I’m Back

I have been gone awhile from my blog. I would say it is because grief has it’s stages. When I began writing here, it was healing to talk about how I was feeling and to share my memories of Riley. There is a lot of navigating needed in grief.

I would like to think that I have always met my grief of losing Riley head on. I saw a counselor right off the bat. I have done a lot of self checking over the past 5 years by stepping in to a counselor’s office or just a self check making sure I was on the healthy side of what I was feeling and how I was tackling my grief each day.

One of the things you’ll notice people who have lost a child say is, “say his name.” You who have not lost a child wonder do you mention the lost child and wonder, when is it okay to mention them and when is it not? I actually hesitate myself with my own immediate family. How will they accept this feeling if I say it out loud? Is it a day they don’t want to go there? So I wonder too.

But I would say, without a doubt………I love hearing someone say Riley’s name. I don’t want you to forget Riley. I don’t want you to forget Riley’s story.

So why I haven’t been here writing is because it increasingly got harder to pull up memories and feelings at some point. It was better to avoid them to manage my life. Not that they aren’t always there because they always are. But to pour it out here on my blog, took time and thoughts and tears. So, I quit and stopped making time to write. That’s the honest gest of it.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Everyone grieves differently. Everyone’s stages may look different. Some of us move as fast as we can (I think men do that more than women) and some of us stay in each stage of grief longer or do a repeat of hanging on to some of those stages. It is what it is. As long as you aren’t being self destructive or are in trouble mentally, going through the grief of losing a child is personal.

Pacing in my apartment, surrounded with people the day Riley died, I kept thinking I can’t make this better. This isn’t ever going to be better. This pain is going to stay.  I was right.

For whatever reason, I’m ready to write again. I have so much to tell you. There’s been like years of speaking, a grandson born and more- much more. If you follow me on Facebook, you’re caught up. If you’re not caught up, hang on I’m fixing to tell you all about it!

Life’s a journey and I am taking one step at a time.

 

I Love You, Riley.

 

 

One Slip of Paper In a Box

img_1807You know how I say memories of Riley sneak up on me and knock me to the floor? Opening a box of a Scrabble game that I had brought with me to Kentucky did that. In an unsuspecting moment on a Sunday afternoon, I pulled the box out of the drawer. I hurried to open it to see if all of the pieces were in there. Games that were once a part of a family and have gone through years of being played sometimes lose their parts.

As I opened the box and laid out the board, I noticed that there were pieces of paper with scoring on them. As I looked closer, they included Riley’s name.  And right there, right then… I began to cry. Memories flooded my mind of us as a family sitting around a Scrabble board at the kitchen table challenging each other’s words, laughing and scrambling to win with the most unique, impressive words hitting just the right squares on the board in order to increase our points.

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From the scores, it looks like Bria got called away and that Riley, Dad and I continued to play. It seems that I got left in the dust and that it was a close competition between Riley and Greg. First of all, I’m loving the memory of us together playing a game. Memories of family and being together is always warming to my heart. I love that Riley and Dad battled it out and that Riley won. Greg has this lucky streak at any competition. We all gave it our best shot at beating him at something. So there was surely a big smile and some words of pride and boasting out of Riley’s mouth as he won that game that day.

Why do I cry over this little slip of paper? Because Riley should be here. Memories sting like a poison that starts with a prick on the finger and enters my veins spreading throughout me. I wiped my tears that Sunday and had a good time playing Scrabble.

The sting of that one memory from a piece of paper tucked in a box has invaded me for weeks. I want the opportunity to play a game with Riley again. I want the opportunity to touch him and kiss him. I miss his presence in my life. I miss his sense of humor. I want to sit on the couch across from him talking about nothing important and then sometimes talking about something deep and challenging. I want so desperately to see his smile again.

The scramble of the brain, to manipulate memories and thoughts during any given day in order to be like a normal person is very real as a grieving mother. It is memories of Riley that shake up a moment of normalcy. To organize my random thoughts of Riley so that I can function is normal now. To learn to enjoy my time and space in the present instead of wallow in my pain is my challenge. The only winning that happens with grief is making it through a minute, hour, sometimes a day without the debilitating pain of the loss of my son. I win at that sometimes. I lose at it too.

Still to this day people say to me, “With time it will get better” and the old common saying, “Time heals all wounds”. I often don’t handle it very well when I reply to such ideas. Time will not change this gaping wound left in me of losing my son. Healing is not in the future. I will learn better to live with it as life continues to move along across the board. As all things in life, change occurs. This is a loss in life not a win. I attempt to accept the loss and put on a brave face. I lose at that sometimes too.

Though fighting memories to function is a daily challenge, having them brings comfort as well. I know that’s kinda crazy, but it’s true. Is a memory of Riley that comes to mind a win or a loss? Neither. A memory of Riley is both. The memories are precious that I am glad I have. I had him here for 18 years. I wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t love him that much. Though invading and painful,  I hold dear the memories I am reminded of like this one from a slip of paper in a box.

I Love You, Riley.

 

It Can’t Be True. Please God Don’t Let It Be True.

djuanadreed's avatarI Love You, Riley

IMG_5164-LThat 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…

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52 with a few more to go

IMG_5083The reality of my age has hit hard this year. I just had a birthday and all of a sudden I am feeling weathered, withered, creaky with a swooshy brain. Parts of me have been creaking for a while now, but it’s just this new number that even sounds old. Recently when I complained about some strange symptom I had, my boyfriend said, “It’s because we are old.” Notice he says “we” as if that is going to lighten the shock of the statement. It doesn’t. He can be old. I don’t want to be old! I am not ashamed of the years I have lived, 52, or the year I was born, 1965. I just don’t like that old part. I mean, I don’t want to be.

Riley just had a birthday this past week on May 3rd. He would have been 21 years old. That day is a double whammy of a day since it is also the day that he died. It has been three years now. Nothing is different. It still hurts. It hurts bad.

The day before Riley’s birthday when I felt like I was holding my breath waiting for the day to be here and wishing it wasn’t coming, Tom was making dinner and I was standing in the kitchen keeping him company. We began talking about that being old thing again. He said he would go back ten years if he could- that it sounded good.

I said, “I wouldn’t because that would mean I might have to live ten years longer.” There, I said it out loud and then my tears leaked out.

Dealing with this pain, this grief that I am sentenced to for the rest of my life is real. To carry it longer sounds awful and too taxing. It’s a lot of work. I don’t know that I can do it any longer than the time that I have ahead of me now. Death is a welcome thought.

There is an end to it. I know that my friends that are carrying the grief of losing a child understand.  There is a finish line I look forward to when the pain will stop and better yet, I will be with Riley again. It is a white line with flags and I do not fear crossing it.

To survive this grief of losing a child, I must put one foot in front of the other and keep moving. I must! Or I will surely wither away.

I get up, I get dressed and I keep moving because I have a life to live right now.  After 3 years, I can smile at a joke. I can appreciate the beauty of my blue sky and green grass and blooming flowers here in Kentucky. I can feel challenged with my job and the pleasure of seeing the results of my efforts at it. I am thrilled with how my children are doing and how fast my grand-daughter is growing.

I sleep, I eat, I dance in the kitchen, I love and I am loved. I cry and I wipe my tears and I keep going. I bury my head under the pillow and I rest.  My heart hurts so bad when I think about him that it feels that it is going to quit. I keep going anyways. I must!

I have made it 52 years, I can make it 48 more years if that is what God gives me, but don’t ask me to do one more day than I am destined to. Riley had only 18 years. I’d easily give him all of my years, but I can’t. This is my life sentence – this grief. And I will handle the withering, weathering, creaking with a swooshing brain avoiding the word, “old” the best I can and I will keep getting up and keep moving…Because I must!

I Love You, Riley.

A life that touches others goes on forever

IMG_5340-2-3222307474-OA life that touches others goes on forever. I want desperately for Riley’s story to be instrumental in changing lives. We that knew him and loved him are forever touched by who he was. I speak and tell his story so others know Riley and his story.

Simply said, a grieving parent doesn’t want their child forgotten. That is natural. We want to talk about them and we don’t want you to be afraid to mention them.  I want you to remember my young boy that was going to rule the world some day dressed in a baseball cap, cowboy boots and red cape and the young man who liked to discuss how the world could be a better place to live. He shared his smile with strangers and friends alike. His story is important.

In December of last year, I gave a donation in Riley’s name to Isaiah House Treatment Center, a campus of two facilities totalling 88 beds – a men’s drug addiction treatment program located in a small rural town called Willisburg, Kentucky. I have had the privilege of working with Isaiah House for four months now. What I know about this place is that after my many years of researching drug addiction treatment centers all over the United States, I have never and I mean never, seen a rehabilitation center that covers addiction treatment like this place. They are a non profit organization that operates on a very tight budget to provide the largest amount of comprehensive services possible in order to ensure a lifetime of recovery for the men that come through their doors.

I asked to share Riley’s story with the men. I wanted them to know my son and his story.

As I set up the slide show of Riley and sat down, some of the guys started filing in finding seats. Since we were sitting face to face, waiting for my daughter, Bria and the rest of the men to come into the room, we started talking.  I don’t think they knew how much that helped me keep my nerves in check.

It had been awhile since I told Riley’s story. It’s never easy. It’s harder when I haven’t been doing it regularly. Visiting the memories of Riley dying is hard.

My imagination runs wild as I revisit the story. There is a visual picture in my head of the tab on his tongue in the snap chat he sent out. The smile on his face as he wrote what joy was like signing it, “acid”. The final hours of his life filled with terror, the cries for help that weren’t answered, the moments of him standing at the entry way of the front door with a gun under his chin. I don’t know how to tell the story without the details of how I lost my son. I HATE the details. I HATE drugs.

So what do you say to a group of adult men of all ages who know drugs very well, who could have died from drug use, but are still here sitting in front of you alive? I said the same thing I say to the kids in classrooms and school gyms. “You don’t know what you have in your hands. Please live. I want you to live.” I told the men I don’t want your Mom, Dad, grandparents, sisters, brothers, wives and children to feel the pain I feel every day. I relayed the message as not a warning of a first try of a drug, but of the possible consequences of one more use of a drug.

Those consequences happen in overdoses in mass numbers daily across the United States. The heroin epidemic is wiping out a generation. There are new synthetic drugs that are killing our sons and daughters as they hit the streets every time we turn around. There are too many parents that know the grief of losing a child to drug use. There are too many children in foster care because of losing their parents to drug use.

There were tears in the audience that mimicked mine as I spoke. At the end, the men had some kind and introspective comments about what they had heard Bria and I say. Each walked out with a “What Would Riley Do Bracelet” and I had accomplished telling Riley’s story one more time.

From there, they take Riley’s story with them and I will never know how it effected each one, but I know I shared it with the purpose that his story sticks with them.

The game room at Isaiah House is named Riley’s Game Room now. The Game Room has a television, an arcade game, ping-pong table, pool table, gaming system and guitars in it. Riley’s kind of room! It’s a great room to have Riley’s name on it.

Because A life that touches others goes on forever.

I Love You, Riley.

Saturday Mornings

saturday-706914_1280aSaturday mornings…they are my favorite. The work week is over except not in my case because social media does not ever close for business so neither do I.  A load of clients, deadlines and another project handed to me when I think I am seeing the end of the tunnel fills my day. Then there is the fact that I should have said,”No” and am kicking myself right into my favorite day of the week. I am hopeful that Sunday is a day of rest. That’s what God said it should be.

But still Saturday’s are quieter. They have this standing of, I am here, you can do something different kind of spot on the calendar. I like that.

As I started my coffee this morning, my stomach grumbled and I walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. Grocery shopping has been on the to do list, but I haven’t left the house in days due to that work schedule thing.  The refrigerator is pretty much empty.

On a shelf, all by itself, sits my takeout leftovers from dinner last night. As I opened the container and took a bite, I had a flashback of Saturday mornings years ago. The years where I was mom with sleeping children in their beds and always some kind of leftover to partake in the refrigerator. All the years of pizza leftovers are on my mind. Pizza is a fine cuisine fresh out of the oven or bagged in the refrigerator a day later.  Pizza was Riley’s favorite meal and cold pizza with some ranch dressing on the side would be a usual breakfast during his teen years.

It was a score for me to get a piece of leftover pizza before the masses of human beings that inhabited my home got out of bed. I was usually the first one up on a Saturday morning to inhale the quiet before the storm of live breathing humans that would soon rustle about in my home. A “Mom, I want…”, “Mom, can I?”, “Mom, will you?” was on the horizon. I could count on it.

Today, this Saturday morning, my cabin is silent with only a tick of a clock, the sound of an old ceiling fan making its rounds, round and round and the sound of me typing on my computer’s keyboard. It will stay just this quiet all day long with no looming rustle of awakened souls coming any minute. I miss the anticipation.

The warmth of family around you is something to embrace as some day the nest becomes empty. That scenario is one we parents know will be coming. What I didn’t know is one of those souls from my family would be gone from my life here on earth. That soul that was a light in every one of my days is no more. That soul that was a part of my world is gone.

As my computer powers up each day and Riley’s face stares back at me, I think, how could he be gone? How could this have happened? I tell him so as I see him looking back at me. Oh, how I miss him being a part of my Saturdays. I miss him being here to worry about, think about and care for. I miss fighting over the leftover pizza with him

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Riley must have thought it couldn’t happen. Riley must have thought this will be cool – that it was something to tell his friends he had done. He was celebrating his birthday. It didn’t end up to be a celebration, but a nightmare that he couldn’t get out of.

On this Saturday, the memory of Riley grabbing leftover pizza from the fridge while looking for the homemade ranch dressing with sleep tousled hair, barefoot in boxers and a t-shirt, causes my lips to curl in a smile as my heart aches with pain at the same time. That is what happens most times I think of Riley.

Don’t mess with drugs. It’s just not worth it.

I hate drugs!

 

I Love You, Riley.