There are moments in life so raw, so painful, they leave you breathless. Last Friday night, my world shifted forever when my sweet son, Matheson, went to be with Jesus.

He was only here for a season, but in that time, he filled my life with love. And even in his final days, he left behind a message — a heartfelt letter he wrote to me just one day before he passed. It was a letter about addiction, about his struggle, about his heart.

I feel compelled to share it, because while addiction carries stigma, it doesn’t discriminate. It can affect anyone — sons, daughters, fathers, mothers. And behind the struggle is often a person who despises what the addiction is doing to themselves and to the people they love.

Matheson was that person. He was my son. He loved God. He had John 14:6 tattooed on his side, a constant reminder of his faith: “I am the way and the truth and the life.” And even in his hardest days, he was still searching for peace.

This is the letter he wrote to me.

Matheson’s Letter

“Mom,

First off, I want to say I’m really sorry. I know those words might not mean much right now, but I promise with all my heart that I truly regret my choices and wish things were different. I have a disease, a mental illness. It’s not an excuse, and I don’t want it to be, but my brain just doesn’t function normally when I’m caught in the grip of addiction. I was feeling good mentally and spiritually, but once I gave in to that intense rush, I was lost. I didn’t want to get high again because of the shame, but when temptation struck again, I was too vulnerable and weak. The things I’ve done and ruined make me want to scream and cry because it feels so out of control, and I wish I could change everything.

In the grip of addiction, I can’t stop on my own, no matter how hard I try. The rush brings me a false sense of peace amidst my shame, even though I know it only makes things worse. I can’t stand to think about how I’ve lied to you and made you feel foolish. Just know that hurting you pushed me to make the difficult decision to seek rehab to regain my life.

I feel miserable thinking about how my actions affect you, and I hope you believe me when I say I’m truly sorry and love you so much! I’m in a tough spot right now, and I know the only way out is to put myself in a place where drugs aren’t accessible for a while. Whether it’s jail or a rehab facility, I know rehab is the better option. It’s a positive environment focused on healing, and I just need some time to remember how much better life is without chasing that high.

My relationship with God is real. I believe wholeheartedly in His goodness and love for me. But the high I chase is so powerful and deceptive, consuming my thoughts and emotions, leading to more shame that only fuels the fire.

I don’t want this to be my life; I truly believe that. I know what my life looks like when I’m not addicted. It’s frustrating that I gave in this time, especially after being clean for so long. Life’s stresses got to me, and I didn’t think one time would lead to this chaos. From this experience, I hope to take away a clearer understanding that there’s no such thing as “one time” or moderation for me. When I’m chasing the high, it takes over my thoughts, leaving no space for anything else.

I don’t like what I’m doing; I hate it both during and after. It feels like I’m trapped, unable to stop chasing that high. Once the high is back in my life, everything else seems depressing and impossible to face. I hope you can see the truth in what I’m saying because the lies I tell and the hurt I cause are not who I really am. When I’m not in addiction, I couldn’t imagine deceiving you like this. Drugs have led me to do things that make it hard to look at myself sometimes, and right now, I can’t bear to face the person I’ve been these past few days.”

A Mother’s Heart

When I read his words, my heart broke — but it also swelled with pride. In the middle of his pain, Matheson still had the courage to be honest. He was trying to reach for help. He wanted his story to mean something.

I want his story to mean something too.

Addiction is not a moral failure. It is not a simple bad choice. It’s a battle, one that people fight in their bodies and minds every day. It’s a disease that can overwhelm even the strongest faith, the deepest love. And yet, inside those fighting it, there is often a person still yearning for goodness, still fighting for a future, still reaching for God.

Matheson knew he was loved. He knew I was fighting for him, even when I couldn’t save him. In the end, I had to surrender him to God and trust that God’s plan was bigger than mine. I truly believe he has found peace now.

If you have someone in your life battling addiction, please — read Matheson’s letter. Hear his words. Approach them with compassion, not judgment. Let them know they are loved. Let them know you see the person beyond the addiction.

I don’t share this to reopen my own wounds, but because Matheson’s voice deserves to be heard. He may no longer be here with us, but his words can still reach hearts. They can still save someone else’s son or daughter.

And that is how I honor him.