I still mother them….

August 31: Overdose Awareness Day

I have been trying to figure out what I wanted to say tonight, and maybe the truth is there really aren’t words big enough to wrap all of this up.

Today is Overdose Awareness Day.

It is a day to remember people we lost to overdose. But when you have actually lost someone, “remember” almost feels like a strange word.

We don’t need a date on the calendar to remember.

We remember when we wake up. We remember when a song comes on. When somebody says something they would have said. When we make their favorite food. When we see someone who looks like them from behind for half a second. When something wonderful happens and they’re the person we want to tell.

We remember in a thousand little ways every single day.

For me, today will always include Vincent.

And now, in a way I never imagined when I started doing this work, it includes Gabriella too.

Two of my children.

There is something almost impossible about writing those words.

This morning, Adriano helped crank down the Delaware flag in honor of the lives lost to overdose. I stood there watching my grandson lower that flag in memory of people who should still be here, knowing that one of those people was his own mom.

I was incredibly proud of him.

And incredibly sad that he ever had to do it.

Delaware’s flags were ordered lowered because these lives mattered. They were sons and daughters. Moms and dads. Brothers and sisters. Aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and coworkers. They belonged to people. They had favorite foods and inside jokes. They had talents and flaws and dreams. They irritated people. They made people laugh. They were loved.

They were never statistics.

That has been the heartbeat behind Face the Facts from the beginning.

Overdose Awareness Day is also about the people who are still here.

The person using today who may someday be standing beside us in recovery.

The mother who hasn’t slept because she doesn’t know where her child is.

The person carrying Narcan who might save a stranger tomorrow.

The person in recovery who has fought like hell for another day.

The family who is still waiting for their person to be ready.

And the people doing this work who keep answering the phone, opening another door and trying to find one more YES.

I still get frustrated that in 2026 we have to explain that substance use disorder is a disease. I get frustrated by the stigma. I get frustrated when compassion is treated as enabling and harm reduction is misunderstood as permission.

Keeping someone alive is not giving up on them.

Keeping someone alive gives them the opportunity to have a tomorrow.

I hope in my lifetime I see an overdose prevention center in Delaware. I hope we continue moving toward a place where people are treated with dignity and kindness until they are ready and able to take whatever their next step may be.

Because dead people don’t recover.

Today I thought about Vincent.

I thought about Gabriella.

I thought about every single face I shared throughout this month and the families attached to those faces.

I thought about all the people they didn’t get the chance to become.

And I thought about the people still here who absolutely do have that chance.

Tomorrow is September 1, the beginning of Recovery Month.

There is something pretty powerful about that.

Today we remember those we couldn’t save.

Tomorrow we celebrate the people who are still fighting, the people who found recovery, and every person who proves that another ending is possible.

So tonight, say their names.

Tell their stories.

Carry Narcan.

Learn something you didn’t know yesterday.

Challenge stigma when you hear it.

And if you love someone who is struggling, please don’t give up on the possibility of who they can still become.

Today the flags were lowered.

Tomorrow we keep doing the work.

For Vincent.

For Gabriella.

For every face.

For every family.

And especially for the people who are still here.

💜