DRUGS STRIP ANOTHER FAMILY FROM MOUNTAIN COMMUNITY

I didn't know them well. They joined our church; and for a time, they
attended almost every Sunday. I liked them. I especially liked her.

She was warm and friendly, easy and pleasant to talk to, with a pretty face
and a beautiful smile. He was good-looking, too, but quieter and more
distant, a little harder to read.

I heard they had money. He owned a successful business. They had property,
a nice home. They had two beautiful kids, a boy and a girl, who were almost
grown.

I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't help envying them a little. They seemed
to have so much.

I don't know when things started to go so wrong for them. I don't know the
whole story. Nobody does. And some of the things I heard might not be
right. But I know how the story ends. And I know a tragedy when I see one.

They said he had been hurt on the job, a broken neck or a serious back
injury. It gradually got better, but the pain never went away.

Fortunately, or so it seemed at the time, there was an effective new pain
medication on the market. The Food and Drug Administration approved it. The
pharmaceutical company promoted it. Insurance companies and medical cards
paid for it. Doctors prescribed it. And a lot of people started taking it.

It seemed like a good medication. We didn't know then how easy it was going
to be to get it, how easy it was going to be to abuse it or how easy it was
going to be to get hooked.

The new medication was OxyContin. Now it's called "hillbilly heroin."

At some point, the couple stopped coming to church. I remember hearing that
he had become addicted to painkillers. There were rumors of behavior that
sounded out of control, the kind of irrational and desperate acts that
characterize addiction. Finally, somebody got him into a treatment facility.

She went to see him. On the way back home, in a horrible accident on
Interstate 75, she and two of her sisters were killed.

That was a year ago. I never saw him again, and the rumors I heard were
points on a downward spiral. At church recently, I learned that he had
taken his life.

"He always hated drugs," an old friend of his told me. "Hated what they did
to people and what people did to get them. That's why he killed himself.
He'd become the thing he hated."

As I say, I don't know the whole story. I didn't even know them that well.
I watched from a safe distance while their lives fell apart. I put $5 in
the offering. I sang at his funeral. I said the words people say. So sorry.
Anything I can do?

But, of course, this was all much too little and much too late.

I don't know what we could have done to prevent this tragedy. But I know
some things we need to do to prevent others.

We all know that there are drugs and people on drugs all around us. We need
to be talking about this in more useful ways. We need to address this
problem head on in our families, schools and churches.

We need to educate ourselves and our children about drugs and drug addiction.

We need stronger law enforcement, better medical care.

We need more alternatives for how to earn a living and how to spend one's days.

We need to be braver and more compassionate, so people aren't afraid to ask
for our help.

We need good treatment programs close to home.

We need so many things, it's hard to know where to begin. But we are going
to have to try. Or we're going to be hearing a lot more stories like this one.

Anne Shelby is a Clay County writer and a columnist for the Manchester
Enterprise.
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