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Many people have bought attention to the opioid crisis, which affects people from all walks of life. However, I took these acknowledgments for granted until they hit close to home when I received an emergency call and the horrible news that no one would ever want to hear. On August 4, 2022, I was informed that my older brother passed away from a Fentanyl overdose.
He was just 31 years old.
Upon coping with a traumatic event, it is common to stave off the embarrassment and abstain from sharing my sentiments on such issues. Moreover, many people would rather deflect and point out the generic reasons why other people would use opioids instead.
From powerful pharmaceuticals to illegally manufactured synthetic drugs, opioids are the primary drivers of the deadly drug crisis in America. According to the Centers for Disease Control, 106,699 deaths occurred from drug overdose resulting in an age-adjusted rate of 32.4 per 100,000 standard population. The rate of drug overdose deaths involving synthetic opioids other than methadone increased by 22 percent over the years. Many of those who die are between the ages of 25 and 45.
While critics would point out various catalytic inhibitors— such as curiosity, proximity, ease of access, mental illness, and a permissive political stance towards drug use, there are other internal factors that should be examined in a mutually exhaustive manner.
Born and raised in the Flatlands area of Brooklyn, in a stringent middle-class conservative Haitian household, one would assume a copacetic upbringing.
My older brother was three years older than me; my younger brother is two years younger. We lost our father to a car accident at a young age. Our widowed mother, who worked two full-time jobs at New York-Presbyterian, maintained the household with the help of our grandparents, uncles, and close relatives.
My brothers and I grew up with similar interests in food, sports, music, and culture. We attended weekly church services, led by our grandfather, a devout Christian pastor. Education was held in high regard and our elders made sure we went to school and obtained good grades.
None of my family members drink or smoke. None of our family members had a mental illness. My family consisted of hard-working, educated individuals that cared for each other.
Though my mother tried her best to serve as a model and an objective mediator, keeping a healthy and equitable balance in the household, our intersectional relationships were distinctive. As my brothers and I spent more time in situations that didn’t involve each other outside the home, most of our experiences aided in our growth, while some of our traumatic experiences, or lack thereof, arrested our growth. Eventually, we had a different perception of how the world works. Thus, we developed different impulses that shaped the way we solved problems.
Regardless of the homogenous upbringing of a family under one roof, every child is unique in their own way. Every child reacts differently as we develop in and out of a household. While we are responsible for the well-being of ourselves, we have a moral obligation to look out for the welfare of others and to help those who are in need, even if it requires some sacrifice on our part.
