As you know, I care deeply for the Chichester Financial Group LLC community. Together with my team, we feel strongly that we are here to walk through life with you in times of both celebration and sorrow. It is with this in mind that my heart is heavy with the sorrow that a member of our community has been facing. In honor of his son’s death, we have been given permission by him to share with you a heart-wrenching poem that he wrote as a way to process his grief, but also to shed light on this epidemic of fentanyl overdose.
FAIR WARNING: It is raw and emotional and will be very hard to read for some.
We hope that sharing his words gives voice to a preventable tragedy. As a way to stand together with this family, we are donating in Robert’s name to Team Awareness Combating Overdose (TACO), a group actively engaged in work to prevent further fentanyl-related deaths on college campuses, including the University of Arizona, where Robert was a student. If you are in any way affected by a situation like this, we would encourage you to donate to this organization (or another one that is near and dear to your heart).
Part of the reason that this community member allowed us to share this tragedy was in the hopes that no other family would have to endure this awful situation. Sometimes, it only takes one person to start a movement that could possibly change the future for many others.
Sincerely,
John
Poem
That somebody’s son will always be mine.
I called and called to no answer each time. No words through your door or my voice anymore, but I had a key you could no longer ignore.
I found you alone, one eye slightly open, one leg partly blue. My mouth covered yours quickly, but the medics, they pulled me more forcibly. Trained eyes so keen, your passing, perhaps minutes, likely hours before me.
The police had come next and placed me outside, so clear to me now my son had just died. Both hands on my knees, I leaned on a tree, that parent’s worst nightmare had come hunting for me.
That somebody’s son will always be mine.
The curious gathered, as if by design. Your pretty neighbor, she hurried me water so kind. I’ve since felt her tears when they’ve dropped from my eyes. I called your Mom to sounds unfamiliar. My core shook with horror at the ruin I just made her.
That somebody’s son will always be mine.
The detectives came next and searched for a crime, that bright yellow tape circled to a shrine. I drove home alone to face my unknown. Little did I know, my entirety so torn. I sat on a chair so silent, so calm, my clothes were still soaked, from what I recall. So sad to report it’s not a cliche that a part of me died that one September day.
That somebody’s son will always be mine.
Thoughts of poisoned pills shoot chills down my spine, still it slaughters and forges, as if there’s a line. Fentanyl cares not how many will die as it’s murderous makers grin with each dime. I witnessed you then as that somebody’s son. It was September, twenty, twenty-one.
I searched for you often at the bottom of that bottle. With each passing day, my soul a bit darker. I drank, I drank, and ran from the pain, without regret, without any shame.
That somebody’s son will always be mine.
I pray for days healing but it’s a steep f-ing climb. You pop in and out I so yearn your rare touch. God’s angel, my guardian, I love you so much.
I was always that somebody, so proud of you son. I just couldn’t hold on to you already gone.
I just want to hug you, Robert.
Love you Big Man, love you Dad…
