JONATHAN, WE MISS YOU

Warning: this is not a lighthearted post.



JONATHAN AND ME   BETTER TIMES 2001

 Startled, I sat straight up in bed. Did I just hear strong knocks on the front door? My heart started pounding. It’s not the first time, so the memories of those past late night knocks and phone calls were quickly flooding my scared mind. Our 16 year old dog is now so hard of hearing that he couldn't confirm anything. By some miracle, Tim, who has been gone almost non-stop on business for months was actually asleep beside me. I hoped what my gut and heart were telling me wasn’t true, but deep inside I knew. I glanced at the clock on Tim’s side: 1:33 a.m. I touched Tim and told him I think someone is at the door. From past experience we both moved quickly. We each looked out different windows to down below. From my angle I saw a car with the headlights on in front of the driveway and Tim saw at least one person on the front porch. They knocked again just as the phone rang. Tim headed for the stairs and as I reached for the phone I saw it was the police department. “Is this the Prass residence? There are officers at your door and you need to let them in”. I knew. I clutched my chest to keep my heart from leaping out as I tried to make it down the stairs. As I was heading down, afraid I would collapse, I heard the officers asking, "Are you Tim Prass?" “Are you the father of Jonathan David Prass?” My poor Tim, he was weak in the knees and I needed to get to him. “Do you have any medical conditions we need to be aware of?” “Is there anyone we should call?” STOP SAYING THAT. “We need to come inside and let’s sit down”. I finally made it to level ground without collapsing and we all headed towards the family room. Tim’s knees were not supporting him sufficiently and I was clutching my chest still trying to prevent my pounding heart from escaping. We finally reached the sofa. One officer got on bended knee and as politely and respectfully as possible said what we didn’t want to hear: Our son Jonathan was found dead in Portland, OR of an apparent overdose. He had been dead for some time.

Breathe. I kept telling myself to breathe. I was just hearing the worst words that I thought I had already prepared myself for, but my mind was jumping to other things. Like I wondered how old these two officers were…I bet Jonathan’s age. I thought about my mismatched nightwear. When I grabbed my favorite pajama pants out of the drawer I realized the matching top was in the dirty clothes. Tired and thinking, “Who cares” I grabbed an extremely old t-shirt that I’d never throw away. I quick glanced down at myself and wondered what they thought of my mismatched attire and if through my clenched hands they could see the worn words World’s Greatest Mom. Isn’t it amazing that Tim was here in town instead of in San Diego. I had to force myself to stay focused on what I didn’t want to hear. I thought what a tough job these officers have and Tim thought it too, because as they were leaving Tim was thanking them for all they do.

It still feels like it’s Friday….just a very long day that won’t end. I know I’m breathing now because I can hear my sobbing. It comes in waves. Tim said it’s like the flu. You think you’re starting to feel better when suddenly your body revolts again.


JENNIFER AND JONATHAN   SPRING 2001

While many of you know our Jennifer, only the people closest to us or who have known us a long time know much about our other child Jonathan or of his constant and intense battle with addiction. It wasn’t that we were embarrassed that he was our son (even though his behavior and choices were often quite embarrassing). It’s just that he stayed in Portland and we didn’t always know the Portland Jon. Frankly, we fervently hoped for the day he could beat this, which appeared to be closer than ever, and we could shout it from the rooftops together with him. I’ve told him that three months sobriety was equal to a college degree in my eyes. The things we rejoiced in looked way different in our little family. Knowing he wasn’t sleeping on the street was a good day for us. Hearing he was still alive after another severe beating brought us to our knees one more time. I haven’t been able to say it outloud or even bear to think it because it’s not the outcome I wanted for my boy, but I hope I will soon be able to rejoice that his suffering is over. He put up a really good fight. I was amazed at his strength, that he was able to pull himself up by his boot straps each day and give it one more try.

We are finalizing plans for a memorial here in Indianapolis and I hope to have that information soon.  His friends in Portland are having theirs on the 14th.  We all need to share how Jon made us laugh and how much we will miss him. 

When we are too weak to pray, your prayers and kind messages are the strength we need to put one step in front of another. One of my Facebook friends grew up in Nashville with my kids and sent me this note.  I thought of all my fabric friends:

I pray that the strength that has sustained you these many years comes to wrap you up like a big quilt and carry you until you are strong again.


MAKING ME LAUGH