Today, I had the solemn privilege of sitting with a Mandarin-speaking family in Surrey, British Columbia, who are navigating unimaginable grief. Earlier this year, their 14-year-old daughter died from an overdose. As I entered their home, I felt the weight of sorrow in the air—a mother’s heartbreak, a father’s silence, and the empty space that once belonged to a beloved child.

During our conversation, the mother spoke with raw honesty about her pain and anger—not only at the loss of her daughter but also at the broader system and the government’s approach to drug addiction. She expressed deep frustration with what she perceived as a lack of responsibility, compassion, and effective support within the current system. For her, the sense of betrayal was directed at the structures and policies that, in her view, had failed her child and so many others.

As a pastor, I have met with many parents who have lost their children to overdose. Through these encounters, I have heard a wide range of perspectives. Some parents believe we need more harm reduction—more resources to keep people safe, provide education, and reduce the risks associated with substance use. Others call for stronger efforts in prevention and treatment, wanting to see more focus on helping young people before they ever start using substances, or supporting recovery for those who are struggling. There are also voices in our community who feel strongly that there should be no move to legalize or decriminalize even small amounts of drug use, and that stricter enforcement and a zero-tolerance approach is the answer.

While these approaches differ, I have noticed one thing that unites all these families, advocates, and community members: none of them want to see drugs controlling people’s lives or causing death and suffering. Whether they support harm reduction, prevention, treatment, or stricter enforcement, everyone shares a deep hope for a future where drugs no longer steal our loved ones, destroy families, or devastate communities.

My heart aches not only for these families but also for the countless others living on the margins—those who are excluded, shelterless, and struggling to manage their use of substances. At the same time, I recognize the immense challenges faced by professionals working within an overburdened and sometimes fragmented system—therapists, counselors, social workers, and healthcare workers—who are constrained by policies, resources, and public perceptions.

These experiences remind me that there is no single solution. The path forward must include open dialogue, compassion, and accountability at every level of our community and government. Supporting the vulnerable means standing with families in their darkest moments and also advocating for real change in how we address addiction, mental health, and social exclusion.

As we reflect on these tragedies, may we recommit ourselves to building a community where no one falls through the cracks. Let us nurture a culture of compassion and honest conversation—where families, caregivers, professionals, and policymakers come together to learn, to grieve, to advocate, and to hope.

I invite you to join me in listening to these stories, learning from diverse perspectives, and working together for meaningful change. Only by supporting one another and striving for understanding can we begin to heal and press for the changes our community so desperately needs.