Little Eddie came back from Viet Nam addicted to heroin. When we met him, he had kicked the habit cold turkey. He lived in one small room of a large Victorian house where my brother rented an apartment. His sister was the landlady and let him stay there rent free. I never met her. They weren’t close. Eddie was the oldest of his siblings and had at least two younger sisters. His father kicked him out of the house when he was twelve. His mother abandoned him at his father’s command. Homeless and penniless, he lived on the streets until he was able to join the army. A deep wound of rejection coupled with a war is a perfect recipe for drugs and none better than heroin. How he managed to stop was inspiring. Overcoming so much in his life was inspiring. Eddie was a wiry little guy with abundant energy and kindness; clever and wise beyond his years. His eyes betrayed him though. It was easy to see through those two windows the young unloved boy he tried to keep concealed. His eyes didn’t sparkle until he met Janet. He was so in love and she felt the same. Until she didn’t. When she broke up with him, she hit his barely concealed wound with a final blow. And he took some drugs, walked into a lake and drowned.