live by the drug, die by the drug

This dude, Biggie, died a horrible death about two weeks ago.As it was told to me,  it all started when he was was pulled over for a traffic violation. He had 3 eight balls on him. When he saw the lights behind him, he swallowed the bags.
He was already feeling sick by the time the stop was over, but not so much that the officer noticed. Biggie left the stop and hauled ass to a friend’s house. There were several people at the house. They said that, when he arrived, he was beet red, heart 1~2racing…saturated with sweat. He quickly became unconscious. Paramedics were called as the people at the house began the futile attempt to save his life.
As seconds turned to minutes, they tried to induce vomiting, to no avail. Biggie had a seizure while they ran a cold bath, trying to get his temp down. Minutes later, help arrived. He was dead shortly thereafter. Meth overdose in the extreme.

 
Biggie was a one man plague when I knew him. Obviously in his mid twenties, he hung out with teenagers, provided them with drugs and alcohol, and was just a really bad guy. I figured him for a cop or, at the least, a snitch. People went to jail when he came around. And he always made as much trouble as he could. He and I locked horns from Day 1.
After Biggie died, his dad posted to his only son’s FB wall. He said that there would be no service and that he intended to simply ‘dispose of the remains’. He was cruel. Very cruel. For all that Biggie may have been, he was a product of that man’s making. I’ve never understood how a parent could hate a child, although I think I hated my youngest, at one time. Even so, I did everything in my power to protect him from the likes of Biggie. I went to Hell and back for that kid, and now he’s a good man who has left dope behind.

 
There are many reasons that I hated Biggie. The absolute tipping point came when, one night at a party, he got my youngest on the ground and kicked him in the head over and over again. Once Youngest got up, he put an ass whippin on Biggie that made him regret doing all that kicking. Somewhere in the middle of it all, a gun came out and I got a call from Youngest’s girlfriend screaming for me to get over to the house they were at fast. I did. She and Youngest were at the end of the driveway. She was holding him back the best she could. There were about seven people in the front yard, all threatening my son as his girl begged them to stop while pleading with Youngest to just walk away.

 

I got there a few minutes after the call. I jumped out and tried to get Youngest in the truck. This one bitch was throwing beer bottles at us, and that was just making Youngest more angry. Then, I noticed a red dot on my son’s side while he was standing there, screaming at the people in the yard. Everybody was threatening everyone else, it seemed. Most were threatening Youngest, though I have no clue why to this very day. I got in front of Youngest and turned around to see where that dot was coming from. It was Biggie standing about ten feet away, holding a pistol with a laser sight. That sonofabitch. He didn’t even put it down when that fucking dot was on my stomach, still pointed exactly where it had been before I got between him and Youngest.
We finally got Youngest into the truck and hauled ass. He was tripping so hard he didn’t even know who I was. He was still feeling violent and his girlfriend couldn’t calm him down any better than I could. All I could think about was Biggie and that gun and that he was going to kill my son.

 
While I’m not happy that a young man is dead, I will say that he lived a life that couldn’t have lead him anywhere but to the grave. What goes around comes around…that’s just the way it is. But, I do hope that, one day, Biggie’s dad will get off of his high horse and realize what he lost. Whatever his faults, Biggie was his son, and that’s no small thing. I also think that the world is now short one more bad guy; One less dope slinger/snitch/dirty lil cop?/violent piece of shit. I thank God that gun didn’t go off and I am grateful that my son lived to become a good man like his brother. I’m grateful that I lived to see my grandson born. Shit could have gotten way more twisted that night. The fact that it didn’t feels like a miracle to me.

 
Biggie and I knocked heads a few times after that, but we never discussed what happened that night. Whatever may have ever happened between us, I honestly hate the thought of anyone going out the way he did. My God. He was, in some way, literally consumed by dope. The same shit he sold to kids took his life in a slow and painful way. He suffered. He didn’t want to die. He did not want to die. Oh, my God…I can’t even imagine the fear he must have felt; the panic. It breaks my heart for him. He was somebody’s son. And, even if that somebody didn’t love him, he cannot be denied his blood. I pray that Biggie knew God in the hour of his death and that all was forgiven, as I would want to be forgiven. I pray that someone in his family loved him enough to miss him now that he’s gone forever. Mostly, I pray that he faded out before the worst of it all. Even bad guys aren’t all bad. I know there was something good about that kid. I don’t know what good was in him, but I don’t take any joy in the horror that befell that young man on April the 26th, 2018.

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