The ultimatum.

Roughly 4 months later…

3 am, phone rings…. again. It never gets easier and each call feels like the first and you’re convinced it will be the last.

“Brit, it’s dad. Please talk to me.” I ran out of my bedroom, guided by the moon light peering through my dining room window. 

“What’s wrong?” I blurted out as I hit “start” on my coffee machine— I knew my day was starting. 

“Christian is on his way to the hospital. I think he overdosed.” As my mind quickly raced, I was able to process enough to know while my brother truly wasn’t “ok,” he was ok in the sense that he was alive. Thank God.

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I found a bill for an ambulance ride serviced from a month ago. He overdosed again and we had no clue,” my dad cried. “He’s going to die. We’re going to lose him.”

As I stood there, staring at my coffee cup, I couldn’t wrap my head around what he was saying. Three OD’s in 4 months? We were playing with fire and Christian was betting his life away. My dad was wrong... we weren’t going to lose him, we already lost him and I was going to do everything I could to get him back.

I spent a better part of this journey either judging or ordering everyone else to make a change. It was time I did my part. It was time I showed my brother just how much I loved and valued him. It was time that he saw his worth.

We spent the next 48 hours making the tough decision to give Christian the final ultimatum—the streets or rehab. We threatened him time and time again with this but never followed through. We believed as a family that if we “forced” him to his rock bottom, then maybe, just maybe, we could save his life. 

“I don’t want to start over. It’s too hard.”

Christian’s voice had a tone to it that I’d never heard before. It quivered and broke as he spoke through his tears.

“I know you’re broken and tired. But I know you can do this. You’re not starting over, you’re starting new. Picture where you’ll be in one year? Think of the lives you’re going to save with your testimony? How powerful and incredible that will be!” I cried back. We were talking over the phone, but I could picture the scene— he was sitting, bent over with his head in his hands, on our dad’s bed. Lights off and curtain drawn as if hiding from himself. He wanted to be forgotten. He was too ashamed to face the light.

“Please don’t make me plan your funeral. I need you,” my pacing came to an abrupt stop as the tears flowed. My soul was begging and pleading to keep my heart alive- my brother. 

We may have been two states away, but we were closer than we had ever been, in that moment. We felt the other’s pain, but more importantly, we felt each other’s love. A brother and sister reunited by forgiveness, understanding and faith... This moment will forever be etched into my soul— I am eternally grateful.

“I’ll go, I promise.” And he did. He left three days later and spent the next 30-40 days in an inpatient rehab facility. As we hung up the phone that dreary morning, I stared at myself in the mirror (the bathroom has turned into my crying space). This time, my eyes seemed hopeful. Excitement filled my body. “This time will be different”, I told my husband. “I feel it.”

And it was….