Political Failure? Florida’s Addiction Epidemic Sparks Christmas Carnage

Paul Riverbank, 12/26/2025Holiday tragedy exposes Florida’s hidden addiction crisis—one family’s heartbreak revealing deeper societal wounds.

The Kenney house, in outward appearance, fit the holiday postcard — a Christmas tree spilling soft light, presents tucked beneath its branches. You wouldn’t guess, at a glance, that so much pain simmered just beneath the ordinary. Jason Kenney, age 47, had battled his demons for years. Neighbors, when prodded, acknowledge the hints: the unpredictability, the quiet anxieties. But nothing, they say, that would suggest what was to come.

It was nothing and everything — just a football game, the 49ers playing the Colts, voices raised, tempers catching fire in a room that should have been a place of comfort. Crystal, his wife, pleaded with him. Somewhere amid the chaos, she wrote a note: “You’re drinking, you’re using cocaine again. This is not the way the family should be. You need God.” It ended up crumpled, too late, a testament to a woman’s last, desperate hope for change.

Gunshots shattered the illusion of peace that night. The couple’s 12-year-old son ran into the darkness, looking for someone — anyone — to help. Deputies found Crystal dead on the living room floor, her 13-year-old daughter wounded but miraculously alive. As Sheriff Grady Judd recounted, she had begged her stepfather to spare her. The bullet struck her nose, veered strangely, and exited through the top of her head. That she survived at all feels like something out of a story we’d rather not believe, but the sheriff called it a “Christmas miracle.”

The youngest children, a boy and a toddler, slept through the chaos. The family’s youngest — just a year old — was in her crib, untouched by the violence. The innocence of sleep amid catastrophe is jarring, and hard to reconcile with what unfolded just out of her reach.

Afterwards, Jason called his sister in New York. Regret and finality in his voice — he admitted he’d done something terrible, said his goodbyes, and fled to his father’s place. When deputies found him holed up in a shed, he refused to answer, finally ending his life as law enforcement waited outside.

The official numbers paint a background that puts this tragedy in tragic context. Substance abuse is a shadow running through Florida, not always visible, sometimes only registering in statistics: 1.5 million Floridians using illegal drugs at any given time, over 24,000 seeking treatment for alcohol dependency last year, more than 3,000 dead from overdoses. But numbers don’t hold the weight of a single family’s loss.

Walking through the scene, detectives noted the festive trappings — presents, the tree, the ordinary mess of a household expecting a joyful holiday. “A beautiful Christmas tree with lots of Christmas presents under it, just like the nuclear family should be,” one remarked. The reality behind those closed doors proved far more complicated and, ultimately, heartbreaking.

Now, the Kenney children are in the care of relatives, faced with trauma that won’t neatly resolve. Sheriff Judd, at the press conference, put it simply: “The entire family was destroyed.” In a season meant for comfort and joy, this grim episode reminds us how swiftly addiction and unchecked anger can unravel even the most ordinary night, and how — behind so many closed doors — stories unfold that statistics alone can’t fully capture.

This isn’t just about one family's tragedy before Christmas. It’s the sort of story that ripples through a community, a cautionary tale about the dangers so many face in silence and a vivid example of how fragile the peace within a home can be. There are lessons here — about intervention, about paying attention to quiet signals of distress, about the hidden costs of addiction. But for now, what remains is grief and the faint hope for healing, in the aftermath of a nightmare that, until it arrived, must have seemed impossible.

It’s the kind of story that lingers well after the breaking news alert fades from your phone — a Florida family, in the midst of a December night, torn apart by violence few would have anticipated among the glow of Christmas lights and the roar of a televised football game.The Kenney house, in outward appearance, fit the holiday postcard — a Christmas tree spilling soft light, presents tucked beneath its branches. You wouldn’t guess, at a glance, that so much pain simmered just beneath the ordinary. Jason Kenney, age 47, had battled his demons for years. Neighbors, when prodded, acknowledge the hints: the unpredictability, the quiet anxieties. But nothing, they say, that would suggest what was to come.It was nothing and everything — just a football game, the 49ers playing the Colts, voices raised, tempers catching fire in a room that should have been a place of comfort. Crystal, his wife, pleaded with him. Somewhere amid the chaos, she wrote a note: “You’re drinking, you’re using cocaine again. This is not the way the family should be. You need God.” It ended up crumpled, too late, a testament to a woman’s last, desperate hope for change.Gunshots shattered the illusion of peace that night. The couple’s 12-year-old son ran into the darkness, looking for someone — anyone — to help. Deputies found Crystal dead on the living room floor, her 13-year-old daughter wounded but miraculously alive. As Sheriff Grady Judd recounted, she had begged her stepfather to spare her. The bullet struck her nose, veered strangely, and exited through the top of her head. That she survived at all feels like something out of a story we’d rather not believe, but the sheriff called it a “Christmas miracle.”The youngest children, a boy and a toddler, slept through the chaos. The family’s youngest — just a year old — was in her crib, untouched by the violence. The innocence of sleep amid catastrophe is jarring, and hard to reconcile with what unfolded just out of her reach.Afterwards, Jason called his sister in New York. Regret and finality in his voice — he admitted he’d done something terrible, said his goodbyes, and fled to his father’s place. When deputies found him holed up in a shed, he refused to answer, finally ending his life as law enforcement waited outside.The official numbers paint a background that puts this tragedy in tragic context. Substance abuse is a shadow running through Florida, not always visible, sometimes only registering in statistics: 1.5 million Floridians using illegal drugs at any given time, over 24,000 seeking treatment for alcohol dependency last year, more than 3,000 dead from overdoses. But numbers don’t hold the weight of a single family’s loss.Walking through the scene, detectives noted the festive trappings — presents, the tree, the ordinary mess of a household expecting a joyful holiday. “A beautiful Christmas tree with lots of Christmas presents under it, just like the nuclear family should be,” one remarked. The reality behind those closed doors proved far more complicated and, ultimately, heartbreaking.Now, the Kenney children are in the care of relatives, faced with trauma that won’t neatly resolve. Sheriff Judd, at the press conference, put it simply: “The entire family was destroyed.” In a season meant for comfort and joy, this grim episode reminds us how swiftly addiction and unchecked anger can unravel even the most ordinary night, and how — behind so many closed doors — stories unfold that statistics alone can’t fully capture.This isn’t just about one family's tragedy before Christmas. It’s the sort of story that ripples through a community, a cautionary tale about the dangers so many face in silence and a vivid example of how fragile the peace within a home can be. There are lessons here — about intervention, about paying attention to quiet signals of distress, about the hidden costs of addiction. But for now, what remains is grief and the faint hope for healing, in the aftermath of a nightmare that, until it arrived, must have seemed impossible.