There once was a beautiful, talented lady, who led a hedonistic lifestyle, and who seemed set on a path of self-destruction. Yet she was a mother of four but that didn't curb her indulgences. The three eldest children lived with their Dad, but the youngest was by a different father and he was already dead. When this child was four years old she found her mother dead in bed, covered in vomit. Orphaned, facing the world alone, luckily she was adopted by the man who was the father of her half-sisters. Not all children end up so lucky.
There's a supermodel in the news at the moment, a drug addict who thinks it's cool to get high. Yea right. She's a single Mum and if she doesn't get her act together and get clean, her little girl is gonna find her mom in bed, stone cold.
What's that saying? Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse? Have you ever heard such a load of shit in your life? Get real. The only reason a corpse is good looking is because the dead decaying rotting skin on the face has been patched up, the vomit and blood cleaned off, then the deathly pallor and blue lips have been spruced up and made over by the make-up artist hired by the morgue technicians. Or the Undertakers, whatever. Nice.
Then there's all your loved ones at the funeral. Your sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew, who are too young to understand why they won't be seeing Uncle (or Auntie) any more. They cry. There's Mum and Dad at the front, Mum's in black, and she's crying, and Dad is hugging her tightly so she doesn't fall. He's struggling to hold back the tears because he wants to be strong for his wife. They're not only mourning you, but also the future life you would have had, wife, kids. No grandkids from you for them. All that you have robbed them of and they still cry for you.
The other side of your Dad, well, she's your Grandma, who buried her own husband just last year. She's in shock and isn't crying, her eyes are dead, the light is gone. She's clutching a photo of you. But you're there, in that coffin in front of her. Can you see us from where you are? Are you here? Are you sorry you wrecked your life with those drugs? Do you regret the pain and grief you have caused everyone here?
If just one person reads this and gives up drugs, then my work is done. Losing my Godson would not have been in vain.
Written in memory of David who died aged 22 of a heroin overdose.