My Son Died Of A Fentanyl Overdose. Here's What No One Is Telling You About This Crisis.

My son Randy died in 2018 from an accidental fentanyl/heroin overdose. He was 31, engaged and 10 days away from receiving his college degree, with a great job awaiting him. More importantly, he’d been sober for two years.

On the eve of his death, Randy’s wonderful fiancee had gone to bed early, and he left without her knowing. She found him dead on the kitchen floor in the early morning hours.

People are sometimes shocked hearing me say the word “dead” or “death” or “died.” It seems too jarring — too harsh. Friends use terms like “passed” or “passed away” or “slipped away,” as if that makes the loss of my child less devastating or easier to handle.

The grief I felt was beyond shattering. It was as if my entire being was made of crushed glass, with every breath and every movement unthinkably painful.

Friends encouraged me to write about Randy and his addictions, which began in junior high school. They suggested it might shed light on this catastrophic epidemic that is killing a significant part of a generation.

But I wasn’t ready.

I tried to reassemble the pieces of my life and figure out how to move forward. I worried about my other son, Billy, who had lost a brother and had his own grief to deal with while also raising a young family. Writing required clear thinking, which seemed impossible, but I wanted to do something proactive about addiction in hopes of bringing about change.

So, 10 months after burying my son, I began teaching creative writing to people who were transitioning into a housing facility after living on the streets. Looking out at my first class I saw faces that had missing teeth or knife scars, or were deeply lined with sorrow.

These people understood my son’s addictions and understood my grief. Many