Heroin is more than a deadly drug; it ruins families. My daughter was clean for just over a year, fiercely fighting her addiction, and promising never to return. I trusted her when she said, “Daddy, I want no part of that anymore.”
I reminded her what I’d once said at a Narcan session: “If the dragon wins, I’ll be the one to close the casket, but I’ll stand by you every step.” It was love, not cruelty.
We shared laughter, support, and unconditional love. I bailed her out of trouble many times, wishing my love could protect her from the drug’s grasp.
Yet love alone was not enough.
At 5:50 p.m., the police called me with the worst news. My daughter had overdosed and passed away. I crumpled to the snowy ground, crying like a child lost.
In her room, I witnessed a scene no parent should see: her body locked upright, fists clenched, gasping for life. Blue skin, bulging veins, jaw clenched.
I was warned not to touch her due to leftover drugs but she was my child. I put on gloves and cared for her one last time. Laying her in a body bag and sealing it, I kept my promise—the final act of love.
This is not for sympathy, but a wake-up call.
Heroin judges no one. It doesn’t care who you are or where you come from. It invades homes and destroys hearts. Don’t be deceived.
If you love someone, tell them now. Hold on tight because tomorrow may never come.
Rest in peace, my lovely Karisten Lyn Shermann. Though you’ve gone, my love endures.
