Joshua M. Birch

Joshua M. Birch, age 49, died on February 25, 2026 from a drug overdose.

Josh arrived into this world a free spirit, allergic to rules and suspicious of authority. He was curious, kind, and insanely brilliant. He could be thoughtful and caring. He was the first to lend a hand and offer an ear.

Josh was also an addict. Not the glamours kind you see in movies, but the repetitive, exhausting, and unapologetic kind.

Josh could be self-centered. He could also be generous. Sometimes in the same minute. He had an impressive capacity for love, laughter, and poor decisions. He made a mess, broke all of our hearts more times than we will ever be able to count, but his smile and undeniable good hearted nature often made you forget about the destruction that trailed behind him.

Josh had a few stretches of sobriety - including one beautiful period when his son was born. Watching him with his newborn son was pure magic. All of Josh's good emanated to the surface when he was with his son. He was attentive, gentle, and the absolute best version of himself. Until he wasn't. We all held our breath, hoping for the best, but his addiction won again.

Josh was not easy, never simple, and certainly not boring. If you knew him sober, you might remember his generosity and warmth. If you knew him during his addiction, you might remember the chaos. If you knew him well, you knew both showed up loud and unannounced.

Josh tested my parent's patience and their marriage in ways no one deserves and few are built to endure. It is a true testament of their commitment to each other that they survived the pain of loving an addict, setting boundaries, and attempting to hold each other to those boundaries.

And it is a true testament to all of our capacity for love, that after decades of addiction, we are able to remember Josh's joy more than his anger.

Loving an addict is so wildly complicated. It is like trying to make sense of a jigsaw puzzle with no reference picture, no sides, an ever revolving set of missing pieces, and someone on the other side of the table taking the sections apart you thought you had already put together. It comes with the highest highs and the lowest lows. It comes with equal parts hope and dread; frustration and compassion. For me, it also came with an underlying sense of guilt. Guilt for living a life he could have so easily achieved, if it had not been for his addiction.

Josh lived hard, learned late, loved imperfectly, and tried his best to show up in the ways he was able, when he was able. Between all the living, relapsing, loving, failure, he made a difference. The lessons I have learned from him are innumerable, including the really hard ones.

Despite the pain that Josh's addiction and mental health struggles caused our family, we loved him deeply. He was a menace, but he was our menace.

When Josh died, it came as a relief. There I said it. A sentiment only people who love addicts will understand. There is sadness in the circumstance but relief in knowing my sweet brother, the version of which I choose to remember, can stop running, stop chasing.

To anyone who loved my brother, thank you for seeing the good in him. Celebrate that good over a pint of beer, just the way he would have wanted us all to. Preferably on the sunny side of the bar at the Pub.

To anyone who loves an addict, a unique type of love that can be incredibly isolating, you are not alone. Please take care of yourself. There is nothing you can do, no amount of yourself that you can give to help someone who is not ready.

And to anyone struggling with addiction or your mental health, you can call or text 988 to reach a healthcare professional, 24/7. The call is free and confidential. You are enough and it is never too late.

Love, an adoring little sister.