Jason Surks, 19, Prescription Drugs

Last Updated: Friday, August 17, 2018

As told by his mother

Jason SurksI worked for a community-based substance abuse prevention agency and so did my son, Jason. Jason knew the dangers. We believed that he was not using drugs—we talked about it often. I was so convinced that he was not using that it became a sort of joke between us—as he would leave home at the end of a weekend, I would frequently say, “Jason, don’t do drugs.” “I know, Mom,” he would say, “I won’t.” But he did.

When Jason was a little boy, he’d lie about little things. When he was seven years old and swore he had taken a shower, even though the tub was completely dry. He got caught in lies like that all the time, but as he grew into a young man we talked about it and he said he realized how silly it all was. I was convinced he had outgrown it. In December of his sophomore year in college, I realized he had not.

Jason was the kind of person people were drawn to. He made friends easily and had a great sense of humor. He was a caring person and a loving son who respected his family. He was helpful around the house and in the winter he always shoveled our neighbor’s walk.

Jason was finishing the first semester of his second year as a pre–pharmacy major at Rutgers University. Since his dorm was only 45 minutes away, he came home frequently on weekends, often to work at the pharmacy where he had a job since high school. On Sunday, December 14, I remember saying goodbye to him at our front door. As I often did, I put my hand on his cheek. I loved the scruffy feel of his stubble – it reminded me my little boy was growing up. I caressed Jason’s cheek and told him I loved him.

The morning of December 17, my husband called me at work. Jason was in the emergency room and we should get there as soon as we could.

When we arrived at the hospital emergency room, we were referred to as “the parents,” and ushered into a private office. We asked to see Jason, but were told we had to wait to speak to the doctor.

Apparently, Jason had been abusing prescription drugs and had overdosed.

In speaking with dozens of Jason’s friends after his death, we learned his abuse of prescription drugs may have started after he began college, and apparently escalated the summer before he died. I know he believed he was being safe.

We learned that he researched the safety of certain drugs online and how they react with others. As a pre-pharmacy major, maybe he felt he knew more about these substances than he actually did. We also learned that he had visited several online pharmacies and ordered drugs from one Mexican pharmacy online. We found records that this pharmacy automatically renewed his order each month.

I think back to the last several months of my son’s life, trying to identify any signs I might have missed. I remember that sometime during his first year at Rutgers, I discovered an unlabeled pill bottle in Jason’s room. I took the pills to my computer and identified them as a generic form of Ritalin. When I confronted Jason, he told me he got them from a friend who’d been prescribed the medication. He wanted to see if they would help him with his problem focusing in school. I took that opportunity to educate him on the dangers of abusing prescription drugs and told him that if he really thought he had Attention Deficit Disorder, we should pursue this with a clinician. He promised he would stop using the drug; he even called the counseling office to make an appointment for an evaluation.

The only other sign I can remember is that one weekend when Jason was home I passed him in the kitchen and noticed that his eyes looked odd – his pupils were as small as pinpoints. I confronted him right there and then, asked him if he was “on something.” He said, “No, what’s wrong?” and went over to a mirror to see what I was talking about. He said that he didn’t know what was wrong – maybe it was because he was tired. I was suspicious, but his behavior was perfectly normal, so I let it go.

My son Jason made a difference in the world for 19 years, and he will keep making a difference now. By continuing to share his story, I hope to help other families avoid the kind of tragedy my family has suffered.


Taylor Hooton

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