My Mother and I were asked to write something about my brother so I was going through the many things I wrote that were just my thoughts at the time. It seems to help a little to get the thoughts out of my head. But here are some of the things that went through my head.
I am sitting here in the middle of the night with no thoughts in my head other than my brother. I can't help but wonder why God took him away from us? God watched over him and protected him so many times that I just knew there was some kind of great plan for him. But I don't see the plan. I just don't see it. I mean did he have to die to show his friends that it really could have been them? I mean wasn't there some other way to teach them? Did he really have to take my baby brother away from me? The sad thing is, most likely not one of those people are going to learn anything from this. Most of them have totally lost themselves. Most of them have turned into the drugs they are taking. They are no longer real people who take drugs they are the drug. I bet you right now half of his friends are shooting up and not even thinking twice about it. I bet not one of them is saying hey look what happened to Kenny just because he wanted a high.
When I think back about my brother the best memories of him that I have are from when he was a little boy. Not a care in the world other than what time Dukes of Hazard would be coming on TV. He was such a goof. I think about the two of us riding on the humps of that big 'ol rocking chair in the den pretending it was a horse and that we were the cowboys. Where we were going, we didn't know or care for that matter. Justin and he would play with GI Joes like they were the coolest things on earth. They would sit back in the backyard and burry the poor things and do all kinds of crazy things with them. I remember my mom spending hours putting those silly things back together. You know using a new rubber band to replace the old one so that the legs would stay on.
When Kenny was even younger than that he would run around in his little training underwear and boots, got to have the boots. Splashing in water puddles and just acting crazy. We used to sit down and play with his He-man which he just loved. You know my baby brother Kenny disappeared about 6 years ago, and he was replaced by this other person who only thought what the drugs wanted him to think. But every once in a while we would have the privilege to see the old Kenny. Not for long, but he was there. Laughing, playing, asking mom, "Is dinner done yet? Is it done? Now?" and opening the oven a hundred times. Man that boy could eat. Then I think back and wonder what I could have done differently. A lot of times I would lay awake at night worrying about him. Wondering what I could do to help. Wondering what would happen next in his life. I prayed for him to be shown the right direction in life and it really seems like God would show him and then the devil (his friends or so he thought) would just shove him right off that road. They had more control over his actions than I did. I just can't imagine that he is actually gone. No more pestering, no more hugs, just no more Kenny. He's gone. I just keep seeing his poor body lying there in on the ground with no one there to cuddle him or to help him. I see his stupid friends (if you want to call them that) standing over him (all high) saying something really stupid like, "man look at him. You think he's dead? Oh, he is dead. Man let's put him outside so that when we call someone to get him they don't raid the house." WHY? I want him back and I want the son of a bitch that made that shit for him to pay! I kept telling him look how much you are hurting your mom. Now look how much pain he has caused her. I think she would have preferred worrying about him for the rest of her life than to have to make funeral arrangements for her own flesh and blood.
It's really him. Can you believe it, it's really him. We saw him tonight and my worst fears came true. I just kept saying maybe when we get up there it will actually not be him and we can just go apologize to people that there was some mistake and then I saw his poor face. My baby brother was just lying there. Not opening his eyes, not laughing, not pestering anyone, but just lying there. It's really him. I just can't get over that. I always worried about him and begged God to help him. In my heart I had great fears that one day those assholes would kill him. But I never really thought I would be going to the funeral home to see my little brother so still and lifeless. Never in a million years thought I would never see him again. I don't really know how to deal with this though. It hurts so bad. From my head to my toes it just hurts. I want him back. I don't want to see my family hurt anymore. I don't want to see my mother cry anymore. I understand as my Dad keeps saying that this is just part of God's big great plan and that it had to happen. But why my brother? Why couldn't it have been someone else? Why couldn't there have been some other way to handle those people? My Dad keeps saying Kenny has gone to places that you and I would never go, have never been, and don't want to be. He was friends with people that were really down and out. Maybe they needed to see a great person like him turn into a drug like he did. Maybe they need to see how much pain this stuff causes. But I still don't get it. I still want him and I just don't know what else to say. I'm going to bed now, or at least try to. The nightmare begins again tomorrow with a funeral that I really wish wasn't going to happen.
Did you ever stop to think about a drug user's life? Most of the time when I would see someone that I knew was a druggy, that's all they were to me. Just a low life person who had a huge problem but when you stop to think about the actual person you come to realize they could also be someone's brother, son, sister, daughter or best friend. They might have children and may have come from great families.
Someone didn't realize this when they chose to take my brother away from me and my family on Sept 24th. They gave him a hot shot and took his life from us. Sure he had his problems, but we still loved him and tried to help him as best as we could. But some other druggy who probably also has a family sitting up late at night thinking about what their child has decided they could play God one night and took his life away in a blink of an eye.
I don't understand it, really I don't. He took care of them by feeding them and giving them my parents' home to crash in. And look how they repaid him. They took his precious life from him. My parents fed them and let them shower at their house and look how they repaid them. With the most pain a person could ever feel the loss of their first born son. What is wrong with these people? I know their minds are run by this stupid drug, but do they not have any cares at all? Do they not see how much they've hurt people? I want these people to pay for the rest of their lives. I want them in jail and maybe as sad as it is to say, just maybe one of their friends or loved ones should be given the same treatment. Maybe they would understand that a human life is not something that can just be taken away for no freaking reason.
You know I thought that with time the pain from the loss of Kenny was supposed to get easier, but that doesn't seem to be true. I may not cry as much or as hard as that night of the viewing, but I still feel the pain. The night of the viewing was actually even harder than the awful day the police officer came to the house and told us that Kenny had passed away. The viewing just made it so real. I was hoping and praying that we would go in there and we could say, "That's not my brother. That's not Kenny." But it was really him. It was really him lying there looking so sad and still. It was really him. I just couldn't control the pain that I felt.
Went to Mom's tonight for dinner as usual on Sunday and it brought back memories of Kenny. Some good, some bad, but in any case memories. I feel like I didn't do my part as a big sister. I didn't protect him as a big sister should. Those stupid people still hurt my baby brother and there was absolutely nothing I could of done to help him. He needed to get away from them and instead of offering help to him I just told him how much he was hurting mom and that he needed some help. Okay, he needs help, but why didn't I offer him the help he needed? Why did I have to tell him that he was slowly killing himself the last night I saw him? I feel so bad for him. He died right in front of strangers. His friends (so he thought) killed him. He took them to mom's and fed them, let them stay the night there, let them take showers there and look what they did to him. They struggled with him to stick that damn needle in his arm with toilet boil cleaner in it. He died terrified and alone. Why couldn't he of at least made it to the hospital so that we could have told him that we loved him and that we were not mad at him? Man I hate those people. I know my brother was not living the best life and he had done a lot of not so great things but he never really even had the chance to get out of the mess he was in. Ugggghhhh and now I feel like there is something I need to do for him. I don't know what it is. Maybe God can answer that. I don't know though. I prayed for him all the time. I always prayed for God to protect him and keep him safe. That lasted a while, and then I started praying for God to send him down the right path and to help him get out of the trouble he was in, guess what he helped him, but not in the way I was thinking of. I wanted him to be able to have a normal respectful life, not die.
My brother passed away on September 24, 2002. Although he was a long time meth user, he was a very good person. He cared about others and tried to help as many people as he possibly could. The night he passed away he was treated just as any old druggy. The paramedics tried to revive him as best as they could, but the police officers did not try at all to find out what happened to him. He was found on a lady's back porch barely breathing. She had no clue who he was. There was a man standing behind the fence watching as the paramedics tried to revive my brother. The lady who found him informed the officers and they did not even blink an eye as to maybe that person had helped in my brother's death. They did not question them at all. Since then people have came forward and stated what they heard through people that were there that night and no one has even checked in to it. I think it is very unfair and unjust for them to just drop the case. Since my brother's death we have heard of other people that have died at the hands of this group and they have never been caught. They are going to keep killing if no one pays attention to this. Why can't we get someone to help us? Why isn't anyone questioning these people? Why hasn't the house where he was shooting up at been busted yet? Don't come back by saying that we have not given the department enough information because that is way far from the truth. Nothing that happens is going to bring my brother back to us, but at least we can do our part in saving at least one family from having to lose their family member the way we did.
I feel so bad tonight for some reason. I feel as if I failed my brother as a big sister. I didn't protect him from his fate. I feel as if only I had been closer to him, that maybe I could of helped him with his addiction. My head is flooded with memories tonight of many things. From him playing in the mud, to reading books to him at night, to fighting with him as he got older. I remember him getting in trouble all the time as a kid like breaking glass and shooting this kid in the butt with a bee-bee gun. Then I have very few memories of his teenage years other than him sneaking out to see his girlfriend. The next memories that pop in my head are all the countless nights I stayed up praying that God would keep him safe and that God would show him the direction to turn in his life. Sometimes I feel like my prayers and thoughts were useless. My brother was lost in the world of meth. He had not intentions of finding his way out. And the more I talked to him about it the more distant he became and the madder he was at me. It got to the point where every time I saw him all I could think was "I am so disappointed in him and so sad for him." I remember thinking nearly every night that I saw him that this could be the last time I saw him not because I thought he would die of the drug that he did, but he would die from the areas he was in and the friends he hung out with. I remember his druggy girlfriend coming over and giving my six-month (at the time) old son a bite of her cookie she had bit off of and thinking, "OH, how gross. A druggie just shared her cookie with my kid. I hope he doesn't catch any diseases from her." How sad of me to think that she was a person too.
I feel so guilty for some of my thoughts back then. I wish I could have been more understanding of his problem and tried to help him more. I wish I hadn't given up hope on him. And I wish I never looked at him with such disgust because of the things he did. I'm afraid I am going to forget him also, I know that is part of the grieving process I'm sure. But I keep trying to see his face and not very many images come up. I see him walking in the kitchen asking mom if dinner is done yet. I see him as a small child with shiny brown hair and a look of trouble all over his face. And I see his eyes that had no feeling left in them. And I see him lying in that casket so sad and still looking.
Then I come to this board and instead of feeling empathy for some of you I just feel mad at you. I feel bad for your families and I get mad at any of you who start believing the fight against this crap is not worth it. I know that me missing my brother doesn't affect you because "it won't happen to me" syndrome. I just feel like the ones who have given up the battle against drugs, or have chosen to not even fight that battle are very selfish. My brother had a huge outcome at his funeral. A lot of these people my brother probably didn't even know still cared about him. A lot of the tears shed for my brother came from people he had forgotten about once he entered the meth world. You know who was crying the most? His true friends and family. The meth friends did not shed one tear for him. Shoot a lot of them didn't even bother showing up for his funeral. Think about it next time you choose to take another hit. Who else are you hurting other than yourself?
January 3rd, 2012
So sad to read this story. my twin sister was addicted for 7 years and she is clean now for the past two. I agree with you about not giving up, if our family had I don't think my sister would have come through to the other side. was anything done to investigate the people who contributed to kenny's death? may peace be with you and your family.
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