With the sun at its zenith, several dozen people were spread across the lawn of B.C.鈥檚 Legislature. Some held roses, while others clutched photos of lost loved ones.
For these families, April 14 marks a bittersweet anniversary as it has been nine years since B.C. declared a public health emergency in response to a surge in overdose deaths. Since then, the crisis has claimed more than 16,000 lives 鈥 and the toll continues to grow.
To commemorate this day, members of Moms Stop The Harm (MSTH) organized an event that included speeches, music and a memorial to remember those lost to the ongoing crisis.
鈥淭his event is to bring awareness, pay tribute to those that we've lost, and to call for action,鈥 said MSTH member and organizer Pamela Vivian.

As the toxic drug crisis remains the leading cause of death for people aged 10 to 59 in B.C., claiming an average of seven lives each day, Vivian reiterated her call for the government to act now.
鈥淟eaders all have to come together and stop weaponizing this issue and start caring about the lives of British Columbians,鈥 she said. 鈥淭hey declared this a public emergency nine years ago, but it doesn't look like it鈥檚 [dealt with] as a public emergency.
鈥淭hey need to start acting on what the experts have said to stop the deaths in this crisis.鈥
Among the crowd, tightly hugging a framed portrait of a young man, stood Kathleen Radu. The person she held was her son, Morgan Goodridge.
Goodridge passed away five years ago, on June 16, just a few days after his 26th birthday, to a toxic drug poisoning.

鈥淗e was incredible, funny, life-of-the-party with lots of hopes and dreams,鈥 said Radu.
Goodridge, who had been in treatment for 18 months before his death, had access to private care and was living in second-stage housing. However, when COVID-19 first hit, he lost access to key resources, including therapy sessions, gym training, and swimming at the nearby pool.
It was the lack of support and isolation that ultimately led to Goodridge鈥檚 relapse.
鈥淗e went into treatment because he wanted to live more than anybody,鈥 she said. 鈥淗e wanted to see the other side of his struggle with addiction.鈥
As she spoke of the painful complexity of navigating addiction as a parent, Radu described her journey as deceptively difficult, made even harder by the lack of support for both those struggling with substance use and the families who care for them.
鈥淲hen you hear that your son is struggling with addiction, there isn't a map or a playbook that helps you,鈥 she said. 鈥淭here isn't somebody that guides you through the system.
鈥淧eople say the system's broken, but there isn't a system to help support families who are struggling with addiction and those who are struggling with addiction. There's just no wraparound support.鈥
Like Vivian, the mother called for immediate action from the provincial government to prevent the loss of more lives.
鈥淲e've seen our government mobilize so quickly on other issues, and yet here we are with16,000 deaths and we're still here,鈥 she said. 鈥淥ur government just doesn't want to act.鈥
Eager to share her story, Radu hopes her son鈥檚 fate will serve as a catalyst for change, raise awareness, break the stigma around addiction, and encourage people to learn more about a disease that affects individuals of all backgrounds, regardless of ethnicity, gender, or socioeconomic status.
鈥淭his is a lifetime of grief,鈥 said Radu as tears pooled in her eyes. 鈥淟ast week, I went to a wedding, and I got to watch a mom dance with her son. I'll never get to do that. I'll never be able to have that dance, and the worst part is that my son doesn't get to dance with me either.
鈥淎ll of his hopes and dreams, they're gone because our government isn't brave enough to stand up and do the right thing.鈥