Remembering Liam

Life has a beautiful way of introducing us to exceptional individuals who leave a significant impact on our hearts, far beyond the moments we share. For me, Liam was one of those extraordinary people. While we weren’t inseparable friends, our encounters—whether through activism or late-night conversations about politics and justice—always left me feeling both enlightened and challenged. His journey was filled with brilliance and struggle, and his absence is a feeling that I will likely always carry with me.

Liam

I had the pleasure of meeting Liam shortly after I returned to Canada. We found common ground in our advocacy work, both passionate about social justice. I often think that, in another life, we might have worked side by side as colleagues or even become closer friends. We didn’t meet frequently, but those conversations were always meaningful. We explored politics, policy, and the changes our society desperately needed. Despite the challenges he faced, Liam transformed his struggles into a decisive voice for those who couldn’t advocate for themselves, showcasing his resilience and determination.

The last time we spoke was just a few days before he passed away. We were exchanging messages and had even chatted on the phone, excitedly making plans to get together. He had started a new job that kept him busy on the road, and it was clear he was flourishing—hardworking, respected, and making great strides in his career. I had no doubt that one day I would see his name on a ballot; he would have excelled in that role. In the days between Christmas and New Year’s, I sent him a simple note wishing him and his family all the best and reminding him that we should definitely set a date to reconnect once the holiday buzz settled. He responded with his trademark warmth and positivity, making me keen to catch up. Unfortunately, just two days later, a mutual friend called me, devastated and barely holding it together, to share the heart-wrenching news that Liam was gone. I couldn’t fathom it—I’d just spoken to him. It felt surreal.

In my shock, I searched for any alternate explanation—perhaps a car accident, a sudden medical issue, or even a family dispute. The thought of drugs didn’t cross my mind. Yes, Liam had mentioned a past history with substance use, but I believed he had moved beyond that. He had dreams, aspirations, and the momentum to make them a reality. I never pressed the issue, sensing it was a sensitive topic for him. Little did I know that struggle was still a part of his life. When I eventually learned it was an overdose, it shattered me.

The heartbreaking reality is that illicit drugs are ruining lives everywhere. What took Liam wasn’t just the substance itself, but a flawed system that allows dangerous substances to be marketed as an escape. The dealer who provided that fateful dose has been convicted, but no sentence can ever restore what was lost. Liam deserved more time, more opportunities.

His funeral brought together friends and family from across southern Ontario, and it was an experience I’ll never forget. I met his family for the first time, and listening to his sister share stories of his childhood—filled with tales of bullying, resilience, humour, and strength—made me realize just how many different versions of Liam existed in the hearts of all who knew him. Each of us held a special piece of him. Together, we captured the essence of the whole man.

Liam will always have a place in my heart. His light, his voice, his dreams—everything about him continues to inspire me. His death has served as a poignant reminder that we often put off connecting with loved ones, thinking next week is soon enough. We should keep our loved ones close and remain aware, especially when someone appears strong and driven.

Having worked in the social services/addiction sector for many years, I understand that people often hide their struggles. Just because someone appears to be managing life doesn’t mean they’re safe. However, none of that training or experience prepared me for the blind spot I had with Liam. The weight of not acknowledging what was right before me is something I will carry forever.

Liam was only 28. He should still be here, fighting for others, creating change, aspiring to hold office, and sharing laughs with his family. He should be responding to texts on his GO train commute to work. I deeply miss him, and that void will always remain.

The Wake of Change

When I think about Liam, I am reminded of his brilliance, passion, and unwavering commitment to justice. He carried immense potential, and yet he battled challenges that often remained hidden from view. Addiction did not define him; rather, it contributed to the circumstances of his tragic loss. His story compels me to ask: how can we create a world where people like Liam are supported rather than lost?

It starts with transforming the conversation around addiction. This issue is not one of weakness or failure; it stems from health challenges rooted in pain, trauma, and life circumstances. Liam was never merely “an addict.” He was a friend, a brother, an advocate—an individual with a vibrant future ahead of him. By recognizing the person beyond the struggle, we can begin to dismantle the silence and stigma.

Support must be immediate and effective. No one should face lengthy wait times for treatment when their life is at stake today. Harm reduction strategies—such as safe supply, safe spaces, and naloxone—are not luxuries; they are vital lifelines. Each overdose reversed represents a renewed chance at recovery, saving families from the devastating call I received.

However, change isn’t just about policies; it’s about us, too. We need to genuinely check in on our friends, especially those who seem the strongest among us. Liam’s passing taught me that sometimes the most driven individuals carry the heaviest yet hidden burdens.

We also need courage at a systemic level, reallocating resources from punitive measures (for those with addiction issues) to compassionate care, while holding accountable those who profit from a contaminated supply rather than those who suffer.

Carrying the Fire Forward

Grief never feels finished. Writing this doesn’t bring Liam back, nor does it ease the pain of losing him so young. But telling his story matters. Addiction steals lives in silence, and silence is precisely what keeps it powerful. Remembering Liam—his fire, his compassion, his unfinished work—is my way of refusing to let silence win. If you’re reading this, I hope you’ll carry his name with you, too. And I hope you’ll check in on your friends, even the ones who seem fine. Because sometimes they’re not. Sometimes they’re fighting battles they can’t put into words.

Liam’s story is not just about loss. It’s about love, struggle, and the reminder that every single day we spend with one another is a gift.

For Liam, and for everyone still fighting in silence, we must do better.

PART 3 – NO PERMISSION NEEDED: What Was Once Shame Has Become Pride

What began as innocent play, the joy of dressing up and pretending, soon curdled into confusion and punishment. My parents’ gentle corrections hardened into anger, their voices faltering with something more akin to unrelenting impatience. My pleas — small, wordless, desperate — were dismissed as misbehaviour. How could I have explained, at four or five…

Sabrina Constance Hill's avatar by Sabrina Constance Hill