LI Marks OD Awareness Day: 'I Can Still Hear My Mom Screaming'

LONG ISLAND, NY — Long Island marked International Overdose Awareness Day Tuesday with events honoring the lost — and acknowledging the work that still needs to be done to eradicate the deadly scourge of addiction.

A vigil was held in memory of the six who overdosed recently in Greenport and Shelter Island due to a batch of fentanyl-laced cocaine. The event, on Shelter Island, included speakers such as newscaster Drew Scott, who lost his beloved granddaughter Hallie Rae Ulrich to an overdose in 2017.

"Recent overdoses on East End touched so many, especially here on our little island," said Gina Kraus, a teacher in East Hampton who lost her son Evan last year. "We are not exempt. This epidemic of fentanyl is killing our loved ones. My son included."

When a beautiful bench for Evan was placed at the school basketball courts, Kraus said she knew that was the place for the vigil, and the 31st was the day.

"The time is now, to remember those we love and lost to this horrific, horrible disease — and to support those struggling and to acknowledge drugs are not going away. We can do more," she said.

She added: "I am the face of 'it can happen to anyone.' Having a vigil puts a face on the pain. I’m your neighbor. I’m your teacher. Nobody is exempt."

The vigils are healing, Kraus said. "Tonight there was hope. Stop the shame, stop the stigma, stop the judgment."

Kraus spoke to the crowd about her son Evan; a bench in his honor was dedicated at the Fisk Park playground.

Scott told the audience of about 75 that he represented the Southampton Town Opioid Task Force and urged them to set up their own task force to battle addiction in their community. There was music and a moment of silence along with a candlelight vigil.

Breanna's story

Breanna Norris, 29, of Rocky Point, is happily living the life of her dreams with her partner Joey and is the mother to three children: Brody, 6, Ava, 3, and Joey Jr., six months.

But on International Overdose Awareness Day, the memories haunt: Breanna not only lost her brother Kevin Norris to a heroin overdose when he was just 26 years old — but she, herself, was submerged for years in the grips of addiction so fierce she wasn't sure that she would survive.

Breanna said she began drinking and smoking marijuana socially when she was younger but it wasn't until she went away to college that her social anxieties surfaced. She was prescribed Xanax, the first step into what became a dark abyss. "I really liked the way that made me feel. It didn't just take away the anxiety, it made me feel really good — not to have those scary thoughts and ideas in my head. I quickly started abusing that."

On the first day of sophomore year, she had emergency surgery after a gall bladder attack and a number of other health issues surfaced; she was given some "pretty heavy painkillers" including Dilaudid.

When she got home, she had been on the pain meds so long that without them, she went into withdrawal. Her brother, she said, offered her a Roxy, and Oxycodone. "It took off from there," she said. "It was off to the races."

She and her brother, always close, began to use drugs together, she said. "We were partners in crime," Breanna said.

Eventually, pills turned into heroin, and she even used an IV. "He shot me up for the first time," she said. "It was the textbook story. I started with pills, that led to heroin, and then an IV, even though I'd said I'd never stick a needle in my arm."

Just 19, Breanna had her first driving under the influence charge after taking a combination of Ambien and Oxycodone. "I woke up handcuffed to a hospital bed," she said.

What followed over the next 10 years was a series of treatment centers and rehabs. Then, when she was 21, her brother died. He was sober, just home after a three-month period at a rehab; the siblings decided to embrace society together.

"The first day he used after three months, he overdosed. All it took was one bag," he said. "I was the one who ended up breaking down the door, knowing something was wrong. I was the one who found him."

To this day, Breanna said despite therapy and treatment, she still has PTSD about the horror of finding her brother gone. "I can still hear my mom screaming," she said.

Breanna had to call her father; she can still hear his voice, she said. "A lot of people ask, 'Wouldn't finding your brother dead of a heroin overdose make you stop doing heroin?' But that's the exact thing I did."

Using drugs was how she'd learned to cope with emotions too painful to process, Breanna said. The next two years were the darkest in her addiction battle, Breanna said. "Most of it is a blur. I put myself in a lot of bad situations. I'm lucky to have made it out alive."

When she went to Florida for rehab the next time, it was her own decision —she'd made the choice to fight for her life, Breanna said. She fell in love and began a new chapter.

"I found out I was pregnant on my visit home, the exact two-year anniversary of my brother's death. My son was born at 4:44 p.m., angel's numbers," she said.

Over the next months, when she became a mother, Breanna thought she'd beaten her demons, thought it was safe to indulge in a glass of wine now and then. "It didn’t lead me back to heroin but back to pills."

She got pregnant with her daughter while "hooked on painkillers," Breanna said, and read that stopping cold turkey could cause her to lose the baby. She began taking suboxone on her own, terrified of seeking help. When her daughter was born, she was tested for drugs and her children were immediately taken away by Child Protective Services, she said. Eventually, her mom got temporary custody. "It was a whirlwind of chaos," Breanna said. "I didn't know how to cope with those emotions. I wish I could say it made me stay clean — but I still had some lessons to learn."

Those grim days led to her first overdose, she said.

The first time she overdosed, she was revived with Narcan by someone who didn't call 911.

After that overdose, Breanna moved into a sober house and began reclaiming her life. She met the man who, she said, has loved her through both good and bad — and again, thought she'd found normalcy, thinking a drink on the beach was not a big deal.

But the grip of addiction was fierce and pills, a siren song. One day she took what she thought was Oxycodone but was instead, pressed fentanyl. She overdosed and awoke with EMTS surrounding her.

"It was the scariest moment of my life. They said I pretty much flatlined for a little bit. Thankfully, with a lot of Narcan, they brought me back," she said.

Back at rehab, it was opening up to other mothers who'd walked the same path that helped; Breanna found healing in community and worked tirelessly for months to regain custody of her children, living in a sober house, attending extensive therapy, and parenting classes.

Her children were the force strong enough to help her stamp out the demons and find her way to a new life, Breanna said.

"I had a slip and something big and tragic happened, but I didn't lose what I'd learned," she said. "Guilt and shame were the emotions that had kept me in that loop and I had to learn how to forgive myself. I went from a dark place of isolation to having a family that's the size of a good portion of this island, who've all got my back."

Blessed with a new home, a loving relationship, and three precious children, Breanna said she believes her brother is always with her, her guardian angel. Her son has even said he's seen him, heard him — and it brings her family peace, she said.

Breanna's mother Tracey Farrell created an organization, On Kevin's Wings, to help others struggling with addiction.

"Today is Overdose Awareness Day and I choose to talk about my survivor. She’s survived too many," Tracey said. "She is alive! She is a great mom, a great daughter, and just a beautiful person inside and out. She misses her brother every single day but knows each of these babies were sent from heaven. To say I’m proud of her is an understatement. So today I choose to celebrate her, but honor her brother as well."

If she could speak to her brother one more time, Breanna said, "I'd say, 'I miss you. Thank you, for watching over me.' I've had too many close calls; without a guardian angel I don't think I'd still be here."

Still, the loss stings; her babies will never know their Uncle Kevin, who loved children. He lives on in her children's mannerisms, in their faces and laughter, she said.

To others struggling, Breanna would say: "It's never too late. I found myself in some really deep, dark holes and I didn't think I would ever get out; I didn't see the light at the end of the tunnel. I thought, 'This is how things end for me.' Go to a meeting, raise your hand, talk about how you feel. People will flock to you and carry you. Drop the shame and guilt. This is a disease."

Addiction, she said, doesn't discriminate; she's met lawyers and police officers in rehab. Lives are worth saving, even after multiple Narcan saves, she said.

"Recovery is not bad people trying to be good. It's sick people trying to get better," Breanna said. "And I have seen miracles happen."