‘I Wasn’t Afraid of Death. I Was Afraid of Living’
He wasn't afraid of death. He was afraid of living.
This story discusses suicide, childhood abuse and substance abuse. If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, please reach out to a mental health professional or call or text 988 for help.
“I’ve been shot. I’ve been left for dead so many times,” said Ervin Jones III, a Parkland Memorial Hospital patient who has stared death in the face on many occasions.
“But my friends call me nine lives.”
It’s a fitting nickname—one that speaks not only to Jones’ resilience, but also to his faith, personal growth, and the healing he has found through Parkland’s care.
Scars tell stories. Some stories are positive, hopeful reflections of what one has endured and overcome, while other stories are of unresolved trauma and internal, moral conflict. For Jones, his scars told him the latter, and his pain manifested in ways that had him ready to give up.
“Death is easy. I wasn’t afraid of death. I was afraid of living,” he said while reflecting on his previous outlook on life.
A cloud seemed to follow Jones as he battled health issues, lost loved ones, and fought drug addiction and loneliness.
“Parkland has saved me many times,” Jones declares, referring to the many instances of inpatient care and medical treatment he received in the hospital.
However, it was his willingness to be saved in the first place that allowed Parkland to help.
But letting go of the wheel and trusting someone else to drive was unlike Jones’ nature, especially considering his distrust of people began as a child.
Act 1: Drifting
“You’re either drifting, driving or being led,” Jones said as he described what he believes are the three stages of life. “And for the majority of my life, from 10 years old to 25 years old, I drifted.”
His childhood got off to such a rocky start that every lesson learned—good, bad or indifferent—was learned the hard way.
Suicidal. Abused. Frustrated. Disappointed. Lost.
“That’s how I grew up,” Jones said.
Abandoned as a child, the now 54-year-old grew up in the foster care system where he was abused by the very people entrusted with his care.
“I was really frustrated at religion because the Christians that raised me were the ones who abused me,” Jones revealed.
Home, a place of refuge, turned out to be unsafe, while a religious affiliation meant to give direction and purpose was no longer trustworthy. This was Jones’ perspective. As a result, he ran away and relied heavily on drugs to suppress his pain.
To feel was to hurt and in Jones’ own words: “I didn’t want to feel.”
After some time, he arrived at the steps of who he calls, “Grandma Edith Lewis,” who ran a shelter for troubled children in Garland. Under her care, he learned how to read and write and earned his high school diploma. She also introduced him to boxing, which led to Regional Golden Gloves championships and great success.
He went on to Peru State College in Nebraska, and then to the Dallas College Richland Campus where he was a top athlete and even trained others.
“I was a superhero,” Jones said.
But even superheroes have weaknesses, and despite feeling better than ever, his kryptonite came in the form of cardiovascular issues.
Act 2: Driving
“From 25 to 40 years old, I was driving myself.”
And under his own navigation, there was promise and direction. He secured a job at the post office while continuing to work out and train, but most importantly, he reconnected with his biological mother.
“This helped to heal my heart,” Jones said about the long-awaited reunion. “I had so much anger and resented women because my mother left when I was a child, then I was abused in the foster home.”
He had weathered pothole after pothole, but in April 2012, his road presented a sinkhole he couldn't simply drive around.
He had a stroke. Six months later, he lost his job.
With no employment and no ability to train at the gym as he had his entire adult life, Jones spiraled into depression.
Many difficult years followed. In 2019, congestive heart failure brought him to Parkland, for the first of three heart surgeries. Two more procedures followed in 2022 and 2024.
But it was in the aftermath of his first operation that his biological mother—whom he had grown especially close to—passed away and his depression worsened.
“I tried to overdose. I tried to kill myself. I was justifying suicide,” Jones recalled.
He survived being shot twice, being drugged and left for dead, while also enduring the deaths of his biological mother and, later, his foster mother.
Jones credits Parkland with helping him survive repeated medical crises. But looking back, he also believes his faith gave him a reason to keep going, despite the complicated relationship with Christianity that began during his childhood.
“I didn’t want to miss God by killing myself. There was a feeling inside of me that knew something [God] existed, I just couldn’t put my finger on it,” Jones said.
Act 3: Being Led
Turning his life around was anything but easy. His hardest lesson, however, was learning that he had to relinquish control, stop driving and allow God to take the wheel.
“I’m being led by God while I’m riding in the back of the truck.”
In addition to the heart surgeries he underwent at Parkland, Jones also entered therapy and credits Mental Health Counselor Carlos Ramon for helping rehabilitate his mind.
“Parkland saved my life,” he said. “From the surgeries to the counseling, down to the medicine they’ve given me.”
Now Jones is using the rest of his nine lives to encourage others by sharing not only his story, but also the faith that has guided his recovery. He has published two books and is working on two more, all centered on his Christian faith and his commitment to serving others.
“The last seven years have been the most triumphant time in my life because I’ve grown mentally and spiritually,” Jones proudly proclaimed. “Everyone I ever loved is gone, but I still have ministry and mentorship.”
Some scars, like the emotional wound left by his mother’s death, remain unhealed, but the memories from his darkest times serve a new purpose. They no longer haunt or represent unresolved trauma, instead, reminding Jones what he’s overcome and has been delivered from.
He may not be driving himself anymore, but even from the back of the truck, the journey and destination have never been clearer.
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