By Rachel Baird: For More Info, Go Here…
My brother existed for 10,027 days.
Almost exactly two weeks ago, down to the hour, his breathing slowed to a stop. His heart, metaphorically big but tangibly healthy, ran out of oxygen to pump to his organs. The electrical impulses that coursed through his brain, telling his body to function and ostensibly making him the person he was, ceased.
So I am telling you. I need people to know who he was. I need people to know that he was a person, and that other people with addictions are also people. I need people to know that 70,000 people are dying this way every year. Imagine if three small towns were wiped off the map annually. Imagine if, by the end of 2019, an entire suburb or two was flattened and turned to bare earth. Now imagine how many people are walking around every day with raw, whistling holes in their hearts.
