written by Michael's mother, Danielle Forino

My son, Michael Anthony Robertson, was just 22 years old when he was found dead in his car almost 1,000 miles away in Richmond, Virginia. He was working on his recovery there because we couldn't find an option in Maine without a three-week wait. Michael didn't want to die. He told me those exact words just three months prior. Our last phone call ended with, "Love you, goodnight Ma, talk to you tomorrow," and he had plans for the future.

Michael's death was one of the 107,543 reported overdose deaths in 2023, despite the first decline in five years. There's no way to express how devastating it is to hear our government or media celebrate this decrease, as though 107,000 lives lost, families turned upside down, and mothers crying themselves to sleep every night is not tragic. There continues to be a shortage of help for people with substance use and mental health disorders, and without these resources, it is hard to get out alive, and every death has a ripple effect.

I could detail the barriers, struggles, and lack of support we encountered over the years, but that could take all day. So, instead, I want to tell you about the beautiful person Michael was before drugs took over, the one who came back during his recovery. The world may see him as another addict who chose to get high, but he deserves to be remembered for who he truly was.

Michael was born a beautiful, healthy baby with big brown eyes full of curiosity. He hit all the milestones early, walking at ten months and running shortly after. He loved the outdoors, always playing in the dirt or snow with his dog, siblings, or friends. He enjoyed swimming and skiing, often performing dangerous stunts like backflips. He had a big personality, loved to tell stories, and always stood up for others. He was charming and caring, and his heart was inherently good. Michael cared deeply, was more accepting, less judgmental, and a much better storyteller than most.

Unfortunately, the world isn't as kind, and when life shows us its ugliness, we seek escape. Michael found his escape through marijuana and opioids as a teenager. At 19, he told me about the incredible feeling he had when he first took oxy. The boy who once swore never to do drugs found himself addicted. He confessed his struggle, saying, "So, there you have it, your son is a junkie, a loser heroin addict, and if you want to disown me, I don't blame you. I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment."

Hearing those words was hard, but I felt relief. He finally let me in and trusted me to help him. We both believed I could fix this for him. I had known for years that something was wrong, and I often accused and argued with him, which never helped. I credit my changes to the book "Beyond Addiction," which taught me about CRAFT. The changes I made allowed me to be a safe space for my son to open up. There were no local support groups, and I might have been too embarrassed to attend anyway, believing only bad parents had kids on drugs. I learned that wasn't true. We do the best we can with what we know, and when we know better, we do better.

We are here to do better. I lost a cousin, an aunt, and my father to opioid addiction. My mother and her father identified as alcoholics. I have a sibling and many friends who identify as addicts/alcoholics, and some are still struggling. How do we do better and stop losing these beautiful souls?

We should educate the young before they turn to drugs and alcohol. We should listen to those in recovery and trust them instead of relying on prescriptions to fix everything. We need 90-day treatments instead of 28-day resets, and we should accept people into detox when they need it, not turn them away. We must stop shaming people on MAT and treat everyone seeking help with care and respect. We need to eliminate three-week wait lists and recognize the stigma around asking for help, especially for men.

Michael wanted treatment in Maine, close to his family. When he asked for help, we were offered an appointment three weeks out, 50 miles away. He went through seven doctors in a year and a half. One even gave him a suboxone prescription for an entire month when he was clearly inebriated. I never forced him into treatment but pushed hard for him to take that step. When he wanted to detox, he was often told there were no beds or that he wasn't sick enough. The first time he asked, we called until we found a bed, which required $7,000. I took out a credit card and drove six hours one-way, finally feeling a great sense of hope.

The facility seemed great. However, they connected us with an expensive out-of-state rehab, and so Michael's stay there was limited to one month. These treatment centers cost a fortune and aren't guaranteed. Most individuals go multiple times. All the money in the world wouldn't fix this problem. We need people who genuinely care, have lived experience, hold themselves accountable, and understand the importance of self-care. These people need resources to help others.

Michael may not be here anymore and won't have a recovery story, but he wanted to help others. That's why I started a recovery center and non-profit in his memory. We are a community of recovery allies, affected others, and people in recovery, determined to make resources available and advocate for those struggling with addiction. We refuse to stop fighting for those we love and those we've lost.

No parent should have to send their child 1,000 miles away for treatment only to lose them alone in their car. We must do better.