by Kyle's mom, Angela
8/20/86 - 3/25/2017
My oldest son was a loving, funny, caring person. He struggled with addiction for years. Was in jail twice. Went to 3 different rehabs. Last one was a life saver. He came home happy and ready to move forward. He graduated from drug court and had his charges dropped. He got a job, had a girlfriend. I had my son back.
Fast forward several years and his world crashed. His girlfriend turned fiancé cheated on him and broke up. He lost his job. Depression set in. He moved back home with us. He started using again. We begged him to go to rehab again. He said he didn’t need to, he wasn’t doing much and he could stop.
On Friday night, March 24. 2017, he was happy, said good night, told me he loved me and went up to bed. The next morning, my husband and I ran errands, kept trying to call him and couldn’t get an answer. We knew he slept late, but I decided to go upstairs and check on him. His door was locked, I started knocking, no answer. I was able to push the door enough to see through a crack and saw him sitting on the edge of his bed, head down. I screamed for my husband, broke the door down and ran to him. One side of his face and body was blue. A needle was on the nightstand. I tried to breathe life back into my son, while waiting for ambulance, but I knew it was too late. I lost my firstborn.
A piece of my heart died that day. He was 30 years old and had a whole life ahead of him. Found out he died from heroin laced with fentanyl. I couldn’t save my son. I will always have that image of him sitting on his bed in my head. But I try to override that image with happier times. I miss him everyday.