Finding Photos Of My Father

While moving last weekend I found pictures of my father. I was 8 when he was hit with a string of mishaps while working construction, and I was 19 when he died. During those 11 years, he went from a supportive husband, father, and business owner, to a sickly and easily confused drug addict. All of it happened when no one gave a second thought to what a doctor prescribed, and nearly 15 years before I ever heard the term opioid epidemic.

To be honest, I don’t remember a whole lot about who he was before his addiction, and up until I found these pictures, I only had two photos of him. One was a family photo from when I was five. He looked healthy with thick black hair and a strong smile.