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Photos: A family’s journey into grief and guilt after an opioid overdose

Twenty years into America's opioid epidemic, the crisis has claimed more than 400,000 lives. Each of those lives lost leaves behind a family now suffering in solitude, balancing sorrow with relief, shame with perseverance, resentment with forgiveness. But they persevere in solitude as the country continues struggling to contain the worst drug crisis in its history.

Updated on: Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM IST

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1/15

Landon Biggers sits on his mother’s lap in an old family photo in his father’s home office in La Quinta, California. Biggers became one of 70,237 Americans dead from opioids overdose in 2017. The death count from opioids alone has climbed higher than 400,000 lives as the epidemic enters its third decade. For families like this one, the scars of the crisis will endure far longer. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

Landon Biggers sits on his mother’s lap in an old family photo in his father’s home office in La Quinta, California. Biggers became one of 70,237 Americans dead from opioids overdose in 2017. The death count from opioids alone has climbed higher than 400,000 lives as the epidemic enters its third decade. For families like this one, the scars of the crisis will endure far longer. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

2/15

Doug Biggers, whose 20-year-old son, Landon, died of an opioid overdose, breaks down while talking about his son. “I couldn’t save him,” Doug cried, four words he’s repeated again and again. There are hundreds of thousands of families like them, and dozens more made each day, as the US struggles to contain the worst drug crisis in its history. They suffer in solitude, balancing sorrow with relief, shame with perseverance, resentment with forgiveness. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

Doug Biggers, whose 20-year-old son, Landon, died of an opioid overdose, breaks down while talking about his son. “I couldn’t save him,” Doug cried, four words he’s repeated again and again. There are hundreds of thousands of families like them, and dozens more made each day, as the US struggles to contain the worst drug crisis in its history. They suffer in solitude, balancing sorrow with relief, shame with perseverance, resentment with forgiveness. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

3/15

Landon Biggers’ longtime girlfriend, Megan Dealbert, reads a bedtime story to their daughter, Aubrey, in the room where Landon died. Dealbert, now a single mother, is raising their baby daughter alone. Her half-sister also died of an overdose a year before Landon. Her father, Daniel, buried her in the cemetery plot that had been meant for him. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

Landon Biggers’ longtime girlfriend, Megan Dealbert, reads a bedtime story to their daughter, Aubrey, in the room where Landon died. Dealbert, now a single mother, is raising their baby daughter alone. Her half-sister also died of an overdose a year before Landon. Her father, Daniel, buried her in the cemetery plot that had been meant for him. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

4/15

The Biggers went broke sending Landon to every type of treatment they could find, including one that promised to teach responsibility through raising a puppy; he named his Angel because he said she’d saved him. But now there isn’t much left for them to do but stare at the box of his ashes on a shelf above the television, hidden behind a smiling photo of the family they always wanted but never really were. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

The Biggers went broke sending Landon to every type of treatment they could find, including one that promised to teach responsibility through raising a puppy; he named his Angel because he said she’d saved him. But now there isn’t much left for them to do but stare at the box of his ashes on a shelf above the television, hidden behind a smiling photo of the family they always wanted but never really were. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

5/15

Brittaney Biggers, Landon’s sister, smells a football jersey her brother used to wear. “It still smells like him,” she said. Brittaney had moved in with her parents to save money for her own apartment and planned to stay a couple months. Then her brother died, and she picked up a second job at a bar so she could work six days a week and be so tired on the seventh she wouldn’t have to face it. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

Brittaney Biggers, Landon’s sister, smells a football jersey her brother used to wear. “It still smells like him,” she said. Brittaney had moved in with her parents to save money for her own apartment and planned to stay a couple months. Then her brother died, and she picked up a second job at a bar so she could work six days a week and be so tired on the seventh she wouldn’t have to face it. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

6/15

Mollie Biggers holds the hand of her deceased son's 2-year-old daughter, while spending time together at Huntington Beach. The last time she saw her son, he was lying in the coroner’s office and she tousled his hair. He’d let her cut it until he was in high school, and she’d loved it. He’d felt in those moments like her little boy. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

Mollie Biggers holds the hand of her deceased son's 2-year-old daughter, while spending time together at Huntington Beach. The last time she saw her son, he was lying in the coroner’s office and she tousled his hair. He’d let her cut it until he was in high school, and she’d loved it. He’d felt in those moments like her little boy. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

7/15

For months, Doug sat silently. He pretended when he could that it wasn’t real. He nailed two coat hooks to the wall in his home office and hung Landon’s jackets there, as though his son had just stopped by. He would have wished for death if he didn’t have Mollie and Brittaney, so instead he started talking to the box of his son’s ashes. He said he was sorry he couldn’t save him. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

For months, Doug sat silently. He pretended when he could that it wasn’t real. He nailed two coat hooks to the wall in his home office and hung Landon’s jackets there, as though his son had just stopped by. He would have wished for death if he didn’t have Mollie and Brittaney, so instead he started talking to the box of his son’s ashes. He said he was sorry he couldn’t save him. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

8/15

Mollie did not see what her husband and daughter had seen. In her vision of his death, Landon looked like he was sleeping. She comforted herself with that, and for six months she believed it might make this bearable, even as her husband and daughter could barely bring themselves out of bed. “I knew how much pain he was in. I knew the mountains he had to climb. Maybe it was the only way he’d ever find peace,” she said. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

Mollie did not see what her husband and daughter had seen. In her vision of his death, Landon looked like he was sleeping. She comforted herself with that, and for six months she believed it might make this bearable, even as her husband and daughter could barely bring themselves out of bed. “I knew how much pain he was in. I knew the mountains he had to climb. Maybe it was the only way he’d ever find peace,” she said. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

9/15

A devout Christian, Doug had never before doubted the existence of heaven. Doug had always heard stories about people on the brink of death seeing the afterlife. After his heart attack he died four times on the operating table. There was no bright light for him — only darkness. He wonders what that means for Landon. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

A devout Christian, Doug had never before doubted the existence of heaven. Doug had always heard stories about people on the brink of death seeing the afterlife. After his heart attack he died four times on the operating table. There was no bright light for him — only darkness. He wonders what that means for Landon. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

10/15

There is nothing left to do, no more frantic phone calls to make, no begging or fighting that can fix this because the worst thing that could happen already has, so Doug Biggers settles into his recliner and braces for his daughter’s voice to echo through his head. “Keep going, Daddy,” she says. It’s been months since they knelt over Landon on the bedroom floor. But in these quiet moments, her words haunt him. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

There is nothing left to do, no more frantic phone calls to make, no begging or fighting that can fix this because the worst thing that could happen already has, so Doug Biggers settles into his recliner and braces for his daughter’s voice to echo through his head. “Keep going, Daddy,” she says. It’s been months since they knelt over Landon on the bedroom floor. But in these quiet moments, her words haunt him. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

11/15

Doug imagines parents staying up all night, like he did, desperately trying to manage a system that seems incomprehensibly broken. He had a son with a disease, and yet they couldn’t just take him to a doctor. He had to call every place he could imagine, begging for help, and still that didn’t work. “Any other health crisis that had this many people dying from it, this entire country would be up in arms,” he said. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

Doug imagines parents staying up all night, like he did, desperately trying to manage a system that seems incomprehensibly broken. He had a son with a disease, and yet they couldn’t just take him to a doctor. He had to call every place he could imagine, begging for help, and still that didn’t work. “Any other health crisis that had this many people dying from it, this entire country would be up in arms,” he said. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

12/15

Brittaney is embraced by Abigail (C) and Dana Dukovan outside a bar. Brittaney had gone to college a couple hours away with dreams of becoming a sports analyst for ESPN. But her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer for a second time, and Landon’s addiction caused ceaseless chaos. She drove home every weekend to help, and eventually gave up on school, moved back to town and got a job as a bartender. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

Brittaney is embraced by Abigail (C) and Dana Dukovan outside a bar. Brittaney had gone to college a couple hours away with dreams of becoming a sports analyst for ESPN. But her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer for a second time, and Landon’s addiction caused ceaseless chaos. She drove home every weekend to help, and eventually gave up on school, moved back to town and got a job as a bartender. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

13/15

A bird flies in the distance behind Mollie Biggers as she waits in a restaurant to meet the girlfriend of her deceased son. Mollie and her husband try to see Aubrey as often as they can because she helps them feel connected to their lost son. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

A bird flies in the distance behind Mollie Biggers as she waits in a restaurant to meet the girlfriend of her deceased son. Mollie and her husband try to see Aubrey as often as they can because she helps them feel connected to their lost son. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

14/15

Doug Biggers looks at the unopened package that contains his son’s ashes. The ashes sat on the kitchen counter for months in the same box they’d picked up from the crematorium, still wrapped in brown parchment paper, “like a raw salmon,” his daughter had observed. They considered sprinskling them in the ocean, but then he’d be gone forever. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

Doug Biggers looks at the unopened package that contains his son’s ashes. The ashes sat on the kitchen counter for months in the same box they’d picked up from the crematorium, still wrapped in brown parchment paper, “like a raw salmon,” his daughter had observed. They considered sprinskling them in the ocean, but then he’d be gone forever. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

15/15

A to-do list written on a piece of paper by Landon Biggers is lit by the sunlight seen at his parents’ home. Most of what they have left of Landon is like this, fraught with lost hope of what might have been: a handful of sobriety tokens but few that make it past 30 days, an empty wallet, a handwritten list of goals he never accomplished, the dog that was supposed to save his life but didn’t. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

Updated on Jan 29, 2019 5:35 PM

A to-do list written on a piece of paper by Landon Biggers is lit by the sunlight seen at his parents’ home. Most of what they have left of Landon is like this, fraught with lost hope of what might have been: a handful of sobriety tokens but few that make it past 30 days, an empty wallet, a handwritten list of goals he never accomplished, the dog that was supposed to save his life but didn’t. (Jae C. Hong / AP)

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