No parent should ever endure the unimaginable pain of burying two children, yet this is the devastating reality for Liz Brown, a Plymouth mother whose story is both heart-wrenching and urgently important. But here’s where it gets even more heartbreaking—Liz’s sons, Lee and Karl, both lost their lives to drug addiction, leaving her grappling with grief while determined to turn their tragedies into something meaningful. 'To lose two is unthinkable,' she says, her words echoing the depth of her sorrow and her unyielding resolve to make a difference.
On December 23, 2024, Liz’s world shattered when a police officer arrived at her doorstep. At 61, she had grown accustomed to worrying about her son Lee, who had long battled heroin addiction. That day, she assumed he was in trouble with the law again. Instead, she was met with news that would forever alter her life: Lee had died of an overdose, alone in his room. Just two years earlier, she had lost Karl, also to addiction, and the weight of losing both sons was almost too much to bear.
And this is the part most people miss—Lee had been making strides toward recovery. He had completed a full rehab program, found a supportive girlfriend, and even secured a place in a dry house. But the pull of addiction proved relentless. 'He was doing so well,' Liz recalls, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. 'But when his girlfriend left, he’d meet old acquaintances in town, and the cycle would start again.'
The night before his death, Lee had shown up at Liz’s door at 3 a.m., having lost his keys. She knew he had taken something, but she let him stay, even confiscating pills she found in his bag. The next morning, he demanded them back. 'I told him, ‘You either stay here or take them and leave,’' Liz remembers. He chose the latter. Later that day, he told her he was staying in his room, playing his PlayStation, and might visit on Christmas Eve. When she couldn’t reach him, she assumed he was asleep. It wasn’t until the next day, after Christmas shopping with her daughter, that the police arrived with the devastating news.
Lee’s story is tragically familiar. He had battled addiction for most of his life, achieving sobriety long enough to hold down jobs as a waiter, chef, and shop worker. 'I was so proud of him,' Liz says. But a run-in with the law cost him his job, and he spiraled back into addiction. Despite his struggles, he remained kind, always looking out for others.
Karl, Lee’s younger brother, shared a similar fate. Known for his humor and pranks, Karl had spent five years in a Salvation Army hostel, desperate to turn his life around. But addiction proved too powerful. In March 2022, at just 40 years old, he died of a drug-induced heart condition. Liz had to break the news to Lee, who was already grappling with his own demons. 'Lee was in a mess,' she recalls. 'He said Karl was supposed to visit him. I had to tell him his brother was gone.'
Here’s where it gets controversial—Liz’s sons’ deaths are part of a larger, alarming trend. According to the Salvation Army, 18 people die from drugs every day in the UK—an 88% increase over the past decade. Yet, addiction remains stigmatized, with those struggling often judged rather than helped. Liz is determined to change this narrative. 'These people on the streets don’t need judgment,' she insists. 'They need help.'
Her own experiences have turned her into a fierce advocate. Last Christmas, after learning of Lee’s death, she wandered aimlessly, eventually stumbling upon a man overdosing on the street. Armed with naloxone—a life-saving medication that reverses opioid overdoses—she administered it, saving his life. 'I always think, if only someone had been there to give my boys naloxone,' she reflects. Now, she carries it daily, urging others to get trained in its use.
Liz’s grief has fueled her activism. In 2025, she volunteered with the Salvation Army, even visiting 10 Downing Street to deliver a petition urging the government to declare drug abuse a national health emergency. 'I want my sons’ stories to mean something,' she says. 'They were good men who cared deeply for others. I want people to understand what addiction really looks like.'
Her message is clear: addiction is not a moral failing but a health crisis that demands compassion and action. 'No one should ever have to bury a child,' she says. 'And that’s why I’m fighting to save lives.'
But here’s the question that lingers—are we doing enough to address addiction as a society? Do we judge too quickly and offer help too slowly? Liz’s story challenges us to rethink our approach and take action. Whether you agree or disagree, one thing is certain: her sons’ lives—and deaths—have sparked a conversation that cannot be ignored.
To support Liz’s cause and sign the petition, visit: https://www.salvationarmy.org.uk/addiction-support. And ask yourself: What can I do to make a difference?
