Blog: Detour From Hell; The Mind of a Hot Mess

And a Call to Action for all KS representatives and law enforcement

This Is Not Closure — This Is Commitment

Content Warning: 🤍
This post discusses death, addiction, trauma, and institutional failure. Please read in a space that feels safe for you.

Before anything else, I need to be clear about something:

This is not closure. This is not letting go. This is not “moving on.”

This is what it looks like when love turns into a sense of responsibility — and when grief turns into action.

---

Honoring Him

The week after Dustin died, I went and stayed with his parents to help them plan the “celebration of life’s”.

His family lives in Tulsa, OK and Dustin had lived in Kansas, most of the time with me, for approx. 3-4 years before he passed. Because of that, it made sense to have a service at both locations. His life existed in two places — and both mattered.

One was held in Tulsa, where his family is from and Dustin was raised.
The other was held in Wichita, Kansas, at our home recovery hall — the place where Dustin had started to learn how to build a life, fought for sobriety, and truly earned his six-month sobriety chip.

I don’t have many, if any, pictures from the Tulsa service, but I have a few from the one held in KS. A close family member agreed to photograph or record it.

Holding the Kansas celebration at our recovery hall mattered deeply to me. They had become our chosen family. It was a place where people understood recovery and the falls that come with it, the weight of his milestones, and the work Dustin had been doing. It was a place where he had shown up and where people truly knew him. He enjoyed going to meetings, which was definitely a first.

What stood out most was how many people showed up. People from recovery. Friends. Family. People whose lives he had touched in ways I didn’t even fully know yet.

We shared stories. We cried. We laughed. And then we did a balloon release (video below). Dustin’s favorite color was green. He always talked about being Irish — and he definitely had the complexion to prove it — so we released green balloons.

After the balloon release, we held a recovery meeting for anyone who wanted to stay. The meeting was led by a couple who had witnessed our recovery over time — a couple who had lost multiple children of their own. It meant a lot that they agreed to hold the meeting. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get through it.

Those moments weren’t about letting Dustin go.
They were about honoring who he was — and acknowledging the community that understood exactly what was at stake — and what his loved ones are experiencing.

Keeper of the Plains was the first place Dustin and I met after treatment. It was actually a very special night – at this point totally platonic friends. If anything I think he wanted to make someone he was dating jealous lol. So after the meeting was finished, we rushed over to the Keeper of the Plains, as they light the torches at a certain time.

This was where we tried to light at least 5 different lanterns. The very last one we were going to try actually made it — only one going off actually made it that much more special; I felt like it was him, he was laughing his ass off because we were such a shitshow with the lanterns LOL. And the distance it went was incredible. We sat there in the cold watching it for a couple of minutes, until you couldn’t see it anymore.

Shortly after the Celebration of Life in Wichita, I went to stay with family in Missouri. While I was there, my cousin walked down with me to the river and I poured the first bit of Dustin’s ashes. His parents had given me a good amount of them. Some for me to keep at home and some to take on travels.

We had always wanted to travel together. So from that point on, I decided that every new place I went, I would take him with me and spread a little…. so he is everywhere. His parents liked the idea as well. So that is what I have been doing ever since — and have documented each place.

The first place, I believe, was at the river. Later that summer, my mom took me to Colorado. This was special because Dustin and I had taken our first vacation to Colorado the year prior and he absolutely adored it. My mother and I, we hiked, and spread him at three different waterfalls on the trail we were at.

It is almost a way of me not having to say goodbye; it’s a continuation. Having the faith that he is always with me — watching over me. Anyone who knows me knows I am furthest from religion. However, to survive this, I had to have some kind of faith.

Around that same time, we all tried our hardest to move forward — not because we were ready, but because life doesn’t pause for grief. I went to visit his parents multiple times. They came to Missouri, and we went floating. We laughed. We cried. We tried to enjoy ourselves. Dustin’s sister arranged to get Dustin’s mom a new puppy, and for a few seconds at a time, it really was fun. Then it would just it us again; the heaviness was always there.

You could feel it sitting with all of us — even in the good moments. We were trying to enjoy ourselves. Trying to breathe. Trying to exist in a world that no longer made sense.

My sponsor also planted a tree in Dustin’s honor. Something living. Something growing. Something steady — when everything else felt fragile. Somewhere I could go to visit. And that meant a lot to me.
There were so many moments in the following months, I can’t keep count, of all the people that came up to me in support and gave me some gift, whether it be me a token of something. I still have every single fake flower, little teddy bear, so many tokens/coins, books, etc.

---

The Shift: From Grief to Action

After the services, something shifted. Now it was really time to get to work. The grief never left, but the anger intensified. The pain didn’t eased — in fact, it got worse as I had time to think about how everything had went down. That just fueled the fire to get justice.

I started digging. I found every email address I could possibly locate — government offices, law enforcement contacts, fentanyl task forces, documentary producers, advocacy organizations. I blind-copied tens, if not hundreds of people I didn’t even know, because I didn’t know what else to do at this point. Law enforcement at any level was no help.

I had also done an interview in the Wichita Beacon because I wanted to get his story our there. I think the series was focused on how it affected the family, so I shared much more than I had planned about my own life, but it was worth it to get his story out (links below)

I shared a documentary focused on fentanyl-related deaths recently. That documentary became the closest I’ve come to real traction. The producer reached out to me and connected me with a sheriff featured in the film — a man whose daughter had died the same way Dustin did.

He was adamant. Clear. Unwavering. He told me this was murder, and that we would figure out how to get an investigation going.

And then — silence.

Around that same time, someone who had interviewed for the newspaper article gave me contact information for a law enforcement officer who was part of a fentanyl task force. He was the kindest person I spoke to in law enforcement — and also one of the most passionate. He was adamant that this was murder too. He had been personally affected by the same thing.

I later learned that he had been there that morning. I remember a guy in all black just listening to our convo outside after he had passed. A man dressed in all black, standing back, watching everything, saying nothing. What was the point?

Later, I was told he was supposed to be “observing” from Wichita with the fentanyl task force, that he had lost someone in his own family, and that he was deeply invested in stopping this from happening to others. Why didn’t he do something about Dustin then?

For the first time, I had real hope. And then — just like prior attempts — the responses stopped.

---

Trying Everything

At that point, I started researching on my own.

Everything I found online said to contact the U.S. Attorney General — so I did. I found multiple email addresses and sent a detailed email outlining everything and sent it out blind copied again.

Eventually, I received a call from a woman who said she was his secretary. She told me she didn’t know why I had been directed there — that their office didn’t handle cases like this. But she was kind. She listened. And she gave me ideas I hadn’t thought of — including making sure I had a formal complaint filed against the police department. Seems like such a duh thing — but its just not something I had thought about seeing as I already think its a dirty station.

I filed that complaint the same day.

After that, I contacted the Kansas Attorney General’s office. I received a response explaining that their office didn’t handle matters like this. It didn’t feel automated — it included condolences and well wishes. It was much more personalized and a sense of sorrow than I would have expected from Kris Kobach. But there was more that could have been done.

That was the last real communication I’ve had. Since then, I’ve sent emails. I’ve followed up. I’ve waited. And I’ve been ignored.

---

Where This Stands Now

At this point, I’m considering starting from the beginning again — not with Park City PD, because they have made it clear they refuse to do their job — but with the county.

Life doesn’t stop just because you’re fighting for justice.

As different crises happened in my life, as responsibilities pile up, I don’t always have the capacity to work on this constantly. So I do what I can, when I can.

It’s slow. It’s exhausting. It’s infuriating. It shouldn’t be this hard.

Dustin deserved better.

And I will not stop until there is accountability.

There is no statute of limitations on murder.

---

Closing & Call to Action

Dustin’s series ends here — but the grief does not, and the fight does not.

Dustin’s story has not even begin to end. The questions still exist. The failures still exist. And the responsibility to address them still exists. Accountability is critical.

To Kansas law enforcement, task forces, and investigators:
I am formally calling for a full, independent investigation into the death of Dustin Gene Gotham. I believe I have the evidence necessary to prove he was poisoned — it simply has to be accepted, examined, and taken seriously. Poisoned pills are not accidents. Treat them with urgency. Treat them with seriousness. Treat them like the lives involved actually matter.

To Kansas representatives and elected officials:
Families should not have to beg for accountability. Oversight matters. Transparency matters. And ignoring cases like this allows the same harm to happen again and again. Hold your officers and people under you accountable! People shouldn’t be just dying every day and calling it a suicide when it is a blatant murder. It seems like a big coverup — but that would have to be so big. Its a systematic issue.

And to anyone reading this who has lost someone the same way — you are not alone, and you are not wrong for asking questions. Keep asking. Keep fighting. Keep being loud.

Justice doesn’t always look like a courtroom scene. Sometimes it looks like refusing to shut up. Sometimes it looks like documenting everything. Sometimes it looks like starting over when you shouldn’t have to. Sometimes it is a woman who is beyond frustrated and will not stop fighting and reaching out to people until I get a sufficient answer. And until then….. I won’t stop.

I am not going anywhere.

These are the articles I did shortly after his death, with the purpose to hopefully get his story heard, and someone investigate. In order to do this I shared a lot more than I intended but it was worth it to get the story out. However, nothing came from these articles.

How a Kansas woman emerged from the storm of addiction to fight fentanyl

‘Storm of Addiction’ Part 2: Sober and ready to fight