Editor’s note: Dylan “Jhase” Thompson of Ragland passed away in November of last year of a heroin overdose. He was 18 years old.

His mother, Aprille Thompson, has been on a mission ever since. 

To prevent others from experiencing the same tragedy, Aprille advocates for two main things in her ongoing crusade—awareness and self-education.

She has addressed local law enforcement, area churches and the Ragland City Council on the gravity of the community’s drug problem. Her and Jhase’s story has been covered by several local media outlets, and picked up nationally.

Now in the midst of high school prom season with graduation around the corner, Aprille reflects on missed opportunities, memories and moving forward. 

Her message remains simple: There is a problem. You need to know about it. And this is why.

Here is Jhase’s story—in Aprille’s own words. 

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I am so proud of our (Ragland High School) seniors dressing up in pretty clothes and heading off to the infamous Senior Prom—yet it has been bittersweet for me.

My heart secretly hurts at the thought of Jhase not being there. No tuxedo, no corsage for his special date, no limo ride.

Part of me places the proper blame on him because of the choices he made. Part of me feels guilty because I wasn’t able to protect my son—my baby—from the evil of this world that took his life.

I never knew how bad the drug problem in our country was—and continues to be—until Jhase lost his battle with heroin. My heart hurts for those still fighting.

My heart cries for those who belong to this ridiculous club I was thrown in to against my will—the “We Lost A Child Club.” 

LOOKING BACK

Jhase was a fantastic person—if you knew him, I don’t have to tell you that.

Everyone should have gotten a chance to know him; sometimes I find myself feeling so prideful.

He was, beyond doubt, the kindest person I have ever met. He had the gentlest soul I’ve ever known. He was caring, loving, meek and humble. And he never met a stranger in his life.

He was not only a great kid, he was so much help to me. He would do the grocery shopping for us every week. He could cook a fantastic meatloaf and chili. He would always cook something for our monthly fellowship meetings at church. One of our members, Jerri Sue Brannon, is known for the delicious dishes she brings on fellowship night. Jhase was in competition with her at times with his meatloaf. Mrs. Brannon told me once she thought his was better than hers.

In his 18 years on this earth, he was never defiant with me – until he became addicted to heroin.

Looking back over the short time he lived, I can think of very few times he didn’t have smile on his face. In fact, at this exact moment, I struggle to remember times that he was ever sad.

I can just think about him and that smile, and my heart fills with joy—but it’s so short lived.

UNFINISHED PLANS

I remember a conversation I had with him at the end of the school year last year. We were talking about the upcoming senior year. I jokingly asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up.

“I want to be everything, mom”—I can still hear his voice.

He wanted to play college football, he wanted to be a writer, a musical engineer, a chef, a model (he said he has swagger, lol), a high school coach, a philosopher, a forensic scientist, an artist and most notably—a beach bum on the sandy white shores of Panama City, Florida.

He honestly planned to spend the summer of 2017 living in Panama City, working nights, at perhaps the local Waffle House, and spending his days by the beach or in the pool of some cheap motel he could rent by the week.

He even asked me if his plans didn’t unfold the way he hoped, would I send him gas money to get home?—I miss him terribly.

There are no words to describe how much I miss his face, his voice, and the silly little way he would call me “mommy” when he knew he was on my last nerve. More times than not, it achieved what he was wanting—me to smile and not be mad anymore.

I don’t question God’s reasons for taking Jhase. After all, Jhase was never mine. He was a gift—a gift that God allowed me to have for 18 glorious years. When I begin to feel sadness, I think about those who had far less time with their children and I thank God for every second of Jhase’s life that I got to share with him.

FINDING A NEW “NORMAL”

His death has been a life changer for me. My life will never be what it was when he was here. I struggle to find my new “normal.”

He was such a dreamer; he saw life so differently that I did. I’ve always been rough around the edges, to say the least.

Since his death, I’ve tried to mirror the things I so admired in my son. The way he saw the good in everyone, the way he wasn’t afraid to be different and unique, his awesome personality and that beautiful smile he had—it was breathtaking.

I have such a passion for the kids in Ragland. I hope they have listened to the story of his death. I hope they will take it to heart.

I tell his story not to keep Jhase’s name heard, but in hopes that it will cause someone to become aware of the reality that drugs kill—that just one use can cause you to become addicted, and that addiction will be the darkest hell you will ever face on this earth.

The heroin epidemic is destroying a generation made up predominantly of young white males ages 18-25.

Statistics report that only 2 percent of heroin addicts ever beat their addiction. The only complete defense against this drug is to simply never try it.

Awareness and self-education are the best weapons we have to fight. 

LOOKING FORWARD

I’ve written the things about Jhase that were on my heart to share with you. 

I plan to go to (Ragland High School’s) graduation in May. My prayers have been that God will give me the strength to go and be there with joy in my heart. I know so many of those kids that are graduating. I’m so very proud of them all—the ones I know, and the ones I don’t know.

Their outpouring of love when Jhase died was so special. I’ve had more calls, emails, texts, and messages than I can even count. I love when someone shares a picture of him that I’ve never seen. I’ve got a lot of comfort from them and the stories they’ve shared with me about Jhase.

But the greatest comfort I’ve had since the morning Jhase passed is knowing that he is living in heaven. I know when it’s time for me to go, I’ll see my son again. Beyond that, I know God is walking with me every day, some days even carrying me, and will give me the strength to bare my heartache until that day comes.

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For information and resources on drug abuse and addiction, visit the National Institute of Drug Abuse (NIDA) website at www.drugabuse.gov or call (301) 443-1124.