My name is Edna Beland, and I am Christopher Beland's mother. Writing this is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. No parent should ever have to bury their child but here I am, saying goodbye to my baby boy.

Christopher was supposed to be born on my birthday. Instead, he came 75 minutes before it, a surprise gift just for me. In the delivery room, the song “Bad to the Bone” was playing, and the nurse laughed and said, “Oh, he’s going to be bad to the bone.” We all chuckled. I still remember that moment like it was yesterday. He was my birthday gift, my miracle, my boy.

Chris was troubled, yes, but he was also kind, caring, charming, and funny. He could talk you into anything. He had a way with words and a smile that could disarm you. He was a little rascal, always had been, but he had the biggest heart. He loved deeply, even when life didn’t love him back.

Christopher battled addiction. Addiction is a disease, one that steals people slowly, painfully, and unfairly. He recently survived an overdose and was hospitalized. Doctors said he needed long term care, but he was released anyway. Two months later, just 11 days after the New Year rang in, my son overdosed again and this time, he didn’t make it.

My heart is shattered. I keep thinking I hear his voice. I keep expecting his name to pop up on my phone. I keep remembering the little boy who held my hand, the teenager who made me laugh, the man who still needed his mom even when he pretended he didn’t.

To anyone reading this who is struggling with addiction: you are not weak, you are not broken, and you are not alone. My son was sick. He didn’t choose this. He fought his demons every day, and though he lost that fight, he never lost his goodness.

I am elderly and living on a fixed income, and I now face the unimaginable, burying my child. Any help given will go toward funeral costs as I try to survive this heartbreak.

Please remember Christopher not just for how he died but for how he lived:

As a son who loved his mother.

As a man who made people laugh.

As a soul who tried.

My baby boy was worth more than his worst moments.

He was, and always will be, my special birthday gift.