The chairs are cold beneath my legs as I sit and listen to unfamiliar people share familiar stories. It’s my first of many Monday night family meetings at the rehab facility and I am not quite sure what to expect. When my mom told me that my sister’s dad and she found out my sister was a heroin addict I didn’t quite understand the seriousness of it. Now that I am sitting here, in this circle of addicts and their families sitting in these cold chairs in this cold room I think I am starting to feel the weight of this disease. The beginning of the meeting seems very much like the movies. We go around in a circle and introduce ourselves. And although we don’t do the monotonous “Hi, ______” after everyone introduces themselves, the introductions were something I expected. After everyone was introduced, the leader, who was an addiction therapist, started asking questions to the group. My mom seems to have a lot to say, and so does my sister's dad, but my sister seems nervous. I don’t blame her. I’m nervous too so I can only imagine how she must be feeling. My mom, her dad, my stepdad, and her stepmom seem very upset. I am definitely the most at ease out of our dysfunctional group, but at first, I was upset. Coming into this meeting I was upset that my sister, my role model, had gotten roped into such a horrible thing. But as I sit in this room and I listen to these people of all ages and with different backgrounds talk about their different addictions and as I watch how their family members react I see that anger and disapproval isn’t how to be there for our loved ones in times like these. I see that patience and understanding with our loved ones who are sitting in these cold chairs in this cold room talking endlessly about the drugs or the alcohol that have caused them so much pain but that they are so dependent on is the only way to truly be there for them. As I listen to my sister’s new friend, Sally, talk on and on about how she has been in rehab multiple times and how she keeps having to persevere through the problems I begin to think about my sister. Growing up, my sister has always been someone I wanted to be like. Though she didn’t always hangout with the right crowd, though she didn’t attend college, she was my big sister and I loved her. Though she may not seem like a role model, I understand by listening to these people cry and feeling these people’s hurt that my sister and everyone else sitting in this circle are some of the strongest people. Addiction isn’t a disease that affects one person, it’s a disease that affects everyone around that person and rather than running away from the problem all of us are in this room facing it head on. I snap out of my thoughts when I hear my sister’s voice. I notice that her hands are shaking slightly and as she speaks I can hear the small quiver in her voice. Though she sounds small and weak I hear her strength in her words. Her eyes fill with small tears as she talks about how much of a struggle this is for her to be here facing this issue. I notice the disappointment in my sister’s father's eyes and it’s hard for me to understand how he doesn’t see how much strength it takes for her to be here acknowledging her faults and trying to make them better. And as I sit here, as I sit here in these cold chairs in this cold room, and listen to these people around me I realise that in order to truly be here for my sister when she needs me, I need to stay patient and understanding. Helping my sister through this tough time, going to rehab family meetings, and hearing the stories of others who are in similar situations to mine and my sister’s has really taught me how to be patient and understanding of everything that life throws at you. Now that I know this, I always try to see where others are coming from and I try putting myself in their shoes before reacting. I never wanted to see my sister go through something like this, but I think the situation has helped me and my family grow and learn to practice things like patience.