It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life.
My daughter, Jessica, was having a medical appointment with me at my home, in the midst of the ongoing opioid crisis.
It was a routine visit to my family doctor, and I was excited to get her an appointment.
When I walked in, my heart sank as I saw that Jessica was in the waiting room.
She was visibly shaking.
As I approached her, she grabbed my hand, and hugged me tightly.
We had an emotional reunion, but my heart was broken.
As the appointment progressed, my daughter cried as she told me that I was right.
She told me she was afraid to ask for more information about the medication my daughter needed, and that her daughter needed to see a doctor sooner rather than later.
I could tell she was scared, and she didn’t understand what was happening.
I tried to reassure her that I knew what she was going through, and to help her through it, I told her that it was my responsibility to do whatever was necessary to save her life.
But I didn’t want to lose my daughter.
I knew that Jessica would get her medication, and her treatment would be provided, but I wanted her to have hope.
As we hugged, I felt the tears flowing freely down my face, and it was like I had cried so hard that I felt it would make her cry even harder.
I wanted to comfort her and tell her that she was in heaven, and we were not alone in this struggle.
As Jessica’s eyes started to close, I knew I was not helping.
I felt like a bad parent.
I had made a bad decision and I wasn’t sorry. I wasn