Thank God, I never did heroin when I was active in my alcohol and drug addiction. It’s probably a good thing too because I’m continuing to watch how it’s becoming the grim reaper of the new millennium. Sadly, the latest victim to fall prey to that hooded man with the scythe was my sponsee Derek B., who was only 22 years old.
Derek had an amazing heart with an incredible amount of desire to be free from his heroin addiction. I’ve worked with many so sponsees throughout the years, but no one was ever as dedicated to the recovery homework assignments as he was. Derek was also consistently a go-getter, meeting every single one of my sponsor requirements, day in and day out. I was always amazed at the fire I saw in his eyes for recovery. He truly wanted to lick his disease. Unfortunately, the disease got the best of him and won, like so many other tragic souls have already experienced in this world.
The day that Derek overdosed began in a way I never thought would end for him as it did. We met at my favorite local coffee shop, Bigby, to go over his 12-step work and discuss his progress on the 4th Step. He had already come up with close to 200 names of people he had resentments with and was completely willing to work through each of them. I was incredibly surprised at how Derek had such a passion to do this specific step given that most newcomers always seem to despise it, like I once did. But Derek was different; he had the willingness to do whatever was necessary to overcome his drug addiction.
As the two of us sat there talking about his step work and recovery, I asked Derek what heroin was like for him. When he started describing it, I could feel the disease still working within him beckoning him to come back to it’s deathly grip. He asked me if I missed the taste of any of the beers or drugs I once consumed with great regularity. My response to him was a resounding “no”, and I explained the reason why was due to the damage and destruction all of it did in my life. I could see the pain in his eyes as he listened and I desperately wanted to take his disease away right then and there.
By the time we finished our weekly get together, the two of us departed for our home group that meets every day at noon. During the meeting, I chuckled as Derek had to remind me of my own cardinal rule of no cell phones in meetings when I had taken mine out for a brief moment. The fact is, the furthest thing from my mind at that point in time was thinking Derek was on the verge of a deadly relapse.
That’s how crafty and lethal this disease truly is, especially when it comes to heroin. How it works in the brain to convince a person to return to it I honestly can’t say. I just know it does all too often these days like it did with Derek. I also don’t know much about what took place in Derek’s life after the meeting ended that day. The last words we shared were over the phone as I thanked him for reminding me of my own cell phone rule. He told me he would call me back later, but that call never came.
At 1:30am the next morning, Derek was pronounced dead after he was found with a belt around his arm and all attempts to resuscitate him were of no avail.
I think back to all the moments I told Derek that he might not have another recovery story to tell if he has another relapse. After two stints in an in-patient drug abuse program, I thought he had really hit his bottom. Little did I know that he hadn’t or that his next relapse was one that was going to take his life?
I loved Derek greatly like a little brother and only wanted him to find a future where his Higher Power could lead the way to full recovery from his alcohol and drug addiction. I’m sad to say that didn’t happen, at least on this plane of existence, but I’m sure it’s happening now on another.
So Derek, wherever you are, I just want you to know, I love you greatly, and am grateful for the brief time I got to spend with you in recovery. Hopefully heroin and the grim reaper no longer have their icy grips on you and you are finally free and feeling the serenity you tried so hard to find. I will truly miss you bro, and my only prayer is that God is guiding your recovery now…
Peace, love, light, and joy,
Andrew Arthur Dawson
