RANIER - It seemed like a normal Tuesday.
Kris Lessard was enjoying a morning of running errands and shopping Aug. 13, 2013, in downtown Washington D.C. before hopping on a bus back to her rental home in Alexandria, Va., seven miles outside the city.
As she got off the bus, she recalls noticing a missed call on her cell phone.
The call changed her life.
It came from her son Derek's employer, who told her not to be alarmed, but he hadn't shown up for work the last two days.
“I knew right away he was dead,” Kris told The Journal last week from her home along the Rainy River.
Derek had a history of drug use and Kris and her husband, Tim, who was working in Alaska for the summer, were aware of the 26-year-old's struggle with addiction.
Shaking with fear, Kris tested her motherly intuition and took a taxi to Derek's apartment.
“We were going over a bridge and I could see a boy running,” Kris recalls, her voice in a low whisper. “He had his back to me and I was sure for a minute it was Derek. But it wasn't.”
The ride to Derek's building brought a whirlwind of fear and anxiety, Kris said. When she arrived, the building manager let her in to her son's D.C. studio apartment. At first, everything seemed normal. Derek was laying on his bed, fully clothed, his back to the door. His clothes were neatly ironed and set out for work, the apartment was clean and peaceful. A syringe sitting on a bedside table was barely noticeable.
“It looked like he was sleeping,” she said. “I even said to him, 'Derek get up, you gotta get to work.'”
But when Kris reached out and touched her son, she recoiled. His body was cold and stiff, and his skin was gray.
“It hit me he was dead,” she said, fighting back tears. “He overdosed on heroin.”
That day replays in Kris' mind like a broken record every day, all day – engraved into her memory.
“I was mad at him,” she admitted. “I was so mad.”
Kris, a former U.S. Customs and Border Patrol International Falls port director, spent the rest of the afternoon in a neighbor's apartment crying, making calls and breaking the news to family and friends.
“I wasn't alone,” she said. “(My other son) Don and his partner were with me. It was so hard for all of us.”
Kris said her anger at Derek boiled within her months after his death. She struggled with nightmares and sleepless nights, until finally, she managed to find peace.
“I stayed mad at him until his birthday in January,” she said. “On his birthday, I wrote to him...telling him I couldn't be mad anymore. He hated when we were mad at him.”
No discrimination
The Lessard family learned drug addiction doesn't discriminate. Users aren't always uneducated, poor, immoral or bad people. Derek had a four-year college degree, came from parents who were both gainfully employed and have been married for more than 30 years, and he didn't have a criminal history. Kris and Tim said they assume Derek never intended to become an addict, yet naiveté and curiosity led him down the path that eventually claimed his life.
“His curiosity drove him right to the edge,” Kris said, shaking her head. “He thought he could handle it.”
Derek, a 2005 Falls High School graduate, left International Falls shortly after graduation to attend the University of Massachusetts Boston for a year before transferring to Georgetown University in Washington D.C. He had set his goals high.
“He wanted to be a hometown hero,” Kris said, glancing at a framed photo of her two sons - best friends - on her dining room table. “He wanted his poetry to be published.”
Derek was still very much a small-town boy who in 2008 confessed to his parents he was struggling with an addiction to prescription drugs.
“I wanted him to go to treatment right away,” Kris said. “But, he said he could handle it.”
The battle only intensified.
“He was under the wire there for a little while,” Tim, a longtime Ranier resident and pilot, said. “He had enough money to hold the bills back, but the debt on his credit card starting piling up.”
'Just a mess'
Kris boasted her children were her favorite people to be around and said she became frustrated when Derek's personality began to change – for the worse.
“We wouldn't hear from him for weeks,” she said. “The more he got into using drugs, the more distant he became.”
Tim said his son carried a lot of anger and would regularly pile blame for his hardships on those close to and around him.
In 2009, the family reunited in D.C. for Derek's college graduation. What should have been a joyful time to celebrate Derek's accomplishments was “just a mess.”
“We approached him again about getting help, but he insisted he could handle it,” Kris said. “There wasn't much we could do.”
Rock bottom
In 2010, Derek was unemployed, had no money, and was living in a “rough” neighborhood. He had drugs and trouble at his fingertips.
“He hit rock bottom,” Kris said.
Fearful any money they sent him would be spent on drugs, Kris and Tim would send boxes of food to their troubled son.
“We kind of cut him off,” Tim said.
Kris said she reached a point of such anger, she told Derek he was responsible for getting himself out of the mess he had created with his life. Looking back, she admits that advice may have been a mistake, but it ultimately may have led him to seek help.
Rebuilding
In fall of 2010, Derek made plans to spend a few weeks in his hometown – something he rarely did. Before arriving, Kris warned her son she'd be going through his luggage and if any drugs or paraphernalia was found, he would be on the next flight back to D.C.
Derek's luggage was clean, but he wasn't. Kris' brother stopped by the house one afternoon to find Derek using.
“My brother told me Derek needs help now,” Kris said. “He said Derek was either going to wind up in jail or dead.”
This time, Derek knew he bit off more than he could chew and began searching for rehabilitation centers in D.C. He found one on a Friday, however, it wouldn't admit him until the following Monday. In the meantime, Derek was told he must spend the entire weekend sober.
“I was on the phone with him for hours trying to keep him distracted,” Kris said. "He did it."
For the next 30 days, a determined Derek got help to live a clean, sober life. He kept a journal to pour his emotions into. The journal, Kris said, is full of anger – mostly with himself.
“It's torture to read,” Kris said. “It rips your heart out.”
A new beginning
The next three years had more ups than downs for the Lessard family. Kris and Tim felt their quirky, fun-loving son had returned.
“He was doing so good,” Tim said. “He finally got a job and moved to a better apartment. Things were going really good.”
Kris chimed in there were times he would slip, which she knew because they wouldn't hear from him for awhile.
“We never believed he was totally clean,” she said. “But he really was doing so much better.”
In April of 2013, Kris retired, after some hesitation, from her position with CBP and that July, she rented a home in Alexandria, Va., to be closer to her boys. Don had moved to the D.C. area earlier that year to pursue his education.
“We had so much fun,” Kris said of the weekend afternoons she and her sons would spend laughing together at a barbecue or exploring a new museum. The three of them spent almost every weekend together, except for one in August.
“I got a hold of Derek late one Sunday afternoon asking if he still wanted to get together," Kris said, as the smile of good memories began to fade from her face. “He said it was getting too late and we should put it off. I'm so sorry I didn't insist we get together. I think he died that night.”
Regret and hope
Kris and Tim believe Derek's addiction started in high school with alcohol and marijuana. Looking back, Kris said she didn't know he would escalate to using heroin.
“We found out he had only been using heroin for about six months before he died,” she said.
The couple lives with a lot of good memories of their son, but they share regrets, too.
“I wish I would have acted a little quicker,” Kris said about getting Derek help. “(Addiction) may start with something like alcohol or marijuana, but you never know when someone will progress.”
As a mother, Kris urges parents to be aware of potential warning signs and reach out to their children about the dangers of drugs and overdose.
“I should have talked to Derek more,” she said. “But it was hard. He had a lot of trouble communicating and acknowledging his feelings – he could write them down, but he couldn't talk about it. He used drugs as an escape.”
In addition, Kris explained she would have better conveyed to Derek she and Tim would have done anything and everything to help him.
“As parents, we should have known what resources are out there,” she said. “If kids come to adults they trust, please, be a resource for them. Don't judge them.”
Moving forward
The couple are hopeful their story will encourage other families struggling with a drug addiction to seek help before it's too late.
“We need to congratulate and celebrate people who are in recovery because it is such an accomplishment,” Kris said. “They are fighting the good fight and they are winning. It gives the rest of us hope.”
As she looks around the home where her son grew up, Kris said she is overcome with sadness he will never walk the halls there again.
“I have this feeling with every day that goes by, he gets further and further away,” she said, tears again welling in her eyes. “We don't know yet how to live the rest of our lives without Derek. What we do know is the love and support from families and friends means more than they know. We just don't want Derek to be forgotten.”
