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In two days, people all over the world will wear purple. Some have already had their events, vigils, speakers, etc.

There will be ribbons, candles, photographs, names read aloud, stories shared, and empty chairs that say more than words ever could.

International Overdose Awareness Day is August 31, and every year it gives us a reason to stop and acknowledge something that is far too easy to turn into statistics.

But overdose is not a statistic.

It’s somebody’s son..

Somebody’s daughter.

A brother. A sister. A parent. A best friend.

It is a phone call that changes an entire family.

It is a name you still hesitate before saying because even years later, part of you expects that person to answer.

And sometimes, it is the person standing right beside you who is still fighting a battle nobody else can see.

We Have To Stop Reducing People To How They Died

One of the cruelest things addiction does is convince the world to remember a person by the worst part of their life.

“He was an addict.”
“She overdosed.”
“They couldn’t get clean.”
Those statements may describe part of someone’s story, but they are not the story.

Before addiction, during addiction, and underneath addiction, there was still a person.

They laughed.
They loved people.
They had inside jokes.
They had favorite songs.
They had plans for next year.
They embarrassed their families, made them proud, drove them crazy, made them laugh, apologized, tried again, failed again, and sometimes tried one more time when nobody knew they were trying.

They were complicated because human beings are complicated.
And they deserve to be remembered as human beings.

Addiction Doesn’t Always Look the Way We Expect.

There is still this idea that we can somehow recognize who is struggling.
We think addiction has a certain face. It doesn’t.
It can wear work boots.
It can wear a suit.
It can sit beside you at dinner.
It can clock in every morning.
It can make jokes, pay bills, raise children, create art, help other people, and still go home carrying something unbearable.

Some people struggling with addiction look like they are falling apart. Others become experts at looking fine.

This is part of why compassion matters.
You never completely know what another person is carrying.

For the Ones Who Didn’t Make It.

There are people I wish were still here.

Seth Cole
Brian Wilson
Kate McCall
Heather Hardison
Scott Neighbors
Roger Harper
John McCardle
Jennifer Volz
Chad Tolbert
Lori
Jutt
And so many more that I know I’m forgetting.

I know every one of you has your own list just like mine, maybe longer.
Almost everyone touched by addiction eventually develops a list of names they never wanted to have.

People we thought would get another chance.
People who had plans.
People who had finally started doing better.
People we were angry with.
People we would give almost anything to be angry with one more time.

Overdose Awareness Day gives us permission to say their names without shame.
Not to glorify addiction.
Not to pretend their stories were easy.
But to refuse to let the circumstances of their deaths erase the lives they lived.
They mattered before addiction.
They mattered during addiction.
They still matter now.

And For the Ones Still Here

This day isn’t only about remembering the dead.
It is also about fighting for the living.

Someone will wake up tomorrow convinced they have gone too far to come back.
Someone will relapse and believe they destroyed everything.
Someone will be terrified to tell their family the truth.
Someone will wonder whether anybody would care if they disappeared.
Someone will decide whether to try one more time.

That person deserves to hear this:
Your worst day does not have to become your last chapter. Recovery does not require a perfect past. It only requires that at some point, somehow, you stay alive long enough to give yourself another chance.
And sometimes another.
And another.

Purple Means More Than Awareness

Purple ribbons will be everywhere over the next few days. But awareness means very little if it disappears when the ribbons come down.
Remember the names.
Check on people.
Carry naloxone.
Learn the warning signs.
Listen without immediately judging.
If someone tells you they’re struggling, believe them.
If someone returns after a relapse, don’t make shame the price of admission.
And if you have lost someone, tell their stories.
Talk about who they were.
Say their name.
Keep something about them alive.
Because overdose may have ended their life. It does NOT get to own their memory.

This August 31, I will be thinking about the people we’ve lost, the people still fighting, and the families who have learned how heavy an empty seat can become.

I’ll wear purple for all of them.

But more importantly, I’ll remember them after August is over.

I hope you will too..

If nobody has told you today I love you and I’m proud of you!
-Hyatt Hendricks