“She came in every night to give me a kiss goodnight and made sure to tuck me in tightly, wrapping my blanket under every part of me as I giggled. Little me always looked forward to our bedtime routine. She baked cupcakes every year for my whole class throughout elementary school—I can still remember the chocolate Oreo frosting. Those cupcakes were the best! People often thought she was my older sister because of how young she looked and how beautiful she was, but she wasn’t my sister—she was my mom. Everything she did felt special to me. I adored her in that way only a little girl can adore her mother. I remember waking up on my 8th birthday to my beautifully decorated room, and there she was with my favorite homemade cheesecake, cherries on top. She let me skip school that day so we could spend it together shopping.
I had so much fun that I woke up crying the day after my birthday because it was over, and she let me eat cheesecake for breakfast again just to make me happy. As I grew into my teenage years, my mom became my best friend. I wanted her around constantly. We went to the mall, laughed together, shared secrets, and she always gave me advice while encouraging me to pursue my dreams. She defended me fiercely—I’ll never forget the time she even punched someone who had spat on me! She was the person I wanted to call first, my confidante, my cheerleader, my safe place. Anyone who knew her was drawn to her joy and loving nature. She was unique in every way, a gem whose laughter was contagious and whose heart always reached out to others.
Why do I share so much about my mom? Because if I simply told you she struggled with heroin addiction for many years, without showing you who she was to me, you might assume she wasn’t a good mother. I understand that—it’s easy to judge. We’ve all seen the devastation addiction can bring to families, and I lived through some of it. But behind every addiction is a heart that once loved, and someone who loved them desperately, hoping they would be free. That someone was me, and I loved her fiercely, even while I watched her being consumed by a substance that tried to destroy her.
I was 14 when my mom started using heroin. I remember sitting across the room, watching her nod off on the couch, not fully understanding the storm we were about to face. One day, I came home from school to find her shaking, lips discolored, lying in her own vomit. It was my first glimpse of the horrors of withdrawal, and it would not be my last. Over the next several years, I battled my own depression. I called helplines, researched rehabs, and searched for any way to save her. Money became scarce as it was often diverted to feed her addiction.
Feeling helpless and angry, I began to make my own destructive choices. While I never touched heroin, I became addicted to other drugs and alcohol, telling myself, ‘If she can do it, so can I.’ It was my way of punishing her, though I was really punishing myself. At 18, I found freedom from addiction through my faith in Jesus Christ. My mom had her moments of sobriety, but relapse was a frequent shadow over our lives. I’ll never forget dropping her off at rehab in another state, sitting in the car and sobbing as if I were leaving my own child behind. Watching her battle guilt, depression, and loneliness was painful beyond words.
In 2016 and 2017, my mom finally experienced a true victory over heroin. She embraced sobriety, committed to living for the Lord, and flourished in her work and personal life. She had her own car, a beautiful apartment, and opportunities she had once lost. But on September 4th, 2017, after a year of sobriety, she relapsed—and this time it took her life. I had suspected she may have been using again in the month prior, but nothing could prepare me for the grief of losing her.
The photo above was taken by a dear friend at her funeral. I remember sitting there, my husband comforting me, as waves of sorrow washed over me. Losing her broke my heart in ways I never imagined, but her story continues to teach me lessons about love, forgiveness, and faith. As I look into my children’s eyes today, I hope they love me as I loved my mom—but I pray they never experience the pain of trying to save a parent. In our home, my husband and I serve Jesus, and I give Him all glory for my freedom from addiction. Every holiday, every small moment with my family, is precious because I remember the ache of wondering if my mom was alive, if she was okay.
My deepest desire is to glorify the Lord in everything I do, while offering hope to anyone who loves someone struggling with addiction. There is pain, yes, but there is also redemption, love, and the chance to rise above circumstances that could have easily swallowed us whole.”
