Sirens that Lure

There is a story in Greek Mythology about a group of women they call Sirens. If you’re not familiar with this story; bear with me, its about to get a little weird. The Sirens were beautiful women who would sing and allure sailors to their island. The men who heard the seductive and compelling sounds became mesmerized. In a trance, they would sail their way to shore.

Upon arrival, the women would actually eat them. Mythological cannibals I guess. Weird right? The term “siren” in ancient mythology was used to describe something dangerous and compelling.

My sister, Danielle, used to always relate this story to the deception of addiction.

From afar the party life seems compelling. The alcohol and the drugs whisper false realities to us. “I can comfort you…I can help you escape…I can make you a new person…Try me just once…I’ll make everything better…” And in a curious trance, we steer our ships to that shore.

I know that this addiction was never part of the plan you had for your life. Kids have dreams of becoming fire-fighters, veterinarians, or Spider-Man. When asked what you want to be when you grow up, no kid responds with “I want to be a drug addict!” or “I want to get a DUI and lose my license!” Just as nobody plans to get off a boat onto an island that will ultimately lead to their death. It sounds good, pleasurable, and promising from a distance. But I can assure you, it is only after one thing: taking your life.

My sister wasn’t expecting that powerful drug to take her life that day. I didn’t expect it to either. She was too beautiful. Too intelligent. Too passionate. Too caring. Heroin shows no partiality. If only I could have one last conversation with her. I wouldn’t be scared or timid this time. I’d look her in the eye, grab her hand, and tell her there was a God in heaven who loved her more than she could imagine. I would tell her I understood and she wasn’t alone. I would tell her there truly was a way out and such thing as Abundant Life.

I couldn’t tell her these things. So now I live to tell you.

In memory of Danielle Davis