Jason struggled with addiction for five years. We tried everything we could, but even after long-term rehab eventually he used again. Jason took LSD on February 28, 1998 after leaving my house. He was having a very bad trip (hallucinations) and tried calling home for help but I had gone fishing with friends. He told his little sister he was in hell. Within minutes my daughter called me where I was and told me but by the time I reached Jason he had already been taken to the trauma center. Jason dove out the third story window of his apartment building to escape whatever it was he thought he saw. The doctor would tell me later that night that Jason had ruptured his spleen, broken his shoulder, crushed his lungs, and then he said, "Your son's skull was shattered like an egg dropped on concrete". Those words haunt me a thousand times a day as do the images, and they will till the day I finally die and go to be with Jason. Jason never believed LSD could harm you if you knew what you were doing. He also told people to never take LSD when you are alone because of the risk of a "bad trip". He was with friends when he took it but then everyone left him alone knowing he was out of his mind. Now Jason is forever gone from this life. I died that day, and 1000 times a day, everyday for the last four years and those to come. I suffer from post-traumatic stress and I grieve for him every moment of every day. "Grief is not a sign of weakness nor a lack of faith, it is the price of love..." --Unknown