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A $300 a week drug habit.
Over a year, it’s more than $15,000.
Over a decade, it’s well into six figures.
Over a lifetime, the total can be staggering.
After my sister died from a fentanyl overdose last year, I found out the cost of her addiction.
Then I realized I was measuring the wrong loss.
Some struggles arrive suddenly. Others quietly settle into a family and remain there for decades.
My sister struggled with addiction from her teenage years onward. Over time, it became the kind of shadow that never fully disappeared, no matter how much help, hope, or determination surrounded it. There were periods of stability and optimism when it seemed the future might finally open before her. But addiction is a patient adversary. Even after years of effort, it remained a demon she battled until the day she died.
It would be easy to let that final sentence define her life.
But it would also be deeply unfair.
Because before she became part of the growing statistics surrounding addiction, she was simply my sister.
She was intelligent, compassionate, funny, and deeply caring. She worked as a nurse, caring for others through long night shifts with skill and gentleness. She ran road races and completed two Marine Corps Marathons. She loved concerts, pickleball, and her orange tabby cats. Friends adored her. Family loved her fiercely. She had a sparkle about her that drew people in and a smile that could melt any heart.
Perhaps that is what makes addiction so difficult for families to understand. We want suffering to fit neatly into categories. We want to believe that bad outcomes only happen to reckless people or broken lives. But addiction does not work that way. It can live quietly alongside love, education, accomplishment, humor, friendship, and hope.
Not long before she died, my sister told me she was fighting a demon and trying to get help. Looking back, I began to appreciate one of the hidden costs of addiction. Over the years, her $300 a week habit was quietly consuming a staggering amount of money, money that might otherwise have gone toward travel, financial security, retirement savings, or simply the freedom that comes from having choices.
Yet even that number fails to capture the true cost.
Addiction has a way of draining far more than bank accounts. It consumes opportunities, relationships, confidence, and time. It leaves families worrying through sleepless nights. It creates years filled with hope, disappointment, recovery, relapse, and hope again.
But looking back now, I realize the money was never the real loss.
The real loss was measured differently: in opportunities that never materialized, in dreams deferred, in years spent fighting a battle that never should have existed, and ultimately in a future she still believed she had ahead of her.
That may be the hardest part of all.
Even near the end, she was looking forward to life. There were still plans, conversations, hopes, and things she wanted to do. Addiction had walked beside her for years, but so had resilience. Families who live alongside addiction often exist in that strange place between fear and hope, never fully surrendering either one.
In today’s world, we have become accustomed to reducing people to the worst thing that happened to them. An overdose becomes the headline, and the human being slowly disappears beneath it.
I don’t want that to happen to my sister.
I want to remember the woman who cared for her patients through long nights, who crossed marathon finish lines wearing red lipstick, who loved her cats, who filled a room with laughter, and who loved her friends and family with all her heart.
I want to remember someone whose life contained far more than her struggle.
Because in the end, addiction may have taken her life, but it never fully took away the person she was.
And perhaps that is the lesson I carry with me. The greatest cost of addiction isn’t the money it consumes. It’s the risk that we forget the person behind the addiction: The life they lived, the love they gave, and the future that should have been theirs.
I share Tory’s story in the hope that it helps others understand the human cost of addiction. If you or someone you love is struggling, please reach out for help. The SAMHSA National Helpline is available 24 hours a day at 1-800-662-HELP (4357). No family should have to face addiction alone.
Andrew, I am so sorry that you lost Tory and Jonathan so close together. My deepest sympathies, we had similar. I agree with what Linda said about addiction being in every family. It is in ours too. Thank you for sharing Tory’s story. Chris
A truly powerful remembrance, Andrew.
You have experienced a great deal of loss. Heartfelt condolences.
Very sad but is a reality in far too many families. Thank you for sharing Andrew.
Beautiful post Andrew. I’ve been in recovery from compulsive gambling for more than 45 years and your line about we risk forgetting about the person behind the addiction is so painfully true. I’ve never heard that said so well. So much loss in your life last year. Thank you for sharing yourself with us, it deepens our sense of community when we do.
My deepest condolences to you, Andrew, and to your entire family. There isn’t a family that isn’t touched by an addiction. In my case, my sister and I (and our mother while she was alive) waited decades for “that call.” Our brother is now in a care facility where he will hopefully live out his remaining years safely and perhaps even share his gift for comedy with the other residents. God willing.
Thank you Linda for your kind words. I think those who haven’t experienced addiction in their family often don’t realize how many years can be spent waiting for “that call.” It becomes a constant undercurrent of worry mixed with hope. I’m sorry for the struggles your family has endured with your brother, but I’m glad he is now in a place where he is safe and cared for. And who knows, perhaps his gift for comedy is still bringing smiles to those around him. Thank you for sharing your story.
Andrew, thank you for your courage and honesty in telling us your sister’s story. I’m so sorry for the tragic loss you and your family have experienced. In one of the last email exchanges I had with Jonathan he told me that your sister had passed away. It seemed so unfair, and I can’t imagine the pain you and your family must have felt last fall.
My father’s alcholhism led to financial ruin and put me, my wife, and my brothers in the position of taking over my parent’s finances in our late 30’s. But that experience, and helping my in-laws in their retirement years, helped me learn how to plan for our retirement.
Thank you Rick for your thoughtful comment. I’m sorry your family experienced similar challenges with your father’s alcoholism. Addiction often leaves both emotional and financial scars, not just for the individual but for those who love them. I appreciate you sharing your experience and am glad you were able to draw some valuable lessons from it.
Dearest Andrew, I am SO sorry about your loss. There are 2 phrases that are so very true.
Firstly, … “We want to believe that bad outcomes only happen to reckless people or broken lives. But addiction does not work that way. It can live quietly alongside love, education, accomplishment, humor, friendship, and hope.” It is a fact that I realized when addiction in the form of a attempt suicide happened to one of my love ones. There were absolutely no hint of hopelessness that was apparent or expected..
And, lastly, “Not long before she died, my sister told me she was fighting a demon and trying to get help.” This is a very REAL struggle that none of us really realized or appreciated but it is there in all of us. Without being too religious, there is a very real Spiritual battle going on for the souls of mankind that can only begin to stand down by a relationship with my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Thanks for bring this to our attention. Love your writings.
Thank you for your thoughtful comment and for sharing your own experience. I think one of the hardest lessons is realizing that some struggles remain largely invisible, even to those closest to us. Tory often spoke of fighting a demon, and while I may never fully understand that battle, I know it was very real to her. I appreciate your kindness and your perspective.
Andrew, another deeply human post. What can I say? I understand. You write about refusing to let her become a statistic — I found my brother hanging, a noose around his neck — dead, because of drug addiction. As I held his weight and fought with the knot, I wasn’t looking at a dead addict. I was looking at my brother, at every good year we’d had together. Not a statistic. Not a line on some government spreadsheet.
Mark, it must take extraordinary strength to carry such a memory with you every day. My condolences and highest respects.
Thank you Mark for sharing such a painful memory. I’m deeply sorry for the loss of your brother. Your comment speaks to the very reason I wrote the article. Behind every addiction is a human being who was loved and whose life was so much more than their struggle. Thank you for your thoughtful words.
Andrew, thanks for another amazing piece of writing. So sorry to hear that load that your sister, and all your family, carried for so long.
I was particularly struck by the line “In today’s world, we have become accustomed to reducing people to the worst thing that happened to them.” I agree wholeheartedly that we owe people the effort to understand them a little more, rather than simply pass judgement.
Thank you Greg. That was exactly the message I hoped to convey. Tory’s addiction was part of her story, but it wasn’t her story. She deserved to be remembered for the person she was, not simply the struggle she faced. I appreciate your kind words.