I still mother them….

There are nights when I come home, sit down, and really think about how we got here.

Last night was one of those nights.

We had our Music Bingo at Cork & Barrel, and the room was full of people laughing, singing, yelling out answers, winning prizes and just having FUN. And as I looked around that room, I couldn’t help but think about how something so joyful exists because of something that began with so much loss.

Just days before, we stood together at Overdose Awareness Day Delaware. Nearly 1,000 people came through Delcastle. Families carried pictures. Names were spoken. Memorial signs filled the park. Children released doves into the sky. People learned how to use Narcan. Treatment and recovery organizations stood side by side with law enforcement, first responders, families and people in recovery.

And then, a few days later, we were playing Music Bingo and raising money to help give children who have experienced loss Just One Extra YES.

Sometimes I have to stop and take all of that in.

Because none of the people we have lost were lost in vain.

I need to remind myself of that sometimes.

Vincent wasn’t.

Gab wasn’t.

Joey wasn’t.

And neither were the hundreds of sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, friends and loved ones whose faces and names have become part of this journey.

I would give anything for the reason behind Face the Facts Delaware to have never existed. I would give anything to have my children here instead.

But I can’t change what happened.

What I CAN do is decide what I do with the love that is still here.

And maybe that’s what nights like Music Bingo remind me.

We laugh.

We sing.

We raise money.

We connect somebody to a resource.

We put furniture in a recovery house.

We help someone get an ID.

We help a family with a direct cremation when they don’t know where else to turn.

We put Narcan into somebody’s hands.

We say the names of the people we’ve lost.

And now, through the GaBcJOEY Bridge, we are going to help children hear YES when circumstances in their lives have given them too many reasons to expect no.

Yes, you can play the sport.

Yes, you can take the dance class.

Yes, you can go on the field trip.

Yes, you can have that experience.

Just One Extra YES.

That’s why these nights matter.

That’s why Overdose Awareness Day matters.

That’s why nine years later, I still keep showing up.

Grief has changed over the years. It has gotten heavier in ways I never imagined it could. But so has the circle of people standing beside me.

And when I look around a park filled with people remembering those they love, or around a room filled with people laughing over Music Bingo, I see something bigger than an event.

I see the ripple.

Every person we have lost mattered.

Their lives mattered before substance use ever entered their story. Their laughter mattered. Their families mattered. Their dreams mattered. And they are so much more than the way they died.

So maybe the greatest way we can honor them is to keep creating something good in the space they left behind.

Another person trained with Narcan.

Another person connected to treatment.

Another family helped.

Another person in recovery reminded that their life matters.

Another child given an opportunity.

Another YES.

Nobody we’ve lost was in vain.

Their lives are still moving through this community in ways they may never have imagined.

And as long as I am able, I will keep saying their names, telling their stories, showing up, connecting needs to resources, and turning loss into something that helps the next person.

Because love doesn’t end when a life does.

Sometimes, it becomes the reason we keep going.