**Content Warning** This piece discusses suicidal ideation (resources available at the bottom of this page)
October 17th marked one year since my oldest sister passed away from an AIDS related cancer. My sister was the glue that held our family together after our grandmother passed just three months after Hurricane Katrina.
She made sure she was always in the loop about everything happening in my life, medical appointments, hospital stays, mental health struggles, even my time in jail. Whether she was near or far, she wanted to understand what I was going through so she could help however she could. That was my "Blackie." That's what I called her, tall, dark-skinned, and often wearing a mean mug that made her look unapproachable. But once she let you in, she loved you fiercely.
I'm forever thankful for the incredible support system around me.
We grew up in Algiers, a small, close knit community in New Orleans where family and community meant everything. On June 24, 2000, I was diagnosed with HIV. Three years later, while we were evacuated from Hurricane Ivan, my sister was diagnosed with AIDS. The doctors said her diagnosis had gone untreated for so long that it had begun to damage her lungs. Back then, our community lacked education and carried deep stigma around HIV, so my sister kept her diagnosis private, only telling a few people.
Four years ago, she was diagnosed with rectal cancer. After going into remission, the cancer returned with a vengeance two years later. She had surgery, but she never recovered, and ultimately it cost her life. Around that same time, my mother began showing signs of early onset dementia. After my sister's passing, my mother's condition progressed rapidly, and we had to make the heartbreaking decision to place her in a nursing home.
By February 2025, my life began to unravel. I lost my job due to budget cuts to HIV programming, my car, and felt like I was losing my mind. I turned to drinking, smoking, and edibles to numb the pain of losing my sister and slowly losing my mother to dementia. Depression, grief, and addiction took over. I even had thoughts of suicide.
Then one night, in a desperate plea for help, I prayed, then I reached out to a trusted friend in recovery. I told them the truth that I was struggling and needed help. Within three days, I got a text from a woman inviting me to a 12 step meeting. When I told her I didn't have a ride, she asked for my address and came to pick me up herself. That moment changed my life.
Help and healing are possible. It starts with one act of surrender and one conversation with someone you trust.
That was the beginning of my new journey a journey of healing, surrender, and recovery.
Today, I'm 106 days sober. I have a sponsor, I'm working through the 12 steps, and I've met amazing women who live recovery like their lives depend on it because it does. I also started therapy to process my grief and learn healthy coping skills. Life still "be lifing," but I've learned tools to face my problems head on, sober. And most importantly, I've learned that I don't have to use no matter what and I can always pick up the phone to call a trusted friend.
Recently, I traveled back to New Orleans to visit my mother for her birthday. I didn't know what to expect. I was nervous she might not recognize me. I brought her yellow roses and Gentilly cupcakes, her favorites. When I arrived at the nursing home, she heard my voice, turned around, and started crying calling my name. That moment brought pure joy to my soul.
I played her favorite gospel songs, and she sang along, still remembering every word. We FaceTimed with family, and she was so happy. That day reminded me of God's grace and how far I've come.
I'm truly grateful that God spared my life so I can show up for my mother sober, present, and at peace. And I'm forever thankful for the incredible support system around me.
To anyone reading this who may be struggling with grief, depression, addiction, or isolation please know this: you are not alone. Help and healing are possible. It starts with one act of surrender and one conversation with someone you trust.
You deserve peace. You deserve healing. And you deserve to live.
If you or someone you know would like resources or support in relation to the themes above, please see:
