My Bobby was 24 years old when I lost him to an overdose. He was the most loving talented young man, he was my baby, my best friend and yes...a big momma's boy.

I miss him more than words can say! Bobby was also a father, a brother, and an uncle. He loved to play music, write songs, was a great artist and loved his tattoos and piercings.

He struggled with his addiction from the time he was 14 years old. He was clean for a few months, doing better than he had been for a long time. He went to an outdoor concert (Ozz Fest) with his older brother on the 19th of July.

We talked and laughed about it on the 20th. I kissed him good bye on Thurs. morning, the 21st, told him I loved him, and went to work.

I came home and he was not home, but I didn't worry too much, since he was doing so well. Friday morning, still no Bobby. I didn't feel right all day in work, so I started calling his friends and asking if they had seen him.

Friday night, still no Bobby and no phone call from him. You see, Bobby always called me if he wasn't coming home. Saturday morning I went out to buy his birthday presents, which was to be August 18th. He would be 25.

I kept calling home expecting him to be there, but he wasn't. Just a message from his father who I divorced 18 years ago, telling me to get home.

So I called his house and asked him, why? He said, "Bobby is dead." He had been there since Friday morning. My son. Left there all alone. Bobby didn't like to be alone. I always told him I would protect him. But, I couldn't protect him that day. I couldn't protect him from that damned disease.