Today I Am Angry

TODAY, I AM ANGRY

This morning, I got out of bed, and one of the first things I saw was the beautiful urn holding McKayla’s ashes.

I looked at that tiny box and broke.

I touched it. I cried. And then I wanted to scream until there was no breath left inside me.

Because everything my granddaughter was is now inside that urn.

Drugs! Fucking powder turned my granddaughter into ashes.

How is that even possible?

How can something so small destroy something so beautiful?

Those eyes used to shine.

That smile could light up an entire room.

That mouth carried laughter, sarcasm and stories.

That head wore the silliest little Gilligan hats.

Those arms gave hugs.

That heart loved.

That body carried a future.

And now I place my hand on a cold, beautiful box and try to understand how all of her can possibly be inside it.

I am angry for every birthday she will never celebrate.

Every Christmas morning when her place will be empty.

Every photograph she will be missing from.

Every family dinner where we will feel the space where she should have been.

Every wedding she should have danced at.

The wedding she may one day have had herself.

The children she might have held.

The places she should have travelled.

The dreams she never had the chance to finish.

The ordinary mornings she should have woken up to.

The extraordinary life she still had time to build.

Drugs stole all of it!!!!

They stole the laughter we had already heard and every laugh still waiting to come.

They stole the hugs we had already held and every hug we thought we still had time to receive.

They stole her future and left us with photographs, memories and a fucking urn.

So no, today I am not going to make this beautiful.

I am not going to soften it.

I am not going to search for gentle words that make this easier for anyone to read.

There is nothing gentle about opening your eyes in the morning and seeing your granddaughter’s entire life reduced to ashes.

Today, I am angry.

I am angry that she fought so hard and still lost.

I am angry that addiction kept pulling her farther away.

I am angry that somewhere along the way, a powder became more powerful than her plans, her family, her dreams and even her fear of dying.

I am angry that we could not love it out of her.

I am angry that all the hope we carried could not bring her home.

And I am furious that there are still people who believe it cannot happen to them.

It can.

Drugs do not care how beautiful you are.

They do not care how deeply you are loved.

They do not care who is waiting for you to come home.

They do not care about your mother, your father, your grandparents, your siblings, your friends or the future you promised yourself you would have.

They take.

And take.

And take.

Until one morning, someone who loves you is standing in front of an urn, touching your ashes and screaming your name.

McKayla once said it far more clearly than I ever could:

“Don’t fuck around with drugs, ’cuz you’ll find out.”

She found out.

We all did.

And we will live with what drugs did to her for the rest of our lives.

If you know someone who is struggling with addiction, or someone who loves them, please share McKayla’s Message.

Let her story travel farther than the drugs that took her.

Maybe someone will recognize where their road is leading.

Maybe someone will ask for help.

Maybe a family will hold on for one more day.

And maybe, just maybe, McKayla’s story could help change the ending of someone else’s.

Her outcome cannot be changed. But someone else’s still can.

Please share.

McKayla’s Message