There were sympathetic nods from the room, and I prayed that none of them were crippled with that theft in the way I had been. I wouldn’t have wished that on my worst enemy.
“I remember not being old enough to understand what was happening to my brother, and my father had tried to explain it. He told me that Henry wasn’t like other people, that he was sick. Other people could walk by the stench of stale beer on the sidewalk and never notice. It wasn’t like that for him, not my brother. He needed to beat down the door of the nearest liquor store or bar and drown in a twenty-four case of Budweiser to satisfy an inch. My dad had been right. Henry was sick, and was for nearly a decade.”
I took a sip of water and thought of Henry, the way he was at the end. There was hardly any of my brother left inside his body. He was so angry, all the time. He would pick a fight with the sky if he didn’t like its shade of blue, and feel no remorse. The brother I knew had never been an angry person, not like he had been at the end.
He hated himself.
“It was never enough. That inch never went away. It wasn’t long until he added cocaine to his list of poisons. This, of course, allowed him to drink more and never feel the need to sleep. He lost days and sometimes even weeks to a high.” I paused, catching my breath. “As a family, we ran ourselves into the ground, trying to help him. We did everything we could. Henry completed two stints at world-renowned rehabilitation facilities and burned through over a half a dozen sponsors, but it never stuck. My parents drained their life savings and nearly destroyed their marriage trying to save their son, and they lost him. They lost him long before he died.” I was grateful in that moment my parents chose not to attend these events. “That’s the saddest part about loving an addict: no matter how much you are willing to sacrifice, you will never be able to save them from themselves.”
I flipped the page in my speech and gripped the podium a little tighter.
“I used to position the phone next to my pillow all through high school when I slept. I was terrified I’d miss the call, the one that told me my brother had died. That this time he’d driven drunk and killed an innocent family and himself in the process, that this time my seventeen-year-old boyfriend hadn’t been there to stop him from being beaten to death by one of his drug dealers. Or worse,” I paused, “that this time he’d followed through on what was one of many suicide threats and someone had found his body.”
The room had fallen heavy with sorrow, and I felt the air claw at my neck as I struggled.
Almost over.
“My brother told me once that alcohol had taken everything he’d ever loved from him, and yet still, he wanted it. It was the love of his life, it was his best friend, and it is what killed him. Henry was my angel with no halo and one wing in the fire, and it is in his memory that I started The Halo Foundation four and a half years ago.”
Applause ensued, and the pressure in my chest eased long enough for me to finally breathe.
“It is my hope that we can prevent what happened to my family from happening to yours. Addiction touches the lives of nearly every one you meet, and currently only one in ten addicts seek treatment for their disease. It is my hope that we can one day see that number be 100%.”
More applause.
“This year has been an incredible year for us. Through your donations, we have managed to integrate our addiction education program into post secondary schools across British Columbia, Alberta, and Ontario. It is our hope that in this next year we will continue to expand into the remaining provinces until we are in every school across Canada.” I paused to allow the clapping to subside. “It has also been a remarkable year for our Clean Teens initiative program. In British Columbia alone, we have helped over three hundred teens get clean this year.”
More applause.
“I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your continued support, and it is a pleasure to have you joining us this evening at the Fourth Annual Halo Foundation Gala.”
I exited the stage to applause as Kevin returned to the podium to thank our sponsors, the first of which was political candidate Beau Callaway.
The 2014 elected mayor, Jeffrey Huntsman, was not in attendance and would be finishing out his year in office, and the mayoral municipal election for which Beau was running would take place in November of next year.
Leaning against the railing to the stairs, I pressed my eyes tightly closed.
I love you, Charlie bear.
“I miss you,” I said to the voice in my head.
“To Charleston.” Emma raised her champagne flute in the galley of the hotel kitchen.
“To Charleston,” the rest of the team, including Kevin, Tina and Tom repeated after her.
The speeches had concluded and the party was officially underway. We were celebrating a job well done, and I was already emotionally exhausted.
“To all of you.” I lifted my flute of ginger ale into the air. “Thank you, for everything.”
We toasted, and Kevin wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Proud of you, Char.”
I leaned into his body and nodded.