A

   Graham and his friends preferred to shoot up in their arms, necks and legs. A dealer once said Graham was the type who would never be able to turn back and that he expected him to die from the drug. Wendy feared the same, but didn’t know how to save her son. “ Once, after he’d disappeared for more than a month, I found him at a friend’s house with a bunch of other users,” she said, “I got down on my hands and knees, begging him to come home. He did, but the next morning he was gone. I don’t know what made him do it, but I drove 20 miles to the nearest train station. Graham was headed for Seattle, his pockets full of drugs. If I hadn’t gotten there in time, I would never have seen him alive again.”