Rewriting pain into healing: A father, a son and the journey to recovery

In his memoir “Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing,” Matthew Perry recalled three words written on a rehab wall: Discover. Uncover. Discard. For him, they became a road map for recovery.

For me, those same words came alive during a long drive with my son, Jarrett. After nights on Chicago’s trains and years lost to addiction, he now helps others escape the same fate. His story is personal, but also part of a much larger crisis facing our communities.

Seven years ago, Jarrett and I drove to Iowa to pick up our new golden retriever, Murphy. I told him I wanted to use the 10-hour trip for an honest conversation about his addiction — how it began, what he endured and what he had learned after years of failed recoveries.

I mostly listened. Silence hung heavy. Then a thunderstorm swept across the plains, forcing us to shelter under an overpass. The storm outside mirrored the one inside our car.

Jarrett described how drinking in high school seemed harmless, how OxyContin for a college injury opened the door to stronger drugs, and how heroin eventually took hold. My heart sank — sadness for his struggles, heartbreak at the toll addiction had taken.

Years earlier, my wife, Sue, had prayed: “God, take him to the lowest point but don’t let him die from drugs.” Her words echoed in my heart as Jarrett recounted his descent.

He told me about the nights he had nowhere left to go. After being kicked out for stealing, he drifted between CTA stations and overnight trains. On one ride to O'Hare, two business travelers quietly moved away from him. When I asked why, he said softly, “I think it’s because I was dirty and smelled bad.”

That sentence tore me apart. No father wants to imagine his child reduced to that kind of shame. Yet it was also the moment Jarrett began to see himself clearly — and to want something different. Soon after, he entered treatment.

That decision was fragile, a flicker I feared would fade. But this time was different. Jarrett began discarding the lies of addiction: that he could control it, that he was beyond help, that no one cared.

By 2019, after 20 years of struggle, he discovered a truth that set him free: when we truly listen, others can speak the words that save us.

For me, the lesson was clear: love listens. It doesn't fix or lecture; it stays present, even in the storm.

Jarrett’s story unfolds against a sobering backdrop. In Cook County, an estimated 1,540 opioid overdose deaths occurred in 2023 — nearly 90% involving fentanyl. In 2024, the number was again more than a thousand deaths.

And yet, there is hope. In DuPage County, overdose deaths fell 24% in 2023 — from 150 to 114. Since 2013, the Narcan program has recorded more than 1,400 overdose reversals. Each one represents not just a life spared, but another chance for redemption.

Jarrett is one of those stories. His recovery led him into service. Today he is a Certified Recovery Support Specialist at Serenity House Counseling Services in Addison and coordinates the Recovery Oriented System of Care (ROSC) in DuPage and Kane counties. He has helped install Narcan access points, including DuPage County’s first 24/7 free vending machine in Glendale Heights, and he has brought recovery services into jails.

As a father, watching Jarrett sink into addiction was like reliving a nightmare. I grew up as the child of an alcoholic, carrying the pain and confusion that life brings. To see my son walk the same road was almost unbearable — a generational echo I prayed would end with me.

And yet Sue’s prayer was answered. God did take Jarrett to the lowest point, but he did not die there. He lived. He listened. He rose.

Recently, I found a letter Sue and I wrote to him back in 2013: “Asking for God’s help will make your path easier if you will just ask.” Looking back, those words became true in ways we could never have imagined.

Witnessing Jarrett’s recovery and transformation into a leader who helps others is one of the greatest gifts of my life. Where I once saw only the cycle of addiction, I now see redemption. His story shows that pain can be rewritten into healing.

But his story also reminds us of the stakes. In Cook County, opioid overdoses now claim more lives than homicides and traffic deaths combined. Behind every number is a son, a daughter, a parent, a friend.

That is why recovery work — listening, compassion, access to treatment and tools like Narcan — matters. It saves lives, restores families and keeps hope alive.

For anyone walking through addiction — or any parent living in fear — Jarrett’s story proves there is always a way forward. Discover what is real. Uncover what lies beneath. Discard what no longer serves. And never give up on redemption.

But stories alone aren’t enough. Each of us has a role to play — supporting treatment, backing local organizations, carrying Narcan, and ending stigma. If we act together, more sons and daughters will find recovery.

The crisis is urgent — but so is the hope.

• Keith Burton, a Geneva resident and former public relations executive, is the author of “Shadows of Sobriety.” He writes on leadership, resilience, and recovery.