Visiting my brothers Grave

This past weekend, my wife, son, and I went to Bend, OR to get away for a few days to relax and be with each other. It was also the first time we were going to visit James’ grave with his plaque finally installed. I didn’t think much of the trip, except to have a nice relaxing weekend with the family.

As we entered Bend, however, things in my mind began to change quickly.

Let’s back up a few years to understand why.

In June, 2015, my wife and I moved to Bend, OR, and James eventually moved over six months later. The three of us had a great time living in Bend. We went fly-fishing, snowshoeing, hiking, and skiing. It wasn’t all roses -we had our brotherly/family squabbles but overall, it was an enjoyable experience. James and I shared an office in Bend and every day, twice a day, he would look over at me, and say “Want to go for a walk?”. We would cruise down to the white-water park or walk to the cliffs that overlook the Deschutes river and just talk about anything, really. Those simple office walks are some of the fondest times I had with James.

When we entered Bend this past weekend, we unloaded our luggage and began driving down to the Old Mill District to work our way up to Sparks Lake. As I was driving, I began having severe anxiety as I could see the spots where James and I walked too. We drove by the cliff and I could see us two standing there looking down at the Deschutes. The images were so vivid and real. As we kept driving up the Cascade Lakes Hwy, we passed Swampy Lakes Sno-Park, where my wife, myself, my father, and James went snowshoeing when James first moved to Bend. I can remember him hiding in four feet of snow, behind a tree, in jeans and jacket, waiting to scare my wife as she walked by.

As we kept climbing the Hwy., we passed Mt. Bachelor, and I could see the bunny hill where James took his one and only ski lesson. Afraid of heights, James was done with skiing after going up the bunny lift. As we began to drop down towards Spark Lake, the images of James and my wife in the car, laughing at each other, began to surface when we used to drive to lakes together.

All these memories that flooded my head were so vivid. It was just two years ago that we were going on those walks. Just two years ago that we were paddle boarding on the high lakes. Just two years ago we were fly-fishing the Crooked River. As my anxiety rose, I just kept asking myself, What the fuck happened?

The next day, as we drove around Central Oregon, the memories kept flooding my head as we passed more places that we all hung out at. As the evening hit, my anxiety turned into minor panic attacks while were having dinner with our friends. I wanted to get up and leave so bad.

The next morning, we got up, went to our favorite bakery, and then headed to the Redmond Cemetery. As I drove, the car was silent as baby Henry was fast asleep. We entered Redmond Cemetery and proceeded to Lot D. I just stood there, looking down at his plaque. His name, birth and death date, and that he was a beloved son, brother, uncle and friend. I just stood there. I didn’t know what to say or think. It’s surreal to stand over your brother’s plot. It’s still surreal thinking that he is gone. I just stood there and that question just kept nagging at me – What the fuck happened, James? You’re too young, too vibrant, too good of a person.

As I drove back home, all I could think about is how addiction is a fucked-up disease. That it’s incredible we, the USA, don’t have an integrated health system that can help people with substance use disorders. That Big Pharma could get make billions and think they can get away with murdering over hundreds of thousands a people.

This addiction epidemic has shattered millions of lives. MILLIONS. As I stood over James’ grave, I sure as hell know it shattered mine and my families. The stigma needs to end. The judgement needs to end. Lives need to be saved so others don’t have stand over their loved ones grave.

It takes a collective effort so please keep educating others. Talk about James or your person who has suffered through hell. Bring the conversation out in the open so those who are suffering, can feel comfortable asking for help to fight a disease.