A + B = Purple

Before I write, a disclaimer. If you want to read a nice story with a happy ending, this is not for you. No poetry or allegories today. I am writing about harsh reality. And I'm angry.
See that boy in the picture? That's my brother, Marvin. I could write to you about his intelligence, his sense of humor, or his compassion. I could tell you about the times we played together as children, and how he played games with my children. Instead, I'm going to tell you about the end of his life. How he was ripped from this life in violence, wounding us with pain that never heals.
Marvin was an addict. Self-medicating from an early age, hoping to numb himself against emotional pain. Always feeling isolated, always feeling unwanted and unloved. Despite all the love poured out on him by his family, he never let go of the sense of abandonment caused by being adopted. Any painful experience-being bullied at school, financial hardship, or personal slight was added to the bank of pain inside his heart. No amount of love and encouragement would empty that bank. After our (adopted) mother died, there was no way to even get close.
So, you say, there are ways to deal with an addict. Tough love. OK. Intervention. Right. If you add A to B, you're supposed to get C, right? Wrong. When you are dealing with an addict, adding A to B might get you purple. There was no mention of that in the intervention information. That there is no logic. An addict has to hit bottom to get help. Really? Sometimes they hit bottom and they die. That doesn't do much for their recovery, does it? It's hard to live with an addict. It's even harder to live without one.
My brother committed suicide at the age of 27. Alone. It was by far the worst thing that has ever happened to me. My children have had to sit in the front row of a church, with the uncle they loved laid out in a casket in front of them. I have heard the anguish of a father who has had to go identify his son's body. I've gone from "family member of an addict" to "suicide survivor". And I have lived through a depression that I never before thought possible.
And here's what I know now:
Sometimes you can do everything right, and things can still go horribly wrong.
Hindsight is painful.
Control is an illusion.
Holding tight to God is the only way to survive. I think that God doesn't expect us to do "great" things during an attack. Coming through a storm with your faith intact is the real victory.