Insights on Addiction, Shame, and Affection from the Passing of My Sibling

Does everything seem overwhelming these days? Receive When Life Sucks: 21 Days of Laughs and Light at no cost when you subscribe to the Tiny Buddha mailing list.

“Challenge any labels that dehumanize individuals. Words matter. If you wish to nurture something, you refer to it as a ‘flower’; if you wish to destroy something, you label it a ‘weed.’” ~Don Coyhis

Experiencing the loss of my brother due to a substance use disorder imparted lessons I never sought. Lessons no one prepares you for. Lessons that transform you in ways you could never have anticipated.

It revealed that you can love someone to the point of physical pain—and still be powerless to save them. It showed that you can grieve for someone you cherish long before they are truly gone, and no one warns you of the deep helplessness it brings. The humiliation. How you silently start pleading with the universe: Take anything you want from me. Just give him a little more time.

But the universe ignored my pleas. Addiction didn’t negotiate with him. It merely took. It robbed him of his soul, his mind, his essence, and the brightness of his eyes.

Before his passing, I clung to the version of him I had grown up with—the authentic him. The one who teased me until I was breathless with laughter. The one who supported everyone else, even when he couldn’t support himself. The side of him unseen by others. I held onto those memories as if they were lifelines, because the reality of addiction felt like watching him sink underwater in slow motion.

And here’s the aspect most will never grasp unless they’ve been through it: you begin grieving long before they leave this world.

Every relapse resembles a funeral. Every “I’ll call you back” morphs into a silent wish. Every silence becomes a question you’re too scared to articulate: Are they alive? Are they gone? Are they alone? Each question drives you to call hospitals, jails—anywhere that might provide information about their whereabouts and help locate them… alive.

Then the moment arrives when the phone rings for real, and your entire being senses it before your mind processes it. You answer nonetheless. You listen. You shatter. And a piece of you that can never be reclaimed collapses with him.

After he passed, the world anticipated me to be “strong,” to utter affirmations like “He’s finally at peace” or “He’s in a better place.” I wanted to yell. I wanted to flee. I longed to be anywhere but here without him. I didn’t desire him in a “better place.” I wanted him here. Chaotic, flawed, striving—but alive. Alive to witness his daughter grow, to see his niece and nephew become who they are today, and to be the person I always believed he could be, sober.

What his passing imparted to me is anything but gentle. It’s not beautiful. It’s raw and excruciating. It strips away a piece of you that you never thought you would have to lose. It leaves you breathless. You can’t sleep or eat, and you feel ashamed for smiling during the day.

I discovered that folks judge addiction until it strikes their family. Suddenly, it’s “complicated.” Personal. Human. Before that, they toss around labels like “junkie,” “choice,” and “his fault.” They fail to recognize that addiction falls into the same realm as a terminal illness—harsh, consuming, terrifying, and deeply unfair.

I learned that grief is violent. It shatters your grasp on reality. You believe you’ll cry and move through it, but grief has claws. It pulls you back into memories you weren’t ready to revisit, dreams that feel all too real, and guilt you haven’t earned but bear nonetheless. I learned that it can strike at any moment, at any time, and impact you like a freight train. It becomes all-encompassing. You feel it deep within your soul, and you often think you will never awaken from this nightmare.

I learned I can feel anger and love him simultaneously. I’m upset he didn’t receive just one more day. Upset the world couldn’t understand him. Upset at everyone who criticized him. Upset that he left me here alone, something he vowed he would never do. Upset with addiction for having the final say. But my love for him never wavered and never will. Not for a single second.

And here’s the toughest lesson losing him imparted:

You cease to expect closure. You stop anticipating the pain to lessen. Instead, you learn to coexist with it—like a bruise that never completely heals. You learn to smile through the pain. You learn to welcome the grief when it arrives and to continuously speak his name and share his truth.

Yet there were lessons too—the kind that only resonate after you’ve been shattered:

I learned to speak the truth. Not the polished rendition of his narrative. Not the version that makes others feel at ease. I share the version where addiction was intertwined with his life. Not because it defines him, but because concealing it erases him.

I learned to recognize suffering in others—the silent type that hides behind smiles and “I’m fine.” Losing him softened my heart towards strangers, made me more patient, more defensive. It made me acknowledge that everyone is carrying something they’re afraid to voice.

And strangely, painfully, I discovered love doesn’t perish with the person. It settles into your very being. It morphs into something you carry for the entirety of your life—the ache, the anger, the gratitude, the memories, all intertwined.

Losing my brother enlightened me that the world can shatter you… and you can still persevere. Not because you’re resilient, but because you have no other choice.

I wish I hadn’t had to learn these lessons. I wish he were still here. But since he isn’t, all I can do is carry him authentically—not the sanitized version that others might prefer, but the genuine one.

The brother I lost. The brother I cherished. The brother addiction couldn’t erase. The brother who will forever be remembered.

In loving memory of Joshua O’Neill Gray (August 6, 1982 – August 29, 2019).

**Insights on Addiction, Shame, and Love from the Loss of My Brother**

The path through grief is often an intricate tapestry woven with threads of affection, suffering, and contemplation. Losing a loved one to addiction presents a distinct set of trials, particularly when that loved one is a sibling. My brother’s fight with addiction and his eventual loss imparted profound insights into the essence of addiction, the burden of shame, and the lasting strength of love.

**Comprehending Addiction**

Addiction is a complex ailment that influences not just the individual but also their family and friends. It typically stems from a blend of genetic, environmental, and psychological aspects. My brother’s battle with addiction was not simply a personal shortcoming; it was a prolonged illness that warped his reality and changed his behavior. Grasping this distinction enabled me to separate the person I loved from the illness that engulfed him.

Addiction frequently involves cycles of relapse and recovery, which can be immensely frustrating for loved ones. I learned that kindness and patience are vital. Instead of perceiving my brother’s addiction as a moral failure, I began to understand it as a daily struggle he fought, frequently losing ground to a sneaky adversary.

**The Burden of Shame**

Shame is a potent emotion that can exacerbate the challenges faced by those grappling with addiction. My brother often experienced feelings of isolation and shame regarding his addiction, which only intensified his difficulties. This shame extended beyond him; it infiltrated our family. We battled feelings of embarrassment and powerlessness, dreading judgment from others.

Through this ordeal, I discovered that shame thrives in silence. Open dialogues about addiction, its realities, and its effects can help dismantle the stigma surrounding it. I learned to engage in discussions with compassion and understanding, crafting a safe environment for my brother to express his feelings without fear of criticism. This change in viewpoint allowed us to create a more supportive atmosphere, which is essential for recovery.

**The Strength of Love**

In the midst of the turmoil of addiction, love remained a steadfast force. My brother’s addiction did not obliterate the bond we shared; rather, it compelled us to redefine what love signified in the realm of his struggles. I realized that love isn’t always about rescuing someone, but about being there, providing support, and accepting them just as they are.

In confronting my brother’s addiction, I learned to express my love in ways that resonated more deeply with him. This involved listening without judgment, applauding small successes, and being present during the darkest times. Love became a lifeline, reminding him he was not alone in his struggle.

**Lessons in Grief**

The loss of my brother was a heartbreaking blow, yet it also acted as a propellant for growth and understanding. I learned that grief isn’t a straight line; it’s a winding journey filled with memories, regrets, and teachings. His passing compelled me to face the realities of addiction and the significance of mental health awareness.

I became a proponent for open conversations about addiction, sharing my brother’s story to help others grasp the intricacies of this condition. I found that by sharing our experiences, we can cultivate a sense of community and support for those affected by addiction.

**Final Thoughts**

The insights I gained from my brother’s struggle with addiction and his subsequent loss are etched in my heart. They remind me of the necessity for compassion, the risks associated with shame, and the transformative strength of love. Although the pain of his absence will always be a part of me, the wisdom acquired from his journey acts as a guiding light, encouraging me to approach addiction with empathy and to advocate for those still engaged in their battles. In honoring my brother’s legacy, I strive to create a world where love and support prevail over shame and stigma.