Congratulations, Chris

It is amazing and a dedication to his spirit and character that my brother Chris has come so far in two years...

I will never forget the day I had just gotten off the radio and was driving home talking to my friend and co-host Ryan Phelan. As we pulled off Plymouth Ave, turned onto Bedford ,Street, and took the left onto Oak Grove Avenue, right after the cemetery gates, I noticed a car wedged between a telephone pole and the fence that looked a lot like my brother's car. But I dismissed it as paranoia.

You see, at this time in my brother's life, he wasn't doing so well. The drugs and their lifestyle had really caught up to him, and it was extremely difficult for him and his family. I often worried to myself about my brother during this period, tossing and turning at night, with horrible flashes in my head. Thoughts and concerns of his safety were constantly on my mind. Every ambulance that went by, every police car, I thought that potentially my brother was in it. It's a horrifying feeling I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It was those thoughts that made me double check the accident on Oak Grove Avenue that day - sure enough, this time, those thoughts were right. The ambulance and police were both there for my brother.

That day, which Chris talks about so eloquently in his forthcoming book Basketball Junkie, was the beginning of the end for that lifestyle that my brother had been living. He was dead for 30 seconds and fortunate to be lying in a hospital bed instead of a cold, dark coffin. From that day forward, he went about dramatically changing his life. He attacked sobriety with a passion and a commitment that I hadn't seen in him in a long time. I always knew my brother could do it: he was a rock-hard, tough SOB, and he was capable of anything he put his mind to, and he did. Even though it's still one day at a time, the accumulation of those days has put Chris in a very different place today than where he was that day on Oak Grove Avenue.

I remember vividly having a conversation the next day with my general manager at the radio station Doug Tweedie, a good man who is very perceptive. He called me up that morning and asked me how I was doing. My brother's accident had become big news. The sattelite TV trucks had surrounded my house, and a few of them were waiting in the parking lot at the radio station. Doug offered me an opportunity to take a few days off, fearing the subject matter on my three-hour afternoon drive talk show would be too personal and too emotional for me to handle. But Doug didn't know me that well yet. My personality has always been to fight instead of flee.

I walked into the station that day and was ready for anything that would be thrown at me. That day on the radio was staggering. Hundreds and hundreds of callers called in support of Chris, told stories of his kindness, and his ability to care when most don't. It was clear to me that day that my brother had left a footprint that was much deeper than any drug issues he had. As difficult as the radio business is, and considering all the negativity involved with it, that day was special. It was spiritually uplifting to hear just how many people hadn't given up or turned their back on my brother during one of his darkest public days. I remember the media having encircled my front porch shortly after I got home, and I addressed them, telling them I love my brother and that nothing would ever change that. I made a point that I had 100% confidence in his ability to get sober and turn his life around. He has certainly proven that and then some.

I remember telling my brother that if he were to turn his life around, he would have much more happiness and money and credibility than if he had a ten-year NBA career. Chris really wanted to change his life, and he began the process of doing that. With the help of some good friends and a dogged determination, he was able to do that. He became 100% committed to the meetings, discussions, the fellowship, and all the other things a life of sobriety has to offer. It was amazing how quickly you began to see results, how quickly his physical appearance improved. His head was so clear, his thoughts so structured, his life so in order - if I didn't know better, it would call it a miracle. But there was no miracle - it was just a lot of commitment, support, and dedication.

It wasn't long, after everything he had been through, that Chris was back in high demand. I was hearing stories of his speeches reverberating throughout New England. Every once in a while, someone would grab me in a random place and tell me that they had heard Chris's speech at suchandsuch camp or suchandsuch event.

The same can be said about his basketball camps and sesssions. Again it wasn't too long before I was hearing stories from Brookline to Providence, from New Bedford to Newport, about what a fantastic job Chris was doing with his basketball school. Those were great to hear, but the best was yet to come.

Everybody knows about Chris Herren's unique gifts: the good looks, the smile, the wonderful talent, the infectious personality. But Chris's greatest gift is that he is a tireless giver and is hugely compassionate. It was this gift and the stories of it that really, really warmed my heart and spoke to his true character. These stories I talk about came from desperate parents, scared brothers and sisters, and terrified children of somebody they know and love who was losing a battle with substance abuse. And the stories were told over and over again to me about how helpful Chris had been in their time of need -whether it was getting someone into a rehab facility, meeting with loved ones, bringing someone to a meeting, or just standing by their side through this difficult journey.

I started hearing these stories a while ago, and I haven't stopped hearing them. The range in numbers and the diversity of the people and families Chris has helped is amazing. Firefighters, cops, CEOs, sons of teachers and principals, childhood friends, former teammates - you name it - Chris has been there in helping them all one after the other, as many and as best that he can.

I had heard that Chris had been clean for two years on, of all places, Facebook, and I got a little emotional over the fact that I didn't know, wasn't there, or didn't even pick up the phone to call and congratulate him. That's inexcusable, and, for that, I'm sorry. But it did give me a twinkle in my eye and a wry smile on my face thinking about far he had come and what a great father, great brother, and great friend to so many he has become. He has been there for so many. He's made it his mission to help as many people and families struggling with substance abuse as he possibly can. In just two years, Chris has risen from the depths and depression of that ambulance and hospital bed on that fateful day to the unbelievable place he is in today: sober (most importantly), at peace with himself, a beautiful loving family around him, and countless business opportunities.

It is an amazing story, a story that needs to be told over and over and over again.

Don't ever give up on yourself, don't ever give up on your family, and don't ever give up on your friend, regardless of how difficult the situation is. The human body and spirit are capable of amazing things, just ask my brother Chris.

"He ain't heavy. He's my brother." And I love him.

Congratulations, Chris.