I owe everything on this website to my two little brothers. 

I made a video on social media the other day. I told my limited audience that losing two little brothers to drug addiction was a gift. There was a woman who said that she could never view the loss of a loved one as such. She mentioned that everyone handles grief in their own way. I agree with her on the second part, but I won’t let her change my mind on the first, as harsh as they may seem. Let me explain.

Connor

Connor, 26, died in a rehab facility in Florida back in 2016. At that time, I had been trying and failing to achieve long-term sobriety for years. In fact, on the day that I got the phone call that forever changed my life, I was on Day 3 of life without alcohol. Once I found out he had died, the chances of me reaching Day 4 were zero. Even though everybody told me to stay clear of the booze, I made a convenience store my first stop on my way home from my parents. I drank those two bottles of wine in less than twenty minutes. That wasn’t so bad, because from then on, I stuck to straight vodka, and no matter how much I bought, there was never enough.

A trip to rehab followed this tragic event, and I was able to spend nearly two years free from alcohol. Although I was clean and sober, I was still lost and afraid, carrying around grief as if I were wearing a cape. The only problem was that grief was locked away inside of me, trapped. I wasn’t able to feel any emotions. Even without the booze, I still felt numb. I wished I could cry. I wished I could connect to a higher power. I wished I knew what the fuck to do with my life. But I didn’t. So, eventually, I went back to the bottle.

And overnight, after taking 23 months completely off, my alcoholism had progressed into nothing but pure darkness.

The spark

I needed to find the light. And in order for me to find the light, I had to do something a little unconventional. Since rehab had only proved to be a band-aid solution for my drinking issue, I sought deeper healing by means of sacred plant medicine. About two months after my relapse, I experienced Ayahuasca for the very first time. That woke me up out of the nightmare that I was currently living my life in.

When I came out of my experience with Ayahuasca, I recall a lot of things happening (love for myself, love for our planet, grateful for everything), but who I find myself thinking about right now is my other little brother named Trevor. Trevor, like me and Connor, struggled mightily with drugs. I always resented him. I always judged him for his substance abuse problems. I always blamed him for all of my issues in life. Even though we grew up extraordinarily tight, our addictions made us shame each other, and there was nothing good or pure about our relationship.

That had been true for Connor as well. I never wanted to hear about his problems. I never believed he had any real pain. I just thought he was a loud mouth who was desperately seeking attention. When Connor passed away, I lived with an enormous amount of regret. I wished so fucking badly that I could have done things differently. I wished so badly I could have floated back in time to tell him how much I loved him, how sorry I was for ignoring his troubles. Goodness gracious, I didn’t know it at the time, but I was able to learn a valuable lesson.

Because Trevor died a few years later. And I’m left with absolutely no regret. If that isn’t a gift, I don’t know what is. Connor’s death taught me love, forgiveness, and above all else, never to give up on the people we love the most.

So, with Connor’s passing, I got sober from alcohol once and for all. I learned to be there for Trevor.

And I found the light.

Trevor

Connor’ s death came out of nowhere. I bet you everyone in my family would tell ya they knew Trevor’s was coming; that it was only a matter of time. Trev never allowed himself to heal the way that I did after Connor passed away. His lethal drug addiction only got worse. And worse. And worse. By the spring of 2021 I knew we had to do something for Trevor or he was going to end up like Connor. My wife and I invited him to come live with us in North Carolina for the summer. Stephanie and I got him clean. We got him sober. We fed him nutritious meals. We watched him come back to life. Trev and I developed a love and respect for each other that had blown away during adulthood. I loved Trevor so much. Every time I find a picture from that summer, I see one of my arms wrapped around him, and when I zoom in on my face, I see genuine joy.

Connor gave me that. I will never forget.

Only seven months after our magical summer together, Trevor passed away, leaving me utterly distraught. He was (and is) my best friend. We had our whole lives ahead of us. We had so much to look forward to. And just like that, poof.

Gone.

I kept telling myself that I was okay, that I had been through that sort of thing before, that there was absolutely nothing to worry about. But the way that Trevor went about dying was eerily similar to a traumatic event that I went through when I was 15. Along with the rest of the people in my family, we watched a little boy die of brain cancer. Most alcoholics or addicts will tell ya they experience tremendous ups and downs in life―that’s why it’s so easy for us to go back to our favorite substances. For many years, even in sobriety, I just thought I was an asshole. I would be in a great mood for a few days, simply loving life, but then I’d come crashing down, always feeling like I had never experienced any joy whatsoever. I would blame others for this problem, particularly my wife, which was absurdly unfair. But after Trevor died, and these ups and downs only got far worse, I knew I needed help.

And I knew I needed it fast.

In Comes Closure

Left with little choice, as my marriage was becoming impossible, I finally sought help for the mood swings that had been dragging me down for over twenty years. Unbelievably, what I didn’t know about myself seems silly now. I was diagnosed with PTSD and C-PTSD, which in my humble opinion, folks, is a real fucking thing. That was 18 months ago. When I was diagnosed, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be married to my wife. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be alive. I wasn’t sure that I was good enough for anyone on this planet, including my three children, who I loved with a full heart every second of every day. But once I found out the truth―my truth―things slowly began to level out. Things got so good between my wife and I that we welcomed our fourth child last fall with wide open arms. I am grateful to be alive every single day of my life. And I have so much to live for.

Because above all, that’s what these two boys would want.

Just another gift. 

When you lose people the way that I have, you’re quick to realize that love never disappears. It never goes anywhere. It’s always flowing with you and in you. I love the person I’ve become. I love my family. And I’ll always love my two brothers. They have taught me who I am and what I do. And what I do is help people.

I’m ready for you. Are you ready for me?