All things change. Life changes. And we move forward.

This isn’t a big deal to anyone but me.

In 1991 when I moved to Oregon I met the Smith family out of Oregon City. Twin brothers Jeremiah and Jethro, older brother Matthew and youngest brother Charlie. What a group of good old boys who knew how to fix and build antique motorcycles, run in the fields, do daring risky stunts and live life to the fullest. They, with their parents, were pillars in the church and very spiritual minded. I got to know them all, love them all and cry with them all when the patriarch, Michael Smith died suddenly from a heart attack. They sold the farm. Roxanne, the mom, remarried and moved to Montana. The twins, married, stayed in Oregon for a while before moving on. Matthew the oldest eventually moved to Montana. TJ (I think that was his name) a kid they adopted, grew up, join the military before marrying and settling down.

And then there was Charlie. He was a handful. Sadly his life directions would mirror his older brother Jeremiah’s life but he took it further to the extreme. Charlie got addicted to drugs. I don’t know or want to know the details but it got so bad, after he married and had kids, no less, he landed in jail. And when he got out, and got divorced, he started to turn his life around.

And then like that he was gone. All of a sudden. Or maybe it wasn’t all of a sudden but it happened, and they buried Charlie.

I was going to make this simple little comic book about some kid that has to make real grown up decisions to try and get things right and help his dying brother. It hit me. This isn’t about the guy I talked to and his wife who forced me to change the title. The title I switched it back to because it’s not her comic book, it’s mine and I’ll be in grave trouble when they find out. But It hit me.

It hit me hard. This story is about Charlie. But in the end of my comic he grows up and gets to live a long life. Because he gets help and it sticks. I wish Charlie was still here so I could apologize for not being there when I could have been but as with most human beings I’m a selfish one. I’m no one special enough to save someone’s life but at least I could have given him a hug and told him I loved him.

I’ll get to do that when I get to heaven. I hope he remembers me. I’ve never stopped remembering him.

Hug your loved ones. Hug the one who don’t love you back. Tell the ones who you barely know that they’re important. And if anyone has an addiction that could kill them – intervene – even if they hit you or push you away. You might just save a life.