Chris’s story: Struggling in private, dying in public, a ‘minute-by-minute’ battle with addiction
Chris Robertson kept his struggle with addiction private for a long time; in the end, it took him to a public place.
His sister, Michelle Trombley, remembers the pit in her stomach when she saw the call come up on her phone as an unknown number. She knew, before answering, who was calling and what it was about.
“The police told me that he was found deceased, in a public park, alone,” she said.
“He had overdosed. All he had on him was his whole life in a duffel bag.”
Robertson, 52, was one of at least 1,706 Albertans who died of opioid poisoning last year. That works out, on average, to more than four deaths each and every day in 2023, the deadliest year on record for the province.
The Calgary resident was also among a growing number to die in public. Deaths in public places used to be a rarity but have become increasingly common, especially in the latter part of 2023.
Robertson had managed his addiction on his own for decades. As siblings, he and Michelle were exceptionally close, but even she didn’t realize the extent of his drug use until much later in life.
“He hid it very, very well,” she said.
“I learned some things over the past few years that I had no idea of. My brother told me he started using drugs probably around [age] 17, and I never would have known.”
As his addiction progressed, however, he shared his struggles with Michelle more and more, and she became more directly involved. After he wound up homeless and fell ill with pneumonia, he moved in for a while with her and her husband. She said it was among the “best few weeks” she had spent with her brother in a long time.
“It felt like a time of promise,” she said. “And this was almost exactly a year before his passing.”
Such is the pernicious nature of addiction: hope can be fleeting, with relapse always lurking.
WATCH | Chris’s story: Struggling in private, dying in public, a ‘minute-by-minute’ battle with addiction
Chris Robertson, 52, kept his struggle with addiction private for a long time; in the end, it took him to a public place.
‘Minute by minute’
Growing up mostly in Calgary, Trombley said her brother was “definitely, without a doubt, my first best friend.”
“We did almost everything together,” she said. “He was my one and only. We talked about everything. We shared everything.”
At least, until he started using drugs later in his teenage years. That aspect of his life he kept private for a long time into adulthood, but she’s grateful he developed a willingness to confide in her, once again, more recently.
“Incredibly, we could talk openly about it,” she said. “And I think I needed to give him that permission, because he had hid it for so many years.”
As time went on, she said her brother’s addiction took more and more things from him.
“First, his job. Then, his relationship. And then, eventually, his home,” she said.
“We were just slowly losing pieces of him to his disease.”
Amid numerous attempts at sobriety, Robertson tried to convey to his sister how all-consuming it was, trying to stay clean.
“He explained it to me that it’s sometimes minute to minute,” she said.
“I can’t imagine having to live my life that way, how hard that would be. When am I going to fall again, you know? It’s a huge challenge.”
Trend in public deaths
In the third quarter of last year, 43 per cent of opioid poisonings across Alberta occurred in public.
In Calgary, it was even higher: 55 per cent.
That marked the first time on record that a majority of overdose deaths happened in public places in the city.
Elaine Hyshka believes several factors are contributing to this recent trend. She’s a professor at the University of Alberta and Canada Research Chair in health systems innovation with the university’s School of Public Health, whose work focuses on substance use.
One factor, she says, is the affordable housing crisis.
“We’ve seen an increase in people who are homeless or unstably housed,” Hyshka said. “And when you’re homeless or unstably housed, you’re more likely to use in public places because you don’t have any other options.”
Another factor, in her view, is a lack of supervised consumption services for the inhalation, rather than injection, of drugs.
“We’ve really seen a shift from injection as a primary mode of drug use to smoking, and none of the services in Alberta accommodate smoking,” Hyshka said.
“So the majority of people are now smoking fentanyl and other novel synthetic opioids, but there is absolutely no service that will support them in terms of supervised consumption. And so I think that’s also really contributing to a significant increase in deaths happening in public, because people just don’t have places to go to use more safely.
Dashed hopes
After her brother’s homeless spell, Trombley genuinely thought the time he spent living with her might be a turning point in his life.
When he left her house, he checked in to the Calgary Dream Centre for addictions treatment.
“We drove him there and it was a very hopeful, happy time,” Trombley recalled.
“I just remember watching him walk through that door and just feeling so much hope. And things went really well there, for about four months. I think that it was the first time he started really knowing himself, exploring different things like spirituality, and maybe the root of his disease. He felt loved. He felt cared for. He was given lots of great tools.”
And then he relapsed.
Again and again.
“They had to give his bed [at the Dream Centre] up for somebody else and then he was back on the street, using,” Trombley said.
“He did go to medical detox after that, I think two or three times. A week before he passed away, he had gone to medical detox and he called me from the Simon House, and I was so proud of him. I just said, ‘You know, Chris, every time you fall, you fight back. But you can do this. You got this.'”
That conversation gave her some reassurance as she and her husband left on a short vacation in November to celebrate their anniversary.
They were in San Francisco, just getting ready for breakfast, when the call from the unknown number came through on her phone.
“The police were incredibly passionate and kind and explained everything with the utmost dignity and respect,” Trombley said.
“They said somebody — a bystander — had come across him and started to try and perform CPR and, as strange as this sounds, it gave me some peace that somebody cared. Like, somebody didn’t just disregard as some bum passed out in a park.”
“That made me feel better that somebody actually cared.”
Chris’s story is one of four personal stories in this series, A Toxic Year, which explores the growing number of opioid deaths in Alberta. More than four Albertans died per day, on average, in 2023, the deadliest year on record for the province. You can find the other stories here.
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