photo by: Contributed

Sandra Issa

To a drug dealer:

I’m not sure what leads someone in life to become a drug dealer. I assume it is greed. I certainly don’t know what leads someone to become a dealer of fentanyl, a drug that inevitably and undeniably ultimately leads to death. There is no way around it — if you are a dealer of fentanyl, you are no longer just a dealer of drugs; you are a dealer of death. Fatalities from fentanyl can occur at only 3 nanograms per milliliter of blood. A user takes a portion of a pill — a portion — and ends up with 13 nanograms of fentanyl in their system. A child dies. That pill would have killed them three or four times over. That child didn’t stand a chance.

A dealer of death. How does someone set themselves up as a dealer of death? If they aren’t feeding their own addiction, I can only imagine they are lying to themselves. Are you lying to yourself? Do you tell yourself that it’s not your responsibility? That, since you didn’t shove a pill down anyone’s throat, it’s not your problem? Maybe you tell yourself, “I didn’t even know this kid. Never saw them in my life. Never talked to them. They’re the one who bought the pill and swallowed it.” But, you know, that child couldn’t have bought that pill if it wasn’t available. And who made that pill available? You did. I wonder how many other people have died because of you, died because you prey on people with substance-use disorders.

It’s been close to four years now since a child died, sprawled face down, half on their bed, half off, looking like they were asleep — except for the fact that their skin had a purple tinge. And if you had gently laid your hand on their arm, you would have found it icy to the touch. How strange! Colder than the air conditioning in the room. That was the first clue. You have children. But have you ever touched a dead child’s arm? Have you ever touched a dead child’s back which is hard and stiff with rigor mortis? That is when the realization finally sets in. No, they are not just asleep. They are gone. All that is left, thanks to you, is pain and grief.

When your fentanyl killed a child, a lot of people suffered. This child had family and friends, teachers and coaches. In their short time on Earth, they touched many people’s lives. And now these people are angry. They do not want fentanyl on the streets of Lawrence, Kansas. They do not want you on the streets of Lawrence, Kansas, if you are selling fentanyl.

I don’t know what hope there is for you. Are you so greedy or unimaginative or untalented that you can do nothing else with your life but sell drugs? That would, indeed, be sad — sad for you and devastating for the rest of us. Can you change your ways? Your track record isn’t promising. If I were a praying person, I would pray that you find salvation or at least train yourself for a new vocation. Unless you can do that, what seems evident is that more people will die. More children will die. And you will be responsible. Do you want to take that to the grave with you?

— Sandra Issa is the mother of a Lawrence teenager who died of a fentanyl overdose. She’s the author of ‘A Terrible and True Tale of Our Time,’ a book for young people about drugs and addiction.