My little brother died of a heroin overdose. He died alone in a small hotel room in a foreign country. He wants me to tell you, tell the whole world, that you don’t have to go out like that. He was a good guy, a loving, fun, smart guy. But he was also a drug addict. He didn’t want to die, he just didn’t know when to say enough. He would have wanted me to tell you about drug addiction treatment. His best friend, another serious partner, and probably another addict, works at rehab in Los Angeles. While we both live in the same city, we don’t see that much if each other. I wish we did, but we don’t. It makes me feel good that his friend is sober now and helping other addicts recover from their addictions. It’s a cool part of the cycle of life. While I miss my brother dearly and wish that he was still with us. I do understand that his death helped others live better lives in a weird, cool way. My brother loved his friend and while I don’t know it for sure, I like to believe that one reason he got sober and is now helping other addicts is that he knew and loved my brother.