My youngest son had a best friend who practically lived at our home. He didn't have a father and I became a father figure for him. He did everything with my son while they were growing up. He slept at my house, ate at my table, was coached by me in sports.

As often happens though, they began to drift apart in high school. Still friends but maybe now not quite brothers. Then came a day, not long after graduation where we received a call that he had died of a herion overdose.

The pain of death is for the living.
Shades pass beyond life's pain.
Since pain I feel; I must be living.
Forget memory, for it brings no gain.

Son of heart but not of blood.
Child to manhood, both smile and frown.
Fun and laughter, silence and sadness
Downward spiral, death from brown.