On my way back to Kentucky. Was having a lovely time, a good time in Buffalo until a very good friend’s son was found in his apartment, deceased, in all likelihood of a drug overdose. This young man, I’ll call him “C”, was 26 years old, was actually my friend’s nephew. He was actually her husband’s sister’s son. The sister is/was (no one knows if she’s still alive) an awful drug addict, and my friends adopted this young man to get him away from his mother. They not only adopted C, they also adopted two of the sister’s other children and are raising them. They are veritable angels. None of them deserved this. They had raised C with so much love and care. They kept him away from his natural mother, not that she was trying to break down any doors to see him. He used to come to our house when he was little, he and my son were friends. I keep seeing his little, smiling, red headed face, while playing at my house. He was only 26 years old, battled drugs, went to rehab, he way planning to put his life back together again.
My friend had thought keeping him away from his mother (and father who was undoubtably a drug addict) would save him. They did keep him away from them. They couldn’t keep him away from his genes.
26, why 26? How many famous and not so famous young men, including my brother, are lost at 26 years of age? A lot! What is it about that age?
I’ve been doing so well emotionally. But this whole episode has me terrified for my son. Logically I know the two are not related, but fear still wells up in my heart. Fear doesn’t have anything to do with logic sometimes. Don’t know what else to say.