It's sad because I remember him as a baby. I recall him as a six year old riding a bicycle and doing the other things kids did in the ghetto where he was raised. I remember him as a teenager, when he first started drinking and using drugs. I knew his family, most of them addicts and alcoholics. I partied with them and did time with them. And almost all of them passed away still active in their addictions.
The last time I saw him was at the funeral of one of his uncles. By then he was in his forties and showing the effects of drinking and drugging. But like most of his family he never showed an interest in changing. He was content doing what he was doing.
And now, here he is in his mid-fifties and on life support.
His story reminds me that unless we get into recovery our lives never get better. All I can do is pray that he survives.
