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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,
A beautiful tribute to your sister. You are a skilled writer.
Few people are untouched by this disease, but here is hope and recovery for anyone who loves someone struggling with drugs or alcohol. Addiction is a family illness: cunning and baffling for both those who suffer and everyone who loves them.
So, what can loved ones do? Just as there is AA for the alcoholic, there is Al‑Anon for those who care about them. Addiction runs deep in my family, and I’ve been a member for over 30 years.
Al‑Anon helps you find peace whether the alcoholic is drinking or not and serenity even when you don’t know where they are. It teaches you to say “no” without debilitating guilt or shame and, most importantly, to love them as they are without losing yourself. Don’t kid yourself–even if the person is out of your life- you have still been affected.
Andrew, please consider an Al‑Anon meeting. There are over 24,000 worldwide, many electronic. And this isn’t just for Andrew—so many are struggling. Us letting go of them can be as hard as them letting go of their drug of choice.
We didn’t cause addiction. We can’t cure it. We can’t control it, but we can contribute. Give yourself—and your loved one—a powerful, life-changing gift. Al-Anon Meeting Search – Al-Anon Family Groups
Thank you Sherry for sharing this and for your willingness to help others through your own experience. One of the things I have learned from writing this article is just how many families have been affected by addiction and how often they carry that burden in silence.
I appreciate your explanation of Al-Anon and the reminder that addiction affects not only the person struggling, but also those who love them. Your words about finding peace, setting boundaries, and not losing yourself are powerful. Thank you for taking the time to share this resource and for offering hope to those who may still be walking this difficult road.
Thank you for sharing and I am so sorry for your loss.
I struggled with alcohol for years until I finally found AA. My brother however struggled with it and drugs until he took his life several years ago. He left a wife and 2 wonderful boys.
He was incredibly smart. Could do anything with computers and won awards for his photography.
Believe me when I say I feel your pain.
Thank you Lester for sharing such a personal story. I’m sorry for the loss of your brother, and congratulations on your own recovery. What stood out to me was how naturally you described your brother’s gifts and talents before anything else. That’s exactly how I hope people will remember Tory, not for her addiction, but for the person she was. Thank you for your kindness and understanding.
Hello Andrew. Thanks for sharing your sister’s story. I’m sorry for the pain that she and your family experienced. Addiction knows no bounds. Our youngest son has been in recovery for three years. He was in and out of treatment for four or five years before that. I plan to share your post with him.
Thank you for your kind words. I’m sorry for the challenges your family has faced, but I’m also encouraged to hear that your son has been in recovery for three years. I know from our own experience that recovery often isn’t a straight path, and every year is something to be celebrated.
Addiction truly does know no bounds, which is one reason I wanted to share Tory’s story. If the article offers your son any encouragement or perspective, that would mean a great deal to me. I wish him continued strength and success in his recovery journey.
Hi Andrew, sorry for your loss. It must be very tough for you the last year or so. Take great care.
Thank you so much for the condolences. Yes it has been a difficult year but we need to make it through, one has to.
That is such a sad story, and I am so sorry for the loss of your beloved sister. I am close to both of my siblings, and the thought of losing both of them just a few months apart is devastating.
We also have a multigenerational history of addiction in my family and my husband’s, so I’m well acquainted with the dual reality of the addiction and the person being a wonderful, beloved person who is so much more than that addiction.
May Tory’s memory be a blessing.
Thank you for taking the time to read my article . Your description of the “dual reality” captures exactly what so many families live with. We can acknowledge the addiction while still seeing and loving the whole person behind it. That’s how I hope people will remember Tory. Thank you for your thoughtful words and for your blessing.
Thanks for sharing this real story, Andrew. I learned a lot. Keep these great articles coming. Sorry for your loss.
Thank you William. My hope was to tell a real story about a real person and perhaps help readers see addiction through a more human lens. I appreciate your support and your kind condolences.
Andrew,
I am sorry for your loss. I truly appreciate your sharing your story.
Thank you Ed for your supportive words and thank you taking the time to read it.
Andrew, I’m so sorry for your great loss. Thank you for sharing this heartbreaking and heartfelt story about your sister. Over the years, I’ve lost 2 cousins and a nephew to addiction. I also have a brother who, like your sister, has been an addict since a teenager. He’s been clean on and off throughout his life. He owned a successful business that he started with a very small loan from my mom and has blown through hundreds of thousands of dollars. He was there for me when I was literally scared to death in an abusive marriage and subsequent divorce. He’s in his early 70’s and says he’s not sure why God has spared him. He was in the same house as my nephew who overdosed (his son) and found him unconscious. It’s such a roller coaster ride of emotions, between him being clean and not clean. May God comfort you and may you cherish the great memories you have of your sister. May Tony’s memory be everlasting.
Thank you Sandra for sharing such a personal story. You’ve experienced so much loss and uncertainty, and your description of addiction as a roller coaster between hope and heartbreak rings very true. One of the lessons I’ve learned is that addiction never tells the whole story of a person’s life. Like your brother, Tory was so much more than her struggle. Thank you for your kindness, your prayers, and for taking the time to share your experience.
Thank you, Andrew, for this beautiful sharing of your sister’s life and your own loss. You’ve given us a great reminder to treasure our loved ones for exactly who they are, and that our time together may be much shorter than we plan. My heartfelt condolences for your losses.
Thank you Christine for your thoughtful words. One of the lessons that has become clearer to me over the past year is just how precious and uncertain our time together really is. We often assume there will be more conversations, more visits, and more opportunities to say the things we want to say. Tory’s passing reminded me to treasure the people I love for exactly who they are, imperfections and all. I appreciate your kindness and condolences.
Thank you for this Andrew, extremely well written. I lost a young niece to fentanyl 5 years ago, so I can relate. Thanks again.
Thank you Jeffrey. I’m very sorry for the loss of your niece. Sadly, too many families understand this kind of heartbreak. I appreciate your kind words and am grateful that Tory’s story resonated with you.
Tory’s life was vibrant, service-oriented, purpose-filled. You’ve created a love-filled snapshot of your sister’s soul. Thank you for this.
Every human being is more than the direct and indirect tolls of a disorder. Each deserves to be remembered for their special gifts, their ideas, their contributions and dreams and accomplishments.
As for addiction, “it became the kind of shadow that never fully disappeared, no matter how much help, hope, or determination surrounded it”.
It reminds me of the famous lines from Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises:
“How did you go bankrupt?” Bill asked.
“Two ways,” Mike said. “Gradually and then suddenly.”
Losses, or the lack of wins, build slowly and it seems we forever will have more time, more chances for turnaround. At least some prevail and survive and we rejoice at this, hoping the same for our dear loved ones. Then, the suddenness of loss.
I am so sorry for your family’s double loss, of Tory and of Jonathan.
You include here an assessment of the financial cost, which might have derived from her earnings and savings, or yours, or possibly social agencies. In my own life, it’s buying a cup of coffee for a homeless person sitting outside the neighborhood donut shop, or paying for a night at a motel to give a loved one a place where they might safely if briefly sleep and shower. I’ve helped with rent for a family member whose disorder has contributed to inability to hold onto a job. You name it, a panoply of troubles. Over time, these add up to big money that won’t be there for me or them to handle other emergencies, retirement, ordinary expenses, or discretionary extras for oneself or other people.
One oft-recommended strategy is “tough love”, refusing any financial support for a family member in trouble. That might save money for me, I guess, but in my long experience I know of few successes, where the person in need recovers, prompted by the withdrawal of outside resources. It’d be great if this strategy worked better, we’d all have more money in our pockets and our loved ones would be healthy.
As a civil society the cost of addiction and other disorders is a huge line item in many municipal budgets, borne by taxpayers or generated through outsized fees to spread these costs across many persons.
I wish there were better solutions for families and individuals seeking help. Thanks for including the SAMSHA number, too, I bookmarked it to share around.
Thank you Catherine for such a thoughtful and compassionate comment. I was particularly struck by your observation that every human being is more than the tolls of a disorder. That was very much at the heart of why I wanted to write about Tory. I didn’t want her to be remembered for her addiction. I wanted her to be remembered for her kindness, humor, accomplishments, and the love she gave to others.
I also appreciate your reflections on the financial costs that families often quietly absorb over many years. Those costs can take many forms, from direct financial support to countless small acts of kindness and assistance that arise from love and concern. As you point out, they accumulate gradually, often alongside hope that things will improve.
Thank you as well for sharing your thoughts on tough love. Every family’s situation is different, and there are rarely easy answers. If there were, far fewer families would be carrying these burdens.
Most of all, thank you for taking the time to reflect so deeply on Tory’s story and for bookmarking the SAMHSA number. If it helps even one person or family find support, then sharing it was worthwhile.
Andrew, I’m sorry the past year has been such a painful one with the loss of Tory and Jonathan. Tory was a vivacious lady – witty and full of laughter. So many of us have known and lost loved ones to addiction but have not been aware or understood how devastating it can be. We wonder (often too late) if there was anything we could have done to help. As you point out, addiction is a monster that devours money, hopes, dreams, relationships, and ultimately lives. Losing someone dear does not mean their goodness and spirit will be forgotten by those who knew them best.
Thank you Jim. “Vivacious” describes Tory perfectly. She brought so much laughter and energy into the lives of those around her. I think many of us who have lost someone to addiction carry the question of whether we could have done more, but I take comfort in knowing that her kindness, spirit, and the love she shared continue to live on in the memories of those who knew her. Thank you for your thoughtful words
What a moving story, it means more to those that have lost loved ones due to addiction. Thank you.
Thank you Nick My hope was to honor Tory’s memory while acknowledging a struggle that so many families face. If it resonates with those who have experienced a similar loss, then I’m grateful for that. I appreciate your comment.
My condolences. Keep the memory alive. My sister and I still reminisce about our brother, who died of alcoholism 8-1/2 years ago. I have spoken to my kids about their Uncle Roger, and his inventive/unusual Christmas or birthday gifts, and his sense of humor. Roger’s issues with alcohol were never a secret. The real secret was how much and the ways he managed to hide it from the people who cared about him.
Thank you Jeff. I love that you and your sister still share stories about Roger and that your children know him through those memories. In many ways, that’s how we keep people alive. Your observation about addiction also rings true. The addiction may not have been a secret, but the depth of the struggle often is. Thank you for sharing Roger’s story and reminding us that those we lose are remembered for so much more than their battles.
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
Thank you, Chris. Losing both Tory and Jonathan in such a short period of time was incredibly difficult, and I’m sorry to hear that your family experienced something similar. I also appreciate your willingness to share that addiction has touched your family as well. One thing I’ve learned is just how widespread these struggles are, even though they often remain hidden. Thank you for your kindness and for taking the time to comment.
A truly powerful remembrance, Andrew.
You have experienced a great deal of loss. Heartfelt condolences.
Thank you Mike for your kind words. Last year brought more loss than I ever imagined, but writing about those I’ve loved has helped me process some of it and, hopefully, honor their memory. I appreciate your condolences and your taking the time to comment.
Very sad but is a reality in far too many families. Thank you for sharing Andrew.
Thank you Jerry. Yes sadly addiction touches far more families than many people realize. My hope was to honor Tory’s life and remind readers that there is always a person behind the addiction. I appreciate your thoughtful comment.
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.
Thank you Don for your kind words and for sharing your own journey. Forty-five years of recovery is an extraordinary achievement and a testament to your strength and perseverance. One of the things I hoped to convey is that addiction may become part of a person’s story, but it should never become their entire identity. Your comment reinforces that point beautifully. Thank you also for your compassion regarding the losses my family experienced last year. The support and understanding of this community have meant a great deal to me.
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.