That morning, the day of Riley’s 18th birthday, a day full of Riley birthday plans and birthday wishes, I got a phone call that I couldn’t have imagined that I would ever receive. I hung up the phone and ran to my car. My body was shaking. I backed out, hands gripping the steering wheel tight. I started moving the car  forward saying out loud, ” It can’t be true. He has it wrong. It can’t be true. Please God don’t let it be true“.  I cried out loud and then I’d say it again, “It can’t be true. He has it wrong. It can’t be true. Oh God please don’t let it be true.” When I pulled up, there were firetrucks and ambulances and police cars lining the street. I got out of the car and felt like I was going to pass out. Police detectives walked up to me,  Greg came up to me, we held each other as I sobbed, whaled, cried.  It was true. He wasn’t wrong. God couldn’t tell me different. I sat on the curb and rocked back and forth while the officers were trying to talk to me,  telling  me what was going to happen next, giving me their condolences, their words of comfort. There was no comfort to be had. My baby boy was dead.

Our family paced, stared, cried, talked for the next few hours trying to make sense of it all until we found out about the drugs. Details of the evening started coming in. He had taken acid (LSD) – it was planned to celebrate his birthday. With a timeline among other consistent details from different sources, it was clear… it was drugs. The friends said it was his first time. They said he was happy at a certain point.  They told him to call if he got into trouble, he did call…..they missed the call…..he was found shortly after. Riley had shot himself.

It doesn’t seem real sometimes still. I think of Riley often in normal activity moments (Mom moments) like what would he want from the grocery store or  maybe I should get him those …….oh no he doesn’t need new shorts anymore or if I park in his spot, where will he……he won’t be parking his car in the driveway anymore.  At the funeral, Bria and I came in, Braden and Greg were there in the family waiting area and I immediately did a head count and thought to myself, someone is missing. Of course someone was missing. I loved it when we were all together. As they get older, you almost have to schedule being all together. My most favorite times were always when all three kids were together in the same room bantering and telling stories. I didn’t dream this could happen. It never crossed my mind. Not this. 

” In 2012, an estimated 23.9 million Americans aged 12 or older were current (past month) illicit drug users, meaning they had used an illicit drug during the month prior to the survey interview. This estimate represents 9.2 percent of the population aged 12 or older. Illicit drugs include marijuana/hashish, cocaine (including crack), heroin, hallucinogens, inhalants, or prescription-type psychotherapeutics (pain relievers, tranquilizers, stimulants, and sedatives) used nonmedically.” – See more at: http://www.drugwarfacts.org/cms/Drug_Usage#Overview

And we are at 2014 now, bet ya the numbers are higher not lower. Drugs kill. It is true. So so many lives have been lost because of drugs. I’m not wrong. It only takes one time, one try, one decision to have such horrific, wrong,  permanent consequences. Please God help me share Riley’s story so that this isn’t true for another family.

**This post was written in June 2014. We are at 2015 now, 9 months since Riley died. I’ve learned that every 17 seconds a teenager tries a drug for the first time.  I have seen so many stories of kids just like Riley who, on their first try of a drug, died.  The LSD he had was bought online by the high school age dealer at his school. The amount of LSD in that one tab according to the toxicology report was way way way more than he was told. My kid was like your kid -a smart kid, band kid, choir kid, good with computers, lovable kid, loved music, played guitar, liked coffee, made strangers smile, accepted to college, happy go lucky, Riley tried a drug and died.  Tell your kids it can happen. It only takes one time.

I love you, Riley.