When I was sixteen, I was babysitting my little brother. And I was, um... I had taken all these Percocet. And I was unbelievably high and I... we had driven over to the park on Lakeshore. And he was in his red socks just running around in these piles of leaves. And, um, he would bury me and I would bury him in the leaves. And he was pretending that he was a train. And so he was charging through the leaves, making tracks, and I was the caboose, and I was, um... so he kept saying, coal, caboose! Coal, caboose! And, um, we were... it was time to go and I was driving home... and... I lost control of the car. And drove off the bridge. And the car went into the lake. And I couldn't get him out of his car seat. And he drowned. And I struggle with God so much, because I can't forgive myself. And I don't really want to right now. I can live with it, but I can't forgive myself. And sometimes I don't want to believe in a God that could forgive me. But I do want to be sober. I'm alive and I'm present and there's nothing controlling me. If I hurt someone, I hurt someone. I can apologize, and they can forgive me... or not. But I can change. And I just wanted to share that and say congratulations that God makes you look up, I'm so happy for you, but if he doesn't, come here. That's all. Thank you.