“This is Giancarlo.” He was 19 years old. He passed away last Sunday in his apartment due to an access heroine intake.
I am the mother of Giancarlo. I really do not want to look at what happened when I faced the most terrible incident in my life. I wish for people to understand the harsh reality of substance use disorder. The harsh and bad reality of heroin. The harsh reality is that it can happen to anyone. Heroin makes no discrimination between the young and the old. Whether you are rich or poor. Whether you are black or white. Heroin is indifferent. He was my little boy.
This toxic substance can cover itself behind a beautiful mask. Giancarlo gives no hints of using heroin. He was not falling asleep or losing consciousness unexpectedly, he did not disappeared for long period, he treated the speaker with kindness, and he never steals or take something from anyone. He did appear somewhat lonely, but do not all teens retreat to their rooms at times?
Children are dying from drug related causes, and family is so secure and afraid of drugs about the cause of death.And transparent sealant? That is mean meth. How do I realize this while the police are not? Why isn’t this featured as a weekly segment in the news?
My son had been thinking clearly for 10 months and was employed by Marin County. He owned his own apartment, and signing the lease was a good decision for him and for his girlfriend. Which we discovered he was using on July 24, 2017. We took him to a rehabilitation center that charged $45,000 for a duration of 45 days.
We then shift him to an intensive outpatient rehabilitation program for an additional 3 months, followed by a sober living facility in Mill Valley for a year.
He had a relapse and passed away alone in his bedroom. He was the kindest spirit.
He had a brother named Clyde who was 6 years old. He vowed to get up on Christmas Eve so they could search for Santa together.
He was my closest friend. The final words he spoke to me were: ‘I’m fine mom, I love you as well.’
It was at 10:20 on Saturday evening.
He constantly responded to my calls. Still, he didn’t on Sunday morning. And I simply knew. The only way to describe this agony is that every cell in my body that formed my son is ablaze, craving to embrace him once more. It is a physical pain that only a mama can truly comprehend.. It is within my bone gist. Just a deep craving to have him near and hold him. My hubby drove Giancarlo’s family Clyde to explain what passed. He said to Clyde ‘ i am apprehensive that numerous cousins visit you, and you might not understand the reason.’ Clyde replied:’ No, I do not, Dad.
He said that ‘Giancarlo suffered from a hidden illness that brought him sorrow, and he took medication that the physician had not recommended to him, which made him extremely poor in health, resulting him demise and rise in heaven.’ I was not present, but my husband states that my son let out an emotional cry that seemed impossible for a 6-year-old.
He eventually took him home from the back entrance of home, where he lay beside me in bed, covered his face with a blanket, and fell asleep. Giancarlo was buried on January 7th. It is declared that a child requires a network of care.
I am realizing now that it does call community to perform burial of a child to rest.
I am uncertain what the answer is, but we need to start the discussion greatly.
Those who read this story request them to utilize my son’s story because this is occurring. Even in Napa Valley. All I can only alert other parents to keep an eye on their children because, in the end, just regrets left. This is a moral story.
