Close friend of mine that I went through treatment with died of a Methadone OD. He was doing pretty well, and then one night decided to take an extra 20mg on top of his usual 40mg. I still have the text of him telling me he fucked up, he just wanted to get a little high, and that he struggles to stay awake. Well, I called three times and nobody picked up, so I called 911 and they found him cold and blue. And that was the end of that. Helluva funny and charismatic guy, snuffed out, by taking (allegedly) 1/3rd extra.
I've been in recovery long enough that these things don't shake me anymore. Yeah, I grieve, but live goes on. I met so many people in the rooms that just up and died, it's a real reality check for us addicts. It's arguably the worst part about being in recovery, that your friends never seem to live very long. Morbid as it sounds, I bought a nice suit, because I'm going to so many funerals that it's just cheaper to have my own than to rent it every time.
People I've known for years, see them every week, then one week they don't show up, and a short while later you get the memo, another one gone.
Tremendous relief it it's "just" a relapse. I don't care buddy, you're welcome back any time, at least you're alive, still breathing.
The treatment center I went to has a huge stone wall outside, with the name of patients that went there and later died, and every time I go back there to give the people still fighting some hope that it has a chance of working out, the list grows longer and longer. 80+ names added since 2016, soon they're going to need a bigger wall.