I’ve joined a closed group on Facebook called GRASP- Grief Recovery After a Substance Passing. The group exists for those that have lost a loved one as the result of substance abuse or addiction. The group is very large. Way too large. People post about their grief, their confusion, questions, anger, sadness. Often they post the date of when their loved one passed. This makes you realize how many have died because of drugs. How many died last week, last month, last year, two years ago, ten years ago. Even the date that Riley died has shown up.

People show support for each other in their grief, in their anger at the drug…heroine is one of the biggest culprits or a mix of opiates, but the common factor is death by a drug. I have realized that I really hate death. Before this, I had a belief that death was part of the circle of life. We come, we go. We live, we die. We are born into this world and we are to leave this world. Right now, death means an end to a life that I hold precious. That life of my child I want selfishly with me- here to touch, kiss, hug, talk to .

When children and young adults die, it is tragic. It is a life not finished. Riley made a huge impact on the lives around him. I would not have ever known the extent of how he touched lives if he was still alive. The stories told at the memorial that his classmates put together, the adults pulling me aside to tell me how he touched them and the private messages I have received give me a glimpse of Riley at a peer level -what he was like when he was not home and in my view.  He was jovial and gave away hugs. He caused others- many strangers- to smile as he passed them in the hall of school just by his warm, goofy, what’s up smile. He stood up for the girl being bullied. He entertained a classroom. He brought on challenging conversations with teachers.  He changed lives. He talked more than one from committing suicide. He helped a girl get through a teen pregnancy by being supportive and assuring her she could do this. He dried tears by diverting sad thoughts to better thoughts. To the boy who was an outsider, he showed him he should accept himself and how precious he is just as he is. Riley changed lives. Death took him from us at age 18. Too soon! Just imagine what else he would have done with his life…I can’t imagine now. There is no imagination to it. His life was stopped. My imagination of his future has stopped.

I read a post by a woman recently, a grandmother who is dying from cancer. She is facing her own death after losing her adult son to drugs. She expressed such dignity and grace about what she is facing right now. I am impressed. She is close to being reunited with her son yet she is holding on to the time she has here, now. She used the word eternity and it has made me think about the afterlife, the hereafter, everlasting life, where we go, what happens there. The bible says. The pastor says. We hope. We have faith that we will see our child again in a better place. A Heaven that holds no sorrow or pain. Timelessness.

I am in timelessness now. I forget appointments. I sit for hours without realizing it has been hours. There are moments I wish for death myself. Now. The pain, the loss I feel, how part of my heart is gone and it won’t come back or be replaced. Grief is an unyielding pain. There are days, sometimes even more than one in a row, that I am able to do okay and focus on work or something I am writing or yard work or how someone has really pissed me off, but then I sit still and remember… my sweet baby boy is gone. He has met his eternity.

So as I ponder the grace and dignity this woman shows while she faces meeting her eternity with the faith that she will see her son again, I would like to be able to face my life as it is now, without my son here to touch again, with grace and dignity until I meet my eternity. Knowing there are no guarantees of how long we have on this earth. Knowing that if I can make a difference while I am able to write and share Riley’s story. If I can muster my passion of working with abused and neglected children in the court system again. If I can create a children’s book with a purple elephant named Riley that leaves his paw print wherever he goes. If I can simply share a smile with a stranger like my boy did, then I’m doing pretty good. One single step at a time.

I Love You, Riley.