I found my son dead on his bedroom floor. A parents worst nightmare playing out like a surreal dream. The 911 call I don’t remember making, my younger son screaming over and over, he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead, while the paramedics and police flooded our house in a sea of red and black. There’s no joy in my life. No hope. Prayers fall on deaf ears and I’m the shell of the man I was. A damaged, hollow vessel. Lifeless and forlorn. God will never forsake you they say, he’s with you. Not any more. I resent my family with their beautiful successful kids with their beautiful houses and well groomed dogs. What do you know about anguish, pain, overdose and death? Keep drinking your chai lattes and keep your weak platitudes, they mean nothing. Pain that you would not wish on your worst enemy yet want them to feel. Grief so thick it invades your pores, your heart, your soul and my mask of “I’m ok” is not believable, to me or anyone else. The addiction and mental challenges took hold of my beautiful son and coiled him up in a death grip. The life he once had, destroyed forever. He is free and I’m still shackled and bound. The world continues to spin, the seasons change and the holidays come and go. Go enjoy your cozy perfect home. I’ll be looking at my reflection in the urn on the dresser while my heart is ripped apart.