But through Facebook groups and GoFundMe pages, I began to connect with families going through similar ordeals. Despite the pain and relentless demands of their situations, many were open and generous with their time. That was especially true of Jessica Pittizola Jarrett and her son, John-Bryan, who goes by JB and suffered an anoxic brain injury and other complications after overdosing on fentanyl in September 2020.
His parents are Baby Boomers who, he says, exhausted their funds five years ago - although they only told him when they were on the brink of homelessness. Because of health problems and age-related constraints that make work impossible, the user stepped in to support them and to manage their finances. He persuaded them to sell their large, debt-laden home (despite their request that he simply continue paying their mortgage). Now they live in a modest cottage near him so he can regularly assist them.
Melinda Turner starts her day at 3:30 a.m., and within 30 minutes, wakes her 8-year-old daughter for school. She packs their bags and by 5 a.m., heads out to drop her child at an in-home day care - one of the few providers in her area that opens before dawn. Turner, a single mother, then drives to her early shift at a manufacturing job.
They had just talked the day before, Skyy Clark and his father having one of their usual conversations about life, basketball and whatever else popped into their minds. Early the next morning, around 6, Skyy got a call from one of his brothers. It was the sort of news no one can fully prepare for, no matter the circumstances, no matter how much one might have already considered the possibility of hearing those awful words. "Dad's gone."
My 34-year-old daughter, Samantha, has already chosen the song she'll perform at her twin brother, Matt's, wedding in May next year. She's refining her version of Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings." Not that it needs refining: it was the highlight of her solo concert, "Daring to Dream," last month. The event was a sell-out, and there was rapturous applause. The crowd's appreciation of Samantha made me prouder than ever.
The call came around 3 a.m. "Your mum had a stroke," I heard my cousin in India say. I crumpled to the floor. As I sat sobbing, he explained that she was in surgery and still critical. My mind swam with disbelief. Less than 24 hours ago, I had spoken to her over video chat. She'd been in high spirits singing Old MacDonald to her new grandson our daily morning ritual since his birth that April.
