh’s name whenever possible. Addiction can affect anyone, regardless of race, gender, or socio-economic status.
**Insights on Addiction, Shame, and Love from the Loss of My Brother**
The path through grief is often an intricate fabric woven with strands of love, loss, and difficult lessons. When my brother fell prey to the clutches of addiction, it marked a crucial turning point in my life, reshaping my perception of addiction, the weight of shame, and the profound essence of love.
**Understanding Addiction**
Addiction is a complex illness that impacts not just the individual but also their loved ones. My brother’s battle with addiction extended beyond a personal struggle; it was a family crisis. It taught me that addiction is not a choice but rather a condition arising from various influences, including genetics, environment, and mental health. This understanding shifted my view from judgment to compassion. I recognized the importance of grasping the intricacies of addiction to support those affected.
**The Burden of Shame**
Shame frequently accompanies addiction, erecting a barrier that hinders individuals from seeking help. My brother faced significant shame, exacerbated by societal stigma. This shame not only impacted him but also permeated our family, leading to silence and denial. I learned that shame flourishes in secrecy, and dismantling this cycle necessitates candid conversations. It became evident that cultivating an atmosphere of acceptance and understanding is crucial in confronting the shame tied to addiction.
**The Strength of Love**
In the midst of addiction’s turmoil and the overwhelming shame, love emerged as a potent influence. My brother’s journey highlighted the significance of unconditional love and support. It taught me that love doesn’t equate to enabling harmful behaviors; it’s about standing by someone through their struggles. I learned to convey my affection in ways that motivated my brother to seek help rather than retreat further into addiction.
**Lessons in Forgiveness**
The passing of my brother also brought forth valuable lessons in forgiveness. I had to face my feelings of anger and resentment towards him for the pain resulting from his addiction. This journey taught me that forgiveness doesn’t mean condoning harmful actions; it’s about liberating myself from the burden of negative feelings. It allowed me to remember my brother for who he was beyond his addiction—a loving, vibrant person deserving of compassion.
**Raising Awareness and Advocacy**
In the aftermath of my brother’s death, I felt a powerful desire to advocate for addiction awareness. I realized that sharing our story could aid others in understanding the realities of addiction and the importance of seeking help. I engaged with community outreach initiatives, aiming to break down the stigma surrounding addiction and promoting resources for those in need. This advocacy work became a means to honor my brother’s memory and contribute to a cause capable of saving lives.
**Conclusion**
The loss of my brother was a profoundly painful experience that imparted invaluable lessons about addiction, shame, and love. It taught me the significance of empathy, the destructive nature of shame, and the transformative power of love. While the anguish of his absence will persist, the lessons derived from his struggle continue to illuminate my path toward healing and advocacy. Through compassion and understanding, we can foster a supportive atmosphere for those grappling with addiction, ensuring that no one must face their difficulties in solitude.