My nightmare began in the evening of June 1994 when I casually answered my phone, and received this disturbing message: “Hello my name is Damion Pecko. I am with the American Embassy in Mexico City. I am sorry to tell you that your son John Willis

John's headshot - before becoming a drug dealer.

has been arrested.”

My heart sank into the pit of my stomach as I fell into the chair next to me. My mind was spinning, unable to comprehend what the voice was saying. He gave me a great deal of information; how to write to my son and how to get money to him through the Embassy. My life, as I knew it, was shattered and lost forever.

The pain of being raised in a dysfunctional alcoholic family had driven John into a whirlwind of self-indulgent, destructive behavior. He left a good paying job as a heavy equipment operator, to work as a bouncer in nightclubs and doing security work for rock groups. These career moves allowed John to drink, do drugs, chase girls and get paid for it. Before he realized the full scope of what he was getting into, he was being groomed to become an international drug smuggler. His bad choices finally all merged and he was running drugs all over the world.

This career ended abruptly when he was arrested in Mexico in 1994.  He

John as a young boy

was carrying China white heroin. John was taken to a large prison right outside of Mexico City; he was one of three Americans to 3000 Mexican inmates. He spent the next five-and-a-half years struggling to survive and make sense of his life. In prison his drug addiction reached levels difficult for me to believe. John had sunk to an all-time low, spending all the money I sent to him on drugs, selling his personal belongings for drugs, even selling food -- all for drugs. When he wanted more, he asked the dealers for credit and got it. He was caught in a viscous cycle hating his drug addiction and fearing the drug dealers who killed people for not paying their bill; but this didn’t stop him. The conditions are far worse than any parent could ever imagine. My sweet child living was like an animal – the prison was filthy and unsafe -- and no one cared. Every time he felt he wanted to quit, they would give him free drugs to get him hooked again and again. 

I took my

A great photo of John

first trip to Mexico City in August of 1994. In reality it far surpassed my worst nightmare. The prison was filthy dirty, the bathrooms were overrun with garbage and urine; soiled paper filled the floors. It was like they did not know how to use the toilet.

I left that prison that day with a broken heart, I sobbed uncontrollably all the way to the airport. John looked like a lost little boy as I looked back at him. The guilt I felt was overwhelming. I felt completely responsible for my son’s problem. It is hard to leave your son in another country, surrounded by cruel men who obviously hated him and me.

From there, things went from bad to worse. We spent thousands and thousands of dollars on lawyers who never followed through with their promises after they were paid. My hands were tied at every turn as I struggled to get help for my son. Hopelessness began to take over as John continued to fall further down the dark empty hole of his addiction. The drug lords ran

John growing up

the prison and there was no protection from any of the guards or even the director who were all paid by the dealers. They just didn’t care. If the drug bills were not paid they would simply torture the inmate and eventually kill him with the help of the guards. But, before they killed them they would be dragged to the phone and demanded to call their family to wire money to the drug lords. If the family complied, they would let them live until the next time.

John sold everything he got his hands on to pay for his drugs. I went to Mexico every two months loaded down with things I thought he would love. I hoped a new shirt, or an expensive pair of shoes or jeans would make him feel good enough about himself to want to quit using drugs. I tried so hard to fix the outside, and makes things okay for him. He was 6’4” and weighed 230 pounds when he was arrested. In prison he was down to 160 lbs. He was dying; I could see it in his eyes. When I got there for a

Young John

visit he stood in a pair of flip flops and shorts, his bones sticking out everywhere, it was all he had left, he had sold everything else – his mattress, clothes, food. By now I began to openly pay the drug bills trying to keep him alive long enough to get him out of there and back home. It was the lie I told myself to keep me from facing the truth. It would be just be too hard to say no, I know all the books say you are not to enable, BUT this was DIFFERENT -- or so I told myself.

We were now into the third year of this nightmare. It became clear to me that I needed to say no to John and the drug bills even if it meant his death. I did not know if I was strong enough to follow through and stand my ground, but I knew it was a life or death situation for my son. He was sure to die if I did not take a stand against drugs. I knew it was time for the fear in me to be broken and it was the hardest thing I have ever done. Ten times a day my mind would tell me my son was going

John, 18 yrs old before leaving for the marines

to die in that Mexican prison; that he was never coming home. It felt much like going to my son’s funeral 10 to 20 times a day. I wept bitterly as I fought the fear of saying NO. My mind would scream louder and louder into my ear, he is a drug addict and he’s going to die in that Mexican prison!

This was the hardest two years of my life for that’s how long the process took. At first John hated me for saying no. He screamed, cried, manipulated, lied and tried all the things that had worked in the past. I had spent the last three years learning all I could about codependency and setting boundaries. I knew I had to stick to my guns.

I had to threaten the American Embassy with CNN news to enlist their help. I told them that they knew I knew how things ran in that prison, I told them it would make a great story in the States. They reluctantly helped to put pressure on the prison to let John exercise his right as an American citizen to transfer to

John and mom at marines graduation

America. If the truth were known they would no longer receive money the United States.

The day finally came when John was released. He came home on the plane with eight other American boys all under 23 from Mexico, all addicted to heroin. He said it was a very hard ride home, as these boys went into withdrawal on the plane.

He has been home for three-and-a-half years and he has been drug-free for three-and-a-half years. It is a miracle every day to watch him grow in his sobriety.

If the parent cannot change, then there is no hope of changing the child’s future. I see this everyday working with parents of drug addicts. They don’t want to leave their own comfort zone.

The only thing that stopped John is when God gave me the courage to finally say no and stick to it. When asked today what helped him most in his personal battle against drugs, John says, “My mom finally said no -- and Godly intervention.”