He blessed my life beyond imagination.
From an early age, Aaron was sensitive to others’ feelings, and was constantly concerned about those less fortunate, the environment, and the world around him. This may have been because of his role as proud eldest brother to his siblings, Patrick, and Maggie. When his parents broke the news to them about their divorce, Aaron—only ten then—did not cry. Rather, he listened carefully and asked practical questions.
Though he generally preferred observing, his quiet charm and striking looks made him the natural-born leader of his siblings and his friends. Beneath his serious demeanor lay a quick wit and childlike joy for the small things. Aaron enjoyed the outdoors, such as rock climbing, spending time at the beach, and swimming. He was talented in sports, but disliked using his free time for mandatory practices. Instead, he preferred reading books, listening to music, and eating Reese’s Cups. His mother Susan fondly remembers this discovery—Aaron, then three years old, had locked her out of the house after returning from grocery shopping. She found him hiding under the dining room table, feasting on the forbidden treats.
Aaron was also a perfectionist and was exceptionally strict with himself. “If he couldn’t be the best at something, he would give up,” Susan said. “I told him many times that he needed to learn how to fail, that failing at something didn’t mean you were a failure.” Still, while Aaron strived to be a good brother, friend, and son, he lacked confidence in himself.
“This was something I wondered if the drugs gave him—confidence, although a false confidence. His lack of belief in himself and his fear of failure were, to me, his biggest enemies. Until heroin appeared on the scene.”
Aaron began working at a carwash in high school, where he was first introduced to the substance. His smiling, reliable demeanor shifted to hopelessness. He lied to, stole from, and hid himself from his family and friends. He avoided any jobs that would require a drug test, and was paralyzed with confusion about his future. After Aaron passed away, his brother Patrick later confided in Susan that he felt Aaron had never expected to live long.
Soon after Aaron’s passing, Susan made several presentations at local schools to speak candidly with students about the effects of drugs—and that if it happened to her son, it could happen to anyone. Aaron’s passing has made her more compassionate and understanding of other people’s experiences, and she hopes that sharing Aaron’s story can change at least some lives for the better.
“The most difficult part for me was that I could not save him, no matter what I said or did. I am not afraid to tell people my son died from a heroin overdose. I tell them it was not lack of character or a lack of morals—it was a disease that killed my son. I want to shout it to the rooftops, hoping to shatter the stigma.”
Aaron’s mother, Susan Brawley, provided the information for this narrative.
February 12, 1980-June 23, 2003–Age 23
Portrait Artist: Jeremy Hebbel
Narrative Writer: Angela Day
