Taniel's Trek

Journeys of Healing:
A Legacy of Love
This section of Taniel’s Trek is dedicated to the personal journeys of those who have lost loved ones to overdose. Each tribute tells a unique story of love, loss, and the path of healing that follows. Here we honor the lives that were tragically cut short, and celebrate their memory by sharing their journeys with the world. Through these stories, we aim to create a sense of connection, reminding us that we are not alone in our grief.

whether it’s a reflection of shared moments, or an expression of the heartache left behind, each story serves as a tribute to the journey these individuals took in life, and how their legacy continues to guide us. By sharing these experiences, we take another step toward awareness and understanding, ensuring that their journey, and the fight against overdose, is never forgotten.

Jesse's Story

“If anyone is capable of loving an addict, it would be me.” Those were my words when I first met Jesse in 2015. Growing up surrounding by addiction, it was normal to me. Sure, it traumatized me. Sure, it motivated me towards a different path…but it was all I knew.
The next 6 ½ years were more trauma than I could ever imagined. But they were also full of so much love. The majority of those years were spent with Jesse in active addition. The first few years he lied, manipulated and stole my money to hide his habit, but over time my whole day revolved around getting money we didn’t have, driving hours a day to obtain the drugs and watching his breathing until he came to. I lived it firsthand; addiction is absolute hell. But drugs were the solution to a problem I couldn’t help Jesse solve. His despair was to deep. He tried over and over again to get help – outpatient, treatment, detox after detox, AA and NA meetings, residential treatment and finally even a Marchman Act when he continually put his life in danger with several overdoses. I would get the pharmacist to write me Narcan prescriptions when I couldn’t even afford my own medications. When he would kiss me goodnight, I would say: “wake me up if you so I can be ready with the Narcan.” Until the one night he didn’t, and I woke up and rolled over and he wasn’t sleeping beside me. I didn’t even cry. I told the 911 dispatcher that I didn’t need to do CPR. When the paramedics rushed in and put the heart monitor on, I said: “I told you so.” OD number 9 was his last.

Share your journey or honor a loved one’s story by submitting to [email protected]. Each submission helps us build a tapestry of resilience, love, and remembrance. Please feel free to include a photo to bring their story to life. All submissions will be reviewed and thoughtfully added to our website, creating a space where every story can inspire and uplift others on their path.