Transforming Loss into Purpose: Honoring Jonathan

In 2017, I lost the person I thought I would spend my life with. Jonathan Christopher King died of an accidental drug overdose on June 8th, after a long battle with addiction. The reality of his death is devastating, and no possible reason can justify the loss of this compassionate young man who had so much to give to the world.

The Man Behind the Memory

Wherever Jonathan went, people loved him. He was passionate about helping others—working with adults with intellectual disabilities, as well as those suffering from addiction and mental health struggles. He understood what it meant to fight, to struggle, and to keep showing up.

The disease of addiction is merciless. It is up to us to open our hearts and minds to those who are still sick and suffering.

From Professional to Personal

I had been working in substance use treatment and public health for years before Jonathan died. I knew the statistics. I understood evidence-based treatment. I had coordinated care for hundreds of people seeking recovery. I thought I understood addiction.

But Jonathan's death transformed my understanding from professional to profoundly personal.

When you love someone struggling with addiction, you learn things textbooks cannot teach you:

• That willpower is not enough
• That loving someone cannot save them
• That relapse is not failure—it is part of many people's journeys
• That the person underneath the addiction is still there, still fighting
• That hope and heartbreak can exist in the same moment

What Jonathan Taught Me

Jonathan's writings and his approach to life continue to guide this work. In one of his reflections, he wrote:

"To accept death is truly what it means to live. Nothing is infinite and nothing is forever... No matter what each person's faith or beliefs are, we all have one thing in common—we are human. We all make mistakes, but we also have the capability to be loved and free from pain... so if you struggle with the concept of a God or a higher power, let your fellow man be your spirituality. Find the common ground instead of what is different."

These words—written during one of his treatment experiences—remind me that recovery is about finding balance and meaning, not perfection.

The Fight He Wanted

Jonathan does not want us to cry for him. He wants us to fight for him.

Every resource on this site, every reflection exercise, every tool for recovery carries his spirit forward. If these materials help even one person find their path, reconnect with hope, or support someone they love, then his memory lives on in the most meaningful way possible.

A Poem for Kim (Written by Jonathan, April 23, 2013)

During one of Jonathan's many struggles, he wrote this poem that I return to often:

Have you ever had words you've heard a million times finally resonate within? This is what happens so many times you talk my friend. We never walked the line but look at us now. Everything's so fine. I've heard of blessings in disguise, and I have to say I have not, I'm blind not to recognize one in those eyes. The years have been hard but kind. Keep your head up and use that beautiful mind. When you stray from your path, hopefully I can be there to help in the dark. Fair weather friend I'm not, I'm happy not to be perfect, but we've got a lot. I've heard people say to "keep your head up" no matter what. You're everything they're not.

This Is How We Honor Him

Jonathan's words—both his writings about recovery and his personal poem reminding me to "keep your head up"—continue to guide this work. Every resource here, every reflection exercise, every tool for recovery carries his spirit forward. If these materials help even one person find their path, reconnect with hope, or support someone they love, then his memory lives on in the most meaningful way possible.

The disease of addiction took Jonathan from us, but it does not get to have the final word.

This is the fight he wanted. This is how we honor him.

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If you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, please reach out for help. The SAMHSA National Helpline is available 24/7 at 1-800-662-HELP (4357). You are not alone.