I once knew an incredibly handsome man who had thick jet-black hair and a mustache. An extraordinary extrovert, this man had a jovial laugh and jubilant energy; a kind of energy that spread like fire and radiated to everyone around him. He loved his daughter, sports, egg salad, listened to Chicago, loved Three's Company and The Hulk. I pretended he was my Hulk, saving me. He made everyone around him feel like the most important person in the world. We lived in a house in Milwaukee, WI, where he worked as a roofer for Packerland. This man died from a lifelong heroin addiction. A life ended at 59 years old. This man was my father. That's right, Carl Michael Minotte, husband, son, father, brother, family man and heroin addict. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay I share this with you, not because I am looking for pity, on the contrary, it is because I long for the time when those who suffer and have fallen victim to the terrible disease of addiction and receive the memorial that their souls truly deserve. Many of us, and especially those who are fortunate enough not to be addicted, are unaware that users are powerless over their addiction. Until recently, this was a difficult concept for me to understand, as I watched my father transform from a funny, confident, powerful man into a rapidly shrinking individual as if a cancerous python was slowly closing in around his neck. . None of us are ever in competition with that python. For drug addicts there is never a choice to make. However, we are significantly affected by the decisions and choices made when we love an addict. For years I wondered if I could somehow be a better daughter. Have I missed opportunities to help him with his addiction? Was there anything I could have done to encourage changes in his life? When I look at reality, I desperately wanted it to change, but I couldn't do anything to influence these changes. As I could when he was in and out of prison, and then prison for most of my life. What I didn't realize was that I am part of the vast majority of human beings who can have one or two alcoholic drinks and not feel the NEED to continue feeding that beast. I have never ingested a substance or craved something more powerful to fill the darkness inside me. But my father woke up every morning, physically ill, with his body in pain until he succumbed to the desire to resort to numbness. True, blatant addiction is a level of suffering I can't fathom. This morning I saw a picture on a social media site. The image depicted a spoon with heroin and a lighter underneath that "cooked" the substance so it could be injected. Now I'm the first to speak out and say that allowing an idiotic, insensitive image on Facebook to affect me is absurd. I admit it's something I really could have ignored. However, such an image begs the question: aren't the families of people who have died from drugs and alcohol entitled to more remembrances and a candlelight vigil, rather than a graphic reminder of the reality of addiction ? Please note: this is just a sample. Get a custom paper from our expert writers now. Get a Custom Essay Is this such a shameful way to leave this earth that we, as their families, are not allowed to grieve properly? I can cry without feeling like??