Who Was John To You? A Birthday Blog . . .With A Unexpected Twist.

Happy 26th Birthday, John Ryan😢

John, sharing his humor.  He always had us laughing.

Today would be John's 26th birthday. So, I thought I would share some of the sentiments and stories about who John was to the people who knew him and/or loved him, or us. Mostly from the sentencing, but some sent in messages. Many of you have told me you've enjoyed getting to know John through my writing and I appreciated hearing who John was to so many of you - hearing your perspective. So here goes. Keep reading after that for an update on the plea agreement, sentencing, and victim impact statements from January 14th.

Who was John to you?

John was the Best-man in three weddings by the time he was 24 – and probably would have been the best man in several more, had time allowed.  I lost track of how many people said John was their best friend.  He was also a Godfather,  and loved by many dogs, all over the country.

John was (it’s still difficult to use past tense verbs) one of the most incredible people I have ever gotten to know.  He was so funny, loved fiercely, was as stubborn as a mule, and made you feel as valuable as you are.  Honestly, I can’t begin to describe him with words.  I have never and never will meet someone like him.

In uniform, there was nothing John didn’t succeed in, even shooting top Stryker gunner in our battalion.  He got me through some very dark times in my life and I could go to him no matter what time of the day or night it was.  For those talks and that compassion from him, I honestly owe him my life.  He has done more for more than anyone and I’ll bet he never even knew it.  My first born will be named after him and I promise you he will hear of the kind-hearted, inspiring origin of where his name came from.  If he grows to be half the man John was, I will be one very proud father.

John was kind, hilarious, smart and handsome. He was strong, protective and loyal. He was a great teacher, and always put the needs of others above his own.  He was also more sensitive than most would probably know.  

John was like a son to me.  Protection was a passion in John’s life.  He could be quiet at times, but when John spoke, it was essential to listen closely because everything he said had value.  I spoke to him on the phone the day before he died, and he was upbeat, happy and simply excited about life.

John was a bright light in a social setting, a warm inviting soul when you thought you had no one, a caring devoted man to his friends, family, and his religion. We were roommates and best friends in the Army.  Over time I came to know one of the greatest men I had ever met.  As a soldier he was devoted, and he loved what he did.  Fearless, eager, and calm.  If he wasn’t lending a helping hand to everyone and anyone that asked, he was ensuring that he never let anyone down.  If John gave you his word that something was happening, you knew you could count on him. John was more to me then a friend, he was the brother I always wanted. The brother that I got to choose.  I will forever have a hole in my life where once I believed I was a whole person. I know that he is here with me, and that comfort guides me.  

John stood next to us as our best man on our wedding day. He adopted our first dog with us and she had a special eye for him when he would come to see her. John is one of the most genuine, special people I have ever met. He is intelligent, hilarious, handsome and always more concerned for the well-being of others over his own. The world lost a little light when we lost John. 

John, you will forever be remembered as a Man of God, a Son who loved his family more than anything, and a friend who would stand with you no matter what and even when nobody else would. When I first met John, I not only gained a brother, but I also gained a family.

  

John was truly the most caring, genuine, and thoughtful friend that anyone could have.  A few of the many great ways I can explain John and his personality traits would be his sense of humor, which was one that could change anyone’s day and he could get a laugh out of anyone. John had the biggest heart and wanted to help everyone around him in need, always placing others before himself. Once you told him something, you knew he would not tell anyone, and he would help you through your challenging times and be there to guide you. John had so much love and respect for those around him; he was there for any one day and night. If you ever needed someone to just listen to your heart and tell you some common sense, you would go to John. He had the personality of a big brother to me and he was always protecting me and checking in to ensure I was ok. John had so many achievements and the one that speaks so much about who he was is that he was an Army Veteran. He served his country with honor and truly placed others before himself. He was an intelligent young man and had such a bright future ahead of him. I will forever be proud of him and all of the sacrifices he’s made in life.

It takes more than a simple statement to describe the kind of person that John Schlegel was and how he made an impact on my life. The world will long remember John Schlegel, and the hearts he has touched. When I first heard the terrible news of John’s passing, I couldn’t believe that someone so amazing, so happy and full of life could have been taken away like that. John, to me, was my best friend and my brother during my years in the military.  John Schlegel is one of the best people to have ever been a part of my life and I am lucky enough to have called him my friend. I miss you brother.

John was my son’s best friend.  He wrote John a letter on the first anniversary of John’s death.  It took him three days and two boxes of Kleenex.  I miss his visits. If it wasn't for John, my son wouldn't be alive.  I'm angry that John is no longer with us.  

John was one of the kindest, most funny people I knew, and I want to thank you for raising such a good man.

The only time he didn’t have a smile on his face was when he knew it was time to become what he enjoyed being the most. The sheepdog.  When mission success was on the line you would look through the haze of the chaos and find this warrior stone-faced, ready to sort out the situation and get the job done with his .50 caliber machine gun.  Even the hard-assed Sergeant loved him.

He could talk to anyone about anything regardless of rank or social standing.  Because of that, I’m going to always try to do my best to be like that.  For him.  Because that’s what he would want for me. 

He never excluded anybody.  He was a positive, great person.  He saw it all before we even knew it.

He loved hearing of my successes.

I remember when we were at training in Louisiana. About 30 of us went into a restaurant at the same time and there was only one waitress working who was around 15 years old.  She started crying because she had never dealt with so many people at one time.  I think John left her a $70 tip because he felt bad for her.

He was good at every game we played. Seriously, everything.  The thing I liked the most about John was how great he was at including anyone and everyone and making them feel a part of the team.  John was cool, athletic, and good looking.  He was popular and he didn’t need to go out of his way to include others, but he did.  He would rally the troops, so to speak, and people wanted to follow him.  At an age where a lot of kids are very concerned about how they are perceived by their peers, John included the awkward kids that people turned away from.  I found that very impressive in a young man.

John used to come to the coffee shop where I worked. He would sit there for hours and help us.  We’d give him a headset and he would take orders, take out the garbage and even try to make a few drinks.  We would send him with money to get us supper!  He made it SO fun.  We all looked forward to the nights where he would be there.  Next to the free coffee, he was one of the best things about working there.

One thing I remember distinctly was how he would never throw anyone under the bus.  He always had your back.

John was a young man with the strength and values only a select few have today. He had the patriotism to want to protect our rights as Americans. It was very important to him. Even though I was old enough to be his grandfather, he and I were close friends. He loved his family enormously. His parents were not only parents but his heroes. He was looking forward to carrying on the traditions and values they set forth. My heart aches every time I think of his loss, but my soul smiles at the good we shared together. 

He was an extremely good-hearted man that truly would give you the shirt off his back.  He was always very respectful towards everyone, but never was he shy!  He was a family man that grew from distant to a brother.  I miss him.

How is it that John (laying in his casket) is still better looking than the rest of us?

John was the most loyal, funny, warm-hearted, open, caring, intuitive and incredible person I have ever gotten to know. John often talked about his faith and defended it through and through regardless of whom he was talking to.

We miss his smile, laugh and fun-loving spirit and presence.

We brought a birthday cake to the hospital the day John was born. We watched him grow from a sweet, funny little boy into the kind, caring, strong Christian young man he became. He was so proud to become a soldier.

John could sense when something was bothering me.  He would always stop me and look deeply into my eyes as if he could read the words on my heart through them.  He was by my side during some of the hardest days of my life.  I'll never be the same.

The Court Hearing

For those of you who might be new to this story/blog - our son died of a fentanyl overdose on November 4, 2017.  The "dealer" was charged with 3rd-degree murder and, after 14 months of hearings, meetings and investigation - we had our day in court on January 14th, 2019. We had agreed to a plea last November, so this hearing was the official sentencing and the victim impact statements.  The defendant ended up pleading guilty to 2nd Degree Manslaughter, and what I felt was literally my job for the last 14 months has finally come to a conclusion.  Yes, while it's a relief to have that all behind us, I can't say it brought any healing or closure to the areas in our heart that are missing John.  

We have a lot of questions that only John can answer, and we have a lifetime of missing him in our future. But it was an important step in the judicial process and I would encourage you to become involved should the need ever arise.  The people we worked with at the District Attorney's office were so very good to us. I cannot thank them enough.  They got to know our son through the process as well, and they ensured us they would not forget him.  The detective we worked with was also present.  He answered every question, checked in with us, and made a difficult situation much easier for us to navigate. We are blessed to have such compassionate and capable people working for Kandiyohi County.  I wonder if any of them can get me out of Jury Duty in February?  

I needed some time after the sentencing to digest the day, the last 14 months and my thoughts and emotions. We had been anticipating/dreading this "day in court" for months.  The courtroom was packed - and the words spoken about John, who he was, what kind of a friend he was, the man he was - it was overwhelming.  It was beautiful.  It was devastatingly hard.  It was sad.  Someone commented that it felt like the day of the funeral all over again - that they hadn't cried like that since that day. I wish I could say I hadn't cried like that for the last 14 months, but I understood the sentiment.  It was like a sequence of eulogies for John sprinkled with lots of admonitions for the defendant - but more grace than admonition I felt, and many tears for both of them. It truly was emotionally exhausting. 

I was humbled by the forgiveness shown to him by our people - the faith they expressed to him, and how they are all believing for him a better life and a changed future.  I think we all see this "sentence" as a possible gift for him.  A life-saving gift, should he choose to accept it.  I was also grateful for the honesty.  Not everyone is at the "forgiveness" point.  Some were angry.  Some lives have been doubly impacted by the defendant and it's going to take time to work through that.  There was one fatal overdose, but there were other overdoses that were non-fatal. 

At the sentencing, the defendant also gave a statement.  It was hard to watch him try and get his words out.  He was choked up, and he kept hitting his hand on the table as if trying to help his words find their way out.  I will only speak for myself and tell you that after 14 months of silence from the other side regarding John's death, it was good to finally hear a condolence.  Prior to that, I had only heard the defendant say that he and John were "close", and I felt like that was in direct contradiction to other statements I had heard from John and some of the people who knew him and/or the defendant.  

The types of stories I heard were not the types of behaviors one would expect from a close friend.  However, the defendant said in his statement that while John might not have considered him a good friend, the defendant did consider John his friend. I suppose it's hard to have true friends in his situation, and I guess I'm glad that John proved to the defendant that he was a good friend to him and that he was there for him in a time of need. That did not surprise me, as you can tell from the above stories about John, he always tried to be there for people.  

I wish I was given a copy of the defendant's statement.  I would like to give him the courtesy of really "hearing" him, because, by the time he and his father spoke, I was overwhelmed. The defendant's demeanor was believable, and it was hard to watch him struggle.  I am thankful that he did participate.  He certainly didn't have to. He owned his part in this tragedy.  And for that I thank him.  I truly do wish the young man the best.  He said at some point he'd like to sit down with us - and maybe someday we will.  In the meantime, I think I'm going to need some time to rest from the trauma of the last 14 months.

Well, this is unexpected . . . 

I was going to cut and paste a short paragraph here out of my Victim Impact Statement, and then I thought, what the heck, here is the whole statement. I'm sad. I miss John. It's his birthday. This is how I'll be feeling again today - so here is my truth. Here is how I was feeling during the hours I tried to write - tried to sum up in mere words - the impact your son's death has on you. Well, that's impossible. It was also impossible to see the screen through the tears.

_________________________________________________

Your Honor, The Court, Mr. Houske:

How has John’s death changed our lives?  It has devasted us totally and completely.  Our hearts broke that morning, finding our beautiful son lying dead in his bed.  His clothes laid out, his lunch packed, his thermal coffee cup ready to be filled.  It was supposed to be another day working on the farm, side by side with his dad, it was his dad’s lifelong dream to have a son to farm with. When we woke up, all those dreams died right along with John. 

To lose a child is the worst imaginable pain that a parent can endure.  To lose a child to fentanyl, an illegal drug, a drug so powerful, so deadly?  Incomprehensible. A drug so dangerous it could have killed the rest of us too if we had handled it improperly.  Unbelievable.  It’s all just so incredibly surreal that I still cannot wrap my head around it. I can’t believe John is gone.  I can’t say it out loud.  I dread a stranger asking how many children I have because I physically cannot say the words “my son died” without crying.  I feel like part of me is missing.  He was my baby.  I feel like it has been one long horrible nightmare and I keep begging God to wake me up. Hoping that maybe one day soon I’ll wake up and find out it is not true.  One minute he was telling us goodnight and that he loved us, and what seemed like mere minutes later, when we woke up on Saturday morning, November 4th – he was cold and lifeless, completely void of the spirit that made John - John, and he is never coming back.  Our lives changed that day, and we will never be those people again.  In losing him, we have also lost ourselves. 

John would have been 26 on January 25^th.  Just 11 days from today. He missed his golden birthday last year. No more birthdays, no wedding, no mother/son dance – which he had big plans for – he wanted his sister to choreograph it.  No little John’s running around, nothing.  His life ended that day, and much of ours with it.  The last time I saw him he was 24.  He’ll be 24 forever. It was too short, not enough time, he should have outlived us both.  But instead, if we want to see our son, all we have now are the pictures we are hoarding – or we can drive down to Olivia and sit on the bench that marks his grave. No more cooking meals with me or baking cookies.  No hugs, no jokes, no holidays. It all ended that day.  

I wouldn’t trade one minute of being John’s mom.  Staying at home and raising him and his sister was a gift. It was my job, my life. To lose half of my children overnight is almost more than I can bear most days.  

John was a 9-pound baby.  Those shoulders of his, much like yours Mr. Houske, were bigger than his head and I thought we were in trouble the day he was born.  But he was perfect.  Born right on his due date, with sideburns and black hair.  He was a good baby, a happy little boy, and a joy to raise.  We couldn’t have asked for a more loving son, generous with his hugs, his “I love you's”, and a little brother who adored his sister. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have done for her, had she asked him.  This has been a nightmare for her.  Literally.  She has nightmares, cannot sleep, she dreams of him being murdered, over and over again. She has lost her brother and her friend. They were always close, and now she has no siblings and her parent are broken.  She has a little one, born just a month and a half after losing her brother, that will never know her Uncle.  How he would have loved and protected his baby niece and she would have had him completely wrapped around her tiny little finger.  But that cannot be now.  

John loved to play with his army guys and tractors.  He would spend hours on the floor fighting battles or bringing in his “crops”.  He loved dogs and they loved him, being at the lake, hunting and fishing, and his family and friends.  We had hoped that one day he would take over the family farm.  We had plans for him, you see, like every parent does.  But first, his dream was to be a soldier. And he was a good one.  He excelled at it.  He wanted to serve his country since he was just a little guy. To defend the nation that he was so proud of.  

John was smart, funny, loyal and had a huge heart.  He was good at basically everything he tried.  He was always there for his friends, would drive miles and miles to sit with someone who was hurting, just to listen or give them one of his bear hugs.  He was cool in a crisis and wanted to be at your side in your trouble. His Army buddies said he was always the group counselor and a born leader.  He wanted them all to come to visit Minnesota.  To see where he grew up, his roots, his home.  He had a dozen t-shirts with Minnesota logo’s and once told his dad that his kids would have Kandiyohi County on their birth certificates.  This was his home and where he planned on raising his own family.  He would tell me that he would live close by me so that I could babysit for him, and I told him I’d love every minute of it.  We would talk about what his kids would look like, if they’d play hockey or football, and who they would be.

Maybe if the hockey injury on base had not happened, we wouldn’t all be here today – I don’t know.  But what I do know is. . .  that the loss of him?  It has changed all of our lives forever.  This loss we feel?  It literally takes our breath away.  At times we simply cannot breathe.  We cannot get air. We can’t fathom our lives without him in it.  To not have him here with us is the most painful thing I could never have imagined.  

I didn’t want to attend the court dates, Mr. Houske.  I didn’t want to be subjected to any more pain, to the dark underworld that is drug sales and addiction, to the nightmare of what happened to John. I didn’t want to learn about bindles and foam cones. About Narcan and overdoses, about heroin and fentanyl and addiction and withdrawal.  I didn’t want to have to research how an overdose takes a life, the cause of death, the way one dies.  To understand how John’s body shut down, how his breathing becomes shallow, how his lungs filled, and how he literally suffocated alone in his sleep. How the foam collected in his lungs and throat.  How he fell unconscious and never woke up.  Frankly, I didn’t want to be in the same courtroom with you.  You said in court that you and John were close – that isn’t the story he shared with me.  John said you were cocky, a salesman, and manipulative.   We all know that you owed John money and you knew that he was on disability from the Army and had a steady income.  You needed John’s money to fuel your own addiction, and you didn’t care.  You kept selling after John died.  You led others into addiction too, didn’t you?  

I was angry and filled with grief.  I thought John cannot be hurt anymore, and we are done with this thing called addiction. I wanted to be free of all of it, but, I knew that John would want me to help as many people as I could.  To help his friends.  Like he did.  I think you and I both know that you were given the opportunity to help a friend, or to you maybe he was just a customer, on a cold night in December –  back in 2016.  You refused to help when asked, but John did not refuse.  So, for John, I came to all the hearings to be his voice and his advocate. To tell his story, his truth, and to fight for him and to try to keep anyone else from dying.  To try to keep you from dying, Mr. Houske.  John’s wasn’t the last overdose due to the fentanyl you sold, two others succumbed, fortunately not fatally, right after John’s death, and had you not been arrested who knows how many more young people might have died.  I hope and pray that by your arrest and incarceration, that others lived - I hope that your arrest saves your own life.

What I wasn’t expecting that first time I came to court Mr. Houske, the first time I saw you in person, was to be reminded of John. I saw in you another young man who was injured.  Who had formed a dependency on opioids.  I saw a son, a young man around the same size as John, who had filled back out after spending some time in jail and having a healthier lifestyle, a young man who didn’t look quite as thin and as rough as that mugshot portrayed.  I saw John in a shorter haircut, in the raised eyebrows while you looked in agitation at the DA’s attorneys.  The big shoulders, much like the ones John was born with, the way you carried yourself.  The way you acted like you were uncaring and irritated, but probably just as sad and disappointed in yourself as John was in himself.   I saw a brother.  Another broken family.  I saw your parents and felt their pain.  I saw a family that has a chance to live a different life than us.  A family that can have their son restored to them. A family that has an opportunity that has been taken from our family.  I know that has to be the greatest desire of your parent's heart – to have you back.  To have you be whole, clean, happy, and free of the demons that are drugs.  To spend Christmas together one day in the not too distant future.  Something we will never do again

Like I said before, I realized that John cannot be hurt anymore.  He’s with Jesus.  He is safe. He is okay.  And while we will be sad, we will miss him, our lives will be forever changed, it doesn’t have to be that way for your family.  For you.  Your parents don’t have to bury their son, and you should do everything possible to keep them from hurting any more than they already have. I feel like I failed.  I failed John.  I wasn’t able to help him or keep him alive.  John is gone and I have to live with that, but so do you.  And it’s what you decide to do with that knowledge that is going to determine the future of your entire family.

I’ve readily agreed with less time, a lesser charge, and no trial – and I think we’ve been more than fair to you in this situation.  We were even willing to agree to the Alfred plea last summer. We’ve been fair in the process because I don’t think it’s the jail time that’s going to change your life and it’s not going to bring our son back.  I don’t think it’ll be any form of punishment that this court throws at you.  I think your success will be determined by your heart. Your heart has been hardened by your life choices and what’s happened to you, and this sentence can be what saves your life.  What softens your heart.  You’ve had some time to heal while you’ve been in jail this past year.  Time to be clean, to get your brain functioning correctly again.  Hopefully, time to see the damage you’ve caused by choosing to provide the hurting with the weapons of their demise.  We all know that John’s death wasn’t enough to stop you from selling the fentanyl that took his life.  In fact, I personally know of three, possibly four other overdoses caused by the drugs you sold.  I’m glad they made it.  I wish John had made it too.  I’m sure you are aware of much more than I – but I hope you see that in the end, when you stand before that throne of judgment, the blood of the lost will be on your hands unless you stop what you're doing and repent.  Unless you change your life.  Your path. 

I forgive you for your part in John’s death.  He wouldn’t want me to hold on to that bitterness or that judgment. He would want you to have a chance at life.  A chance he no longer has.  But, this time around, with this plea agreement, it was important to me that you admit your guilt.   That you take accountability.  Along with that accountability, I thought it only fair that you were asked to pay restitution for John’s funeral expenses and his headstone. Not your parents either, but you. That you own what you have done. What you have been doing for years and getting away with.  Don’t put that accountability on anyone else, but yourself.  Accept that you made horrendous mistakes.  No matter what led to the choices you’ve made, you still chose a path for yourself that hurt a lot of other people, and that will continue to hurt for as long as we all live.  

I will do whatever I can to see you healthy and whole.  To see your parents live without that gnawing fear of losing you. Of lying awake at night wondering if you are okay. I want to see you live. It is my greatest hope that you will accept the treatment and counseling that the system has to offer you – and if I could have a say in what follows your prison sentence, it would be 13 months of supervised release taking place at Teen and Adult Challenge.   You have a chance at a new life.  Prison can make you a better criminal, or it can be the opportunity for you to change your life, to give you a new address for 28 short months, but 28 months that can completely change your outcome, if you’ll let it.  That’s what we are hoping and praying it will be for you.  A chance to be saved. I pray it will be a time of spiritual growth and reflection.  I hope you’ll keep John by your side, that you’ll live a life worthy of the one that has been taken from him.

Please don’t let us down.  Please take this gift that is being given to you and live.  Live a long and healthy life, get married and have kids, be a good son, love and honor your parents, be there for your sisters.  Get new friends, move away, do whatever it takes for your life to continue – but make it matter.  Do good.  Be the change.  Show others the way to freedom.  Decide who you are going to be and don’t veer from that path.  This community will not be so lenient if there is a next time. All eyes are on you.  While we are rooting for your survival, your success, we will not tolerate your illegal activities again.

You have a chance to make this right – to save the lives of others who might stray down this horrendous path.  Be that light, Mr. Houske, be that hope and that light to the ones following behind.  Be the one who makes it.  The one who goes around and speaks of how God changed his life and instead of having the blood of the lost on your hands, have the joy of knowing how many lives you impacted for the good.  How many lives you saved because of your story. Use your story to make a difference.  Do it for your family.  Do it for our family.  Do it for John.  Don’t ever let his loss be in vain.  He deserves more than that.  

I want to charge you now with John’s life verse, the one he had tattooed on his side, under his heart– carry it with you.  

1 Corinthians 16:13 

Be on your guard; 

stand firm in the faith; 

be courageous; 

be strong.