“Give me my kids back”, I could hear my uncle asserting from outside. Suddenly the doorbell rang. My 6-years old cousin stood on the other side of the door with a confused look. She cautiously answered, “I don’t know, Monica(my mom) told me too”. Puzzled, I let her inside and summoned my sister, to wait with her while I ventured to the garage door to investigate. Outside, my grandmother and I heard my mom and my uncle talking, while my uncle's youngest sat in the back seat. As I unbuckled her from the car seat, I could hear my mom saying “I know what I saw” and my uncle with indignation, saying “you didn't see anything”. Realizing something grievous occurred, I determined my best action was not to inquire, but rather retreat inside the house.
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By the following Wednesday, my uncle entered rehab, however, 2 days later he walked out and walked back into a life of addiction. Focused on obtaining enough cash to score a few hits of heroin, he spiraled deeper into the pit of addiction for the next month. Each time the evening news played videos of heroin addicts driving on the highways, proving just how dangerous a user can be to the public, I wondered if the video would feature my uncle. Photographs of users slumped over in their cars with their children strapped into their car seats gave me chills. Concurrently, on social media, comments flooded the images, condemning the user and saying they were worthless. Unequivocally, my uncle was a user, an addict, a derelict. Decaying teeth, pale face, continually pacing the floors the floors in between hits of heroin, signaled his condition’s deterioration. The antipathies, I found the hardest to read, under social media posts expressed, “let them die”, or “they got what they deserved.” Does anyone “deserve” this life, I silently pondered. The polemic, was it a treatable disease or was it an intentional choice someone …show more content…
His judge sent him to a rehabilitation facility and he narrowly avoided prison. Still to this day, he continues to ameliorate. For the first time in his life, he works 40 or more hours a week, he pays for his groceries and having no license, he rides my childhood bike to and from work. Weekly, he meets with his court appointed counselor and submits a urine sample. Through his struggles, my family and I continue to support him and his girls every day with encouragement. Moreover, I learned supporting someone with an addiction has limits and a fine line exists between support and enable. As a result, addicts, and their families do need help. Seeing him recover and slowly, making prudent choices as the nefarious effects of heroin diminish in his body, I have hope for not only his recovery but the recovery of this nationwide epidemic. I learned those with vituperative comments such as, “let them die” are ignorant because this disease is reversible. I have gained compassion, empathy and patience. Addiction, it truly is a disease, and they deserve the same love and support given to those with cancer, mental illness or any other diseases. Without my uncles struggles present in my life, I would probably look down upon those who struggle with addiction and see them as deplorable. Without witnessing his children’s sad faces, I would lack the understanding of what children endure, when they have a parent battling addiction. This experience
By the following Wednesday, my uncle entered rehab, however, 2 days later he walked out and walked back into a life of addiction. Focused on obtaining enough cash to score a few hits of heroin, he spiraled deeper into the pit of addiction for the next month. Each time the evening news played videos of heroin addicts driving on the highways, proving just how dangerous a user can be to the public, I wondered if the video would feature my uncle. Photographs of users slumped over in their cars with their children strapped into their car seats gave me chills. Concurrently, on social media, comments flooded the images, condemning the user and saying they were worthless. Unequivocally, my uncle was a user, an addict, a derelict. Decaying teeth, pale face, continually pacing the floors the floors in between hits of heroin, signaled his condition’s deterioration. The antipathies, I found the hardest to read, under social media posts expressed, “let them die”, or “they got what they deserved.” Does anyone “deserve” this life, I silently pondered. The polemic, was it a treatable disease or was it an intentional choice someone …show more content…
His judge sent him to a rehabilitation facility and he narrowly avoided prison. Still to this day, he continues to ameliorate. For the first time in his life, he works 40 or more hours a week, he pays for his groceries and having no license, he rides my childhood bike to and from work. Weekly, he meets with his court appointed counselor and submits a urine sample. Through his struggles, my family and I continue to support him and his girls every day with encouragement. Moreover, I learned supporting someone with an addiction has limits and a fine line exists between support and enable. As a result, addicts, and their families do need help. Seeing him recover and slowly, making prudent choices as the nefarious effects of heroin diminish in his body, I have hope for not only his recovery but the recovery of this nationwide epidemic. I learned those with vituperative comments such as, “let them die” are ignorant because this disease is reversible. I have gained compassion, empathy and patience. Addiction, it truly is a disease, and they deserve the same love and support given to those with cancer, mental illness or any other diseases. Without my uncles struggles present in my life, I would probably look down upon those who struggle with addiction and see them as deplorable. Without witnessing his children’s sad faces, I would lack the understanding of what children endure, when they have a parent battling addiction. This experience