My Caterpillar

April 6, 2016 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

My catepillar was posted a year ago today. I’d like to share it again.

My dream has been to write in a log cabin in the woods some day. Now that I’m here at my desk looking out the window at the green grass and trees …what will I do with this opportunity?

One of the projects I have in the works is a children’s book. The main character is a purple elephant with a big grin and paisley feet named “Smiley Riley”. Purple was Riley’s favorite color. The elephant was one of his favorite animals. The character has emerged to fit him perfectly. I have an illustrator that I am working with to develop “Smiley Riley”. I have the theme of the first book. Now how do I write it? Various ideas rattle through my brain on how to go about telling stories to a pre-kindergarten audience. It’s a creative heart warming process for me.

In my research, I have spent hours sitting…

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Are you Riley’s Mom?

April 4, 2016 / djuanadreed / 2 Comments

IMG_51822-L It catches me off guard every time.

“Are you Riley’s Mom?”

It is a question that used to come from a class mate, teacher, or parent in Arizona when Riley was alive. Now that question is asked of me in a town where Riley never lived from teens who have never met him. But they know him now.

Saturday afternoon while I walked the isles of the local Hobby Lobby feeling anxious about how to spend my gift card. I see a lot of things I want, but which items should I spend my money on is the question. I had already decided to buy a frame for a Foo Fighters poster that hung in Riley’s room. It will now hang in my office, but still there was a little money left to spend.

I noticed a smiling girl and a woman as I turned down an aisle. As I was staring at an array of kitchen signs, the same girl appeared and asked, “Are you Riley’s Mom?” The woman she was with said, “She wanted to say Hi to you.” Surprised, I smiled and answered her question with a “Yes.” She then showed me that she was wearing the purple WWRD-What Would Riley Do bracelet that I had given out when I spoke at her school. She asked if she could give me a hug. My eyes welled up with tears. I took that hug and held on.

I have been introducing my son, Riley to teens in classrooms and gymnasiums. I want them to know Riley. Grieving parents desperately want their children to be remembered. It is a common desire. My desire for Riley to be remembered is more than that. I want them to know Riley’s story.

I show the kids pictures of Riley being Riley. A picture of Riley standing in front of his first car smiling in his Hawaiian shirt with his thumbs up. As I speak, they see pictures of him as a student, brother, son, band kid, and choir kid. I tell them that he didn’t like to clean his room and how he dropped his clothes on the floor in the same spot when he went to bed. How he had a hamper that he rarely used. I tell them that he loved pizza and all kinds of music. I share that he decided to not cut his hair again when he started high school and that he didn’t like to do homework.

I tell the audience that Riley was accepted to college and was only weeks from graduating from high school. That he knew no strangers and would strike up a conversation with just about anybody. In his own unique way, a lot of times just by his smile, he made a difference in people’s lives when he was here on earth.

I cry every time that I tell his story. I sit. I don’t stand. I talk to them as a mom, a mom just like their mom. I tell them about my kid, a kid like them.

I tell them how Riley died. I take them through that night with all of the details that I know. We talk about drugs and how they kill. I say it several times, You aren’t invincible. It can happen. It does happen. You do not know what you have in your hands. You cannot know for sure. I tell them stories of other teens that have died from a first try of a drug like synthetic LSD, Molly, and Spice. I share a story about the 16-year-old girl who smoked synthetic marijuana and is now blind and in a wheelchair having to relearn the simplest tasks.

I warn them. I beg them. I tell them, It’s not worth the try. I want you to graduate from high school, go to college, get your first job, get married, have babies whatever you aspire to do. Please live. Don’t mess with drugs.

When I am asked, “Are you Riley’s Mom?” I think to myself you remember Riley. Then I think, you have heard his story. When a person shows me that they are wearing a purple WWRD bracelet, I think you are still being reminded of his story. That person knows Riley now. They know Riley died from trying a drug for the first time.

I desperately want to save lives by telling Riley’s story. Maybe I am.

Yes, I am Riley’s Mom.

I Love You, Riley.

Call me Grandma Reed

February 24, 2016 / djuanadreed / 3 Comments

IMG_0839a Grandmas are seasoned Mommies. They are squishy and soft. Grandmas know stuff. Grandmas overlook faults and see perfection. They have praises for our successes. They are a willing audience. Grandmas don’t need to say a word – we know their opinion by the look on their face. They bake yummy cookies and make the best meals. Grandmas have open arms and warm smiles at every visit. Grandmas give away hugs no matter how big you are. Grandmas have treasures and special toys at their house. Grandmas possess the tenderness of a mother sprinkled with love and laughter.

Unsuspectingly I answered a call from Braden and Hannah on Skype. I smiled at the sight of their faces on the computer screen while Braden said, “Hi Grandma”. I frowned and said, “Hey, I’m not that o..l..d….” I stopped. Hannah nodded at me with her big eyes. I looked at my son and I immediately began to cry. Braden’s eyes filled with tears as he watched my reaction. They were pregnant. It was wonderful news that filled me with joy. A baby was coming to bless our family. Yes, Braden, Call me Grandma.

As I sat in the hospital waiting room, anxious to hear the news that mother and baby were fine, I imagined Riley sitting there too. His handsome face framed with his blonde hair smiling that familiar smile of his while he looked back at me from across the room. He should have been there. He and his Dad would have surely been bantering back and forth across the room with humor as we waited. It gave me a teary grin to think of how Riley would be in that moment. He belonged there. His big brother being a Dad would have brought Riley joy. I can imagine the pride he would have had to be an Uncle. Riley would have enjoyed this event very much.

After a long wait, an eternity of time it felt like, Braden came through the doors with a big smile. She was here, mother and baby were doing fine and she had hair. I then heard her name over and over …Braylin Riley Peterson. Riley’s name was tucked in her name. She was perfect! She was 7 lbs 7 oz, the same weight as Riley at birth. The nurses wrapped her in a hospital blanket decorated with elephants. Riley’s favorite animal was an elephant. Sure enough, Uncle Riley was present as Braylin Riley made her debut into this world.

After holding her in my arms, I hurried back to the house to finish preparations for Hannah, Braden and baby to come home. Cleaning, shopping, trying to guess what need the three of them could have that I could be prepared to fill. At the end of a long day, I laid my head down and cried myself to sleep. I could not hold it in anymore.

The tears released an array of emotions. There were tears of the joy of baby girl’s arrival after quite an intense labor and delivery. There were tears of pride for my son’s new title of Dad and the tenderness I witnessed as he held his baby girl. There were tears of missing my youngest son. I miss Riley every day.

I am honored to have seen Braylin grow from birth to one month old. Being there was a privilege. To be back in Arizona was a good thing in so many ways. To be able to be near Braden again, to help Hannah and to hold my granddaughter swelled my heart. To change her diapers was a treat. I treasured every sound she made, her baby smell and her big eyes when she was awake. To rock baby girl to sleep feeling her breath on my neck in her peaceful slumber gave me peace.

Peace is something I look for daily. Being a mother has been my life, my first priority, my largest job. Being a grandmother is something I have looked forward to since my babies were no longer babies. This new position of Grandma Reed is covered with pride.

The title Grandma Reed is an honorary one. I want to be a Grandma like my Grandma Reed and my childrens’ Grandma Reed. To go about grandmothering as they did would be an accomplishment. Both women were the definition of selfless with comforting arms and a peaceful spirit. They took the punches of this world while continuing to behave with dignity and grace. Their children and grandchildren were their pride. There was safety in their arms. Wisdom when they spoke.

When my children were sick or had an immediate need, I asked the Grandma Reeds to pray. They had a direct line to God I believed. He would surely hear their prayers and get back to us with an answer lickety split if they were praying. Grandma Reed and Great Grandma Reed share heaven with Riley now. I like that they are there with him until I can be there too.

Grandma Reeds cooked the best food, sewed and mended, taught us, prayed with us and for us, wiped away tears, welcomed us with open arms, gave us kisses and hugs- not money- not things- they gave us lessons. That is the Grandma Reed legacy. I want to be that kind of Grandma.

Call me Grandma Reed.

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I Love You, Riley.

Whatcha Want Mom?

February 21, 2016 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

Facebook has a “On This Day” feature that shows a person what happened on this day on their Facebook wall over the years. The memories that are highlighted are of activities that happened on your wall such as what you posted, what others shared to your wall and the messages they wrote to you there. When I look I often smile to see where I was, what I was doing and thinking that day that year. Today one of the memories gripped me.

On this day, today- February 20, 2009 at 7:10 pm, Riley wrote a message on my Facebook wall. It said, “Whatcha want mom?”

He was 12 on this day in 2009. He was in the 7th grade at Willis Jr High. His hair was short. He was playing saxophone in the jr high band. I drove him to school and picked him up every day. We had extra time together in the mornings after Bria and Braden went to high school because Willis Jr High had a later start time. He was a good student. He had friends from band, grade school and church.

He was involved at church in the youth group. He loved his youth leader. He was into gaming on the computer, XBox and Playstation 2. His big Christmas present in December was Guitar Hero. He had sleep overs that involved Guitar Hero til the wee hours of the morning.

It was a Friday night when he sent that message. I bet he was across the street playing on computers at the Marlins’ house. I had written a “Riley!” on his wall that morning. That was his response 12 hours later. I was new to Facebook. I didn’t click the “like” button when I got it that night. I didn’t respond with a comment to his message, “Whatcha want mom?”until today.

I have an answer for him now. I have a very long answer for him.

What do I want Riley?

I want you here. I want you alive. I want to see you smiling from across the room at me. I want to hear your voice. I want you to yell down the stairs telling me that you are going to bed and ask me to come up. I want to loop my arm around yours, lean my head on your shoulder and tell you how proud I am of you. I want you to know how much you lit up my life.

I want to touch you. I want to touch you so bad. I want a Riley hug. I want to put my arms around you, hold you tight and not let you go. I want to look into your blue eyes and tell you that I love you instead of yelling it into the clouds hoping it reaches you in heaven.

I want you to have made a different choice that night. I want you to have skipped trying the LSD. I want something to have been different in the scheme of that evening to have changed the outcome.

I want to laugh with you til we have tears in our eyes. I want to make you coffee and swing on the porch swing together. I want to sit and listen to you play your guitar. I want you to be in your sophomore year of college at NAU. I want you to be happy and smiling. I want you to grow to be 95. I want you to outlive me. I want you alive.

That’s what I want. That’s what I truly sincerely want. If only I could get what I want.

I Love You, Riley.

Riley’s Light Still Burns

December 30, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

385_10208519924902712_7427177614674201900_n Here in Danville, KY a family run funeral home lights Christmas wreaths on their porch during Christmas time. Each wreath is made up of candles that are lit for the people whom they have served in the last two years. These candles, these lights of love, glow from their porch. There are extra spaces each year for those that request that a candle be lit for their loved one. I asked that a candle be lit for Riley.

With a brief service of a prayer, song and poem, beyond a table laid out with cookies, punch and eggnog, we lit the candles representing our loved ones. The wreaths came to life. The candles glow steadily from December 23rd through Christmas day.

On Christmas Eve, when the sun had set, with a heavy heart, I went to visit Riley’s candle. As I drove up, the sight of the candles burning brightly gave me a sense of peace. Riley is not alone. It was a beautiful site to see. The wreaths glowed lighting up the dark night representing those loved ones who have passed on like my son. 920656_929498877144061_8033021330807268661_o

I climbed the stairs, sat down on the floor of the porch, looked at Riley’s candle and immediately began to cry. In true Riley fashion, Riley’s candle was smack dab in the middle of the first row of the bottom of the opening of the wreath. There he was front and center. I watched the flame flicker. His candle was flickering just like his love for others. Like my love for him, the candle burned steadily and strong.

My mind flickers to memories of Riley this holiday season. The pain this holiday season is as strong as when we lost him. I cry for myself and my loss. For the hole in my universe without him here. I miss my sweet baby boy in more ways than I can count. The pain cuts through me leaving me wounded, limp, numb. I want to sit down next to him, loop my arm in his, lay my head on his shoulder and thank him again for being him. His smile, his humor lit up a room. His memories glow within me.

People stopped by to see the candles while I sat there. I sat still during the commotion trying not to invade their moments with their candles. I tried to leave Riley’s candle a couple of times, but ended up plopping back down to watch his light bounce. I couldn’t leave him. I couldn’t go yet. 12391257_930852490342033_6848398570400369481_n

Then a woman and a teenage boy pulled up in a car. They went straight to the candles on the wreath on the left taking pictures of the specific names they were looking for. The woman unexpectedly walked over to me and asked if I was there for someone. I replied, “My son, Riley”. The teen boy with her peeked his head around her and said, “I knew you looked familiar. Riley has a candle here? Where is it? I want to take a picture and post it.” I pointed at Riley’s candle and said, “You’ve heard me speak?” He said, “Yes.” He told me that he had his WWRD bracelet. There was more that he said, I can’t recall it well enough to repeat it as I was hanging on to what was happening.

Here on the porch, in the dark, in a town I’ve only been apart of for a short time, a kind woman had just reached out to me and a sweet boy had shared with me that Riley’s story had been heard. There was light coming from a different direction on the porch now.

I have sat in a chair in front of groups of kids to tell Riley’s story in hopes that they will remember that it can happen in just one try, that they aren’t invincible, that drugs kill. Some of the kids line up afterwards to hug me. They say their condolences. They tell me stories of how drugs have effected their lives. As hard as it is to relive the loss of my son each time that I tell his story, I am continuously rewarded with how Riley’s story has made an impact on lives.

Coming from a big city to a small town is rewarding in many ways. The holidays have consisted of lit up store windows, town Christmas traditions, and decorations that line Main Street, but especially, what sticks with me most is how loving and caring people are to strangers.

This woman whom I had not met before that night, a local shop owner, standing on the Stith Funeral Home porch gave me a hug. She went on to invite me to come along with them to their Christmas Eve celebration and even furthered her kindness to tell me about their Sunday afternoons of lunch and watching old movies. If I ever wanted to come, I was welcome.

I am welcome here. Riley is welcome here. His light burns in hearts of teens that never knew him. They feel they know him now. So after a Christmas that was pure hell in so many ways, I sit here thankful that Riley still lights up a room…a porch. Riley’s light still burns.

I Love You, Riley.

Thanksgiving Traditions

December 1, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

I kicked into gear the day before Thanksgiving. I grocery shopped, picked up the house, dusted, mopped, and cleaned out the refrigerator as if it was going to be magically loaded up with leftovers the next day. I baked a pie.

At the end of the day, as I washed the last of the dishes I had used, the memories of Thanksgivings gone by snuck up and flooded my mind. Part of those Thanksgivings isn’t on earth anymore. He was a part of what made each holiday special.

My eyes welled up with tears, my heart twisted up in knots and I cried with my hands still in the soapy water holding a dish in one hand and wash rag in the other. As if my hands couldn’t leave the water, I leaned my forehead on the edge of the sink and cried. I stood up with my hands still in the water and stared out the kitchen window into the dark trying to find composure. I didn’t find it. More rounds of tears came. I washed the snot from my nose on the sleeve of my shirt as I lifted my arm up with water dripping down it. I returned to washing the dishes in the sink and continued to cry.

Eventually the dishes were washed, the sink drained and my hands were dried.

Dishes were clean but my heart is not. My heart has been damaged with cracks that run to a gaping hole in me. There will be no more Thanksgivings with Riley. Thanksgivings will never be the same. I worked very hard at making traditions and memories for holidays for the kids as they grew up.

Here in Kentucky I was doing the tradition of preparing for Thanksgiving though there wouldn’t be a brood of family coming in the door. My memories are of cleaning and preparing for a house full of family- trying to keep in front of kids dropping their things in freshly cleaned rooms and adding to the dishes to wash, being up early to peel potatoes and put the turkey in the oven.

Riley coming through the kitchen asking what kind of pies would we have. He liked pumpkin pie. Yes, there would be a pumpkin pie, but Grandma was bringing it along with three other kinds of pies. Braden’s humor and goofiness on Thanksgivings was a staple. Bria dragging herself out of bed just in time to shower before family got there. A day off from swim practice or work meant sleep for her.

Per tradition, the morning of Thanksgiving we had cinnamon rolls. I talked to Braden on the phone on Thanksgiving morning this year as he was eating a cinnamon roll. I didn’t ask, but it seems he was keeping to tradition. I like that. That’s what the traditions that I made sure that we had are supposed to do. To be carried on as they grow older and have their own homes.

My mind flashed to the family gatherings of aunts and uncles, cousins, my Mom who has been gone almost 7 years now – missing her homemade rolls, her smile and loving open arms. I thought of Aunt Una who has been gone 6 years. Watching Aunt Una enjoy the taste and smell of the holidays was a treat.

Those Thanksgivings are gone. I mourn them. I mourn what I have had. I wish I wasn’t mourning. I don’t want to mourn. I don’t want the pain. I am mad that I have this grief that I cannot shed. I give myself permission to mourn though permission doesn’t stop the pain. It is here to stay.

I have not forgotten to be thankful. I am thankful for my cabin, Bert laying by my feet, new friends and the health and happiness of my family. I am thankful that I wake up every day, that I have work with new opportunities opening up before me that bring on personal challenges and growth. I am thankful that I had Riley for the years that I did. I am not without thanks.

I am without Riley. That I cannot be thankful for.

In my leap of faith to move to Kentucky, there has been much to be thankful for and yet I miss my kids. I ache to hold all three of them. The tears come from the realization that space keeps me from them. I cannot hold Riley ever again-the space between us is far too great and it’s just not fair!

This Thanksgiving I followed traditions without realizing it. I was able to create new traditions. The one personal Thanksgiving tradition I kept with tenacity, dedication, persistence, and single-mindedness was completed. I ate my pie for breakfast each morning until it was gone.

I Love You, Riley.