Fentanyl United Crisis Coalition (FUCC) was founded following the death of my beloved son,
Giancarlo Giuseppe Jigamian, who was killed by Fentanyl in early 2020, at the young age of 20.

Grief stricken, heartbroken and devastated by this unimaginable loss, which occurred almost exactly one month to the day before the COVID pandemic shutdown, I turned inward, nearly driving myself to the brink of insanity trying to understand how this could happen. As the mother of a child who struggled with mental illness beginning in his early teens, his well-being had always been my top priority. I believed that I would fulfill my responsibility as his mother to keep him safe no matter what, making sure he had what we thought was the best mental health treatment available, along with constant love and support. He had been in therapy and on anti-anxiety and depression medication since age 15 due to depression, anxiety and suicidal ideation.

Like so many of our children and young adults faced with today’s complicated world viewed through the social media looking glass and compounded by mental illness, Giancarlo sought and found relief, as misguided as it was, in smoking weed, and eventually, trying pills he thought were Xanax and Percocet.

At that time, the Fentanyl dangers were not on our radar and by the time we discovered that Giancarlo’s unusual behavior was a result of street drug use and not due to his mental illness or other prescribed medications, he was already a hostage and addicted to these pills that unbeknownst to us, were laced with Fentanyl. Unable to convince him (he was 18 by this time) to get into a drug treatment program, we were able to send him to an Adventure Therapy Camp in Utah, a plan we all felt good about that would take him away from his environment and into a healthy, supervised program where he could receive therapy and heal in nature with other kids his age.

We were all so relieved, and hopeful. But luck was not on our side. During his physical exam required for all campers before they headed out for the three-to-six-month adventure, a doctor from a walk-in clinic concluded that Giancarlo, who had a low white blood cell count, most likely had leukemia and would not give him clearance to go out with the rest of the campers.

I knew my son did not have cancer; we were taking him to the doctor often. I knew it was a result of stress and the drugs in his system and I pleaded with them to get another opinion and begged them not to send him home for fear of what could happen. But they sent him back and said once we got clearance from a hematologist that he could return. It took us two weeks to get all the specific blood work results required, my son did not have leukemia. We were planning for him to return to Utah.

Unfortunately, our worst fears would come true. Giancarlo would kiss us goodnight, then overdose in his bedroom, with all of us at home. This time, his life was saved by the quick thinking of his little brother who heard him breathing strangely and was not getting a response from him through his door. He quickly called out for help. It took the paramedics more than 30 minutes and a lot of Narcan to revive him. He survived… this time. I remember thinking, while in his hospital room with him hooked up to oxygen, that it was a blessing in disguise and surely, he would never take these dangerous pills again. But it is here that we learned about Fentanyl and how addictive and deadly it is. It had its ugly hooks attached to my beautiful son and sending him home from the hospital was not advised.

So, from there, he was forced against his will into a rehab facility to detox and get sober for 30 days before coming home. Once again, we were hopeful. He enrolled in community college and things were looking up. But after only a few days in school, we discovered Giancarlo was taking these street pills again. No more college. This time, he went to a live-away rehab home for three months where he seemed to thrive. From there he would move into a “step-down” recovery house not far from home, where he could continue treatment and slowly transition back into life. Five months in and five months clean, things were looking up. Giancarlo was getting ready to come home to live with his family and begin his life as a young adult again.

February 9, 2020 was a Sunday. His father, Harry Jigamian, picked him up to go to lunch and to go shopping; they had a great day. I know this because Giancarlo called me to tell me so. It would be our last conversation. He was so happy; we talked about him coming home soon, and how his dad and I were going to get him a car. He wanted to do service and talk to other kids about the dangers of pills, specifically Fentanyl.

After his day with his dad, he went to visit a good friend, along with her father, family friends of ours. They would watch nature shows, one of Giancarlo’s favorite things to do since he was a little boy–that and cooking shows. From there, his friend would drive him back to his sober living house before his 11p.m. curfew. As always, they would drug test him before he went to sleep.

From his bed that night, he would call his little brother and best friend, Dante. They made plans to go shopping the next morning together and finished their conversation by saying goodnight and exchanging “I Love You’s” with each other. Those would be Giancarlo’s last words. He got a pill from somewhere; we don’t know where or why to this day. Forty-five minutes later, just after midnight, my first born, my twin-flame, my world, took his last breath. And I was not there to save him this time. Nobody was.

We found out from the investigators at the coroner’s office that Giancarlo was one of many people who died in the Seattle area during that time from the same batch of pills that were highly lethal, the most lethal they had ever seen at that point. They figured it was possibly made in a kitchen somewhere by people who had no idea what they were doing.

From there, I went down a deep dark rabbit hole. How could this happen? Why is this poison killing so many people? I knew it was, because I found an online support group called Mothers Who Lost a Child to Fentanyl. There were thousands of mothers in this Facebook Group. Then I started to learn of more and more young people dying, including Giancarlo’s beautiful, sweet girlfriend, Teihani, and my dear friend Marcello’s beautiful daughter, Sage.

No matter how many scenarios of “if only I did this,” or “if I had done that” ran through my head, and no matter how much I tried to blame myself for not doing my one job as a mother, to keep my son, Giancarlo, safe, it kept coming back to Fentanyl.

We did everything we could possibly do given the limited information we had at the time. He was in rehab, in counseling, he was receiving a monthly dose of an opioid blocker called Vivitrol, he had our undying love and support. We got him an appointment with a sought-after addiction specialist psychiatrist to see when he got out. We loved him to the moon and back.

No one is to blame, not even the rehab facility where he died. They cared for him and kept their end of the bargain. There were no red flags. There was only a moment of weakness. A relapse. This is common in addiction, especially when things are going well. There’s a momentary lapse of judgment where one feels invincible.

Then it hit me: Fentanyl. Fentanyl is to blame. For you cannot relapse on Fentanyl in the way an alcoholic can have a drink, then start all over the next day. With Fentanyl, there is no next day.

Fentanyl murdered my son. Fentanyl has also murdered another 71,238 people just in 2021, according to the Centers for Disease Control. It’s time for Fentanyl to pay for its disturbing crime of taking innocent lives. I want to avenge my son’s death, and in the process, prevent as many deaths as possible as outlined in our mission statement.

And I will do it in Giancarlo’s name, and in his style, which was assertive, passionate, empathetic, edgy, knowledgeable and fearless. Giancarlo, and other young adults overdosing on Fentanyl, will never get a chance to fulfill their dreams and reach their potential. This is the least I can do for him, and for humanity, which he cared deeply about.

Giancarlo dreamed of being a chef, a husband, a father, and an entrepreneur. He always wanted to help others and did. He volunteered to work with kids who were autistic and had Down Syndrome at his high school. He had a heart of gold and was an amazing son and human. He had an infectious laugh and witty sense of humor. From the moment he was born, our eyes locked, and our souls were immediately connected. He showed me so much love, always. From the time he could walk, he would find feathers and bring them to me. This continued into his late teens. And I kept every one of them. Whenever I see a feather, I pick it up, and add it to my collection, a reminder that we are still connected, and always will be.

This organization allows him to fulfill a dream of making the world a better, safer place, and to leave his mark in this world, in the same grand way he left his indelible mark on all who knew and loved Giancarlo. He was loved by so many- especially by his little brother Dante, who he absolutely adored and admired, his father Harry, his sister Nicole, his uncle Ric and all his cousins, his best friends, Eva, Kaenen, Brad, and most importantly me: forever his mother and twin soul.

Milli Militi Jigamian, Founder and President, Fentanyl United Crisis Coalition (FUCC)