RILEY, MY SON, MY LOVE

IMG_9707Around my neck hangs a necklace with a silver charm that has Riley’s thumbprint on it. On the back of the charm is engraved:  RILEY, MY SON, MY LOVE.  When he was a baby, I rocked him while his head laid on my chest as he fell asleep.  My heart was at peace with the warmth of my son in my arms. Today my heart aches in the absence of Riley, My son, My love. A cold charm of his thumb print lies on my chest in place of him.

That print of Riley’s thumb was taken from his cold and lifeless body. My son’s thumb… a part of his precious hand that I held whenever I got a chance which was not often enough as he grew taller than I. My son’s hand that I reached over and touched as we drove to get his wisdom teeth out. His hand that was laid out before me as I picked a splinter out of it while tears ran down his cheeks when he was eleven. His hand that I gripped tightly as we crossed the street when he was two. His hand with his tiny delicate fingers wrapped around my finger while I nursed him as an infant.

His hand that I will never feel or touch again.

The thumb that I kissed while tears streamed down his sweet three-year old cheeks when he touched something hot. The thumb he stuck out when he was seven as he stood on the sidewalk in front of our home with the intent of hitch hiking to go see the World Wrestling Federation Championship in Las Vegas. The thumb that strummed his guitar, touched the ivory of the piano keys, held a pencil in school,  maneuvered a gaming controller, tapped on the computer keys, and the thumb that was raised in the air on that Christmas morning that he placed a new purple Dinosaur Jr. beanie on his head.

December 2012 033His thumb that I will never feel or touch again.

When I think of Riley, I find myself reaching down to put my thumb on the charm that holds his thumb print.  As if I can reach him through that piece of silver. As if the creases of his thumbprint will absorb into the creases of my thumb so that somehow I am touching him again.

I cannot touch him again.

There is touch of a spouse, friend, sister, brother, but there is a special energy, a bond, a connection that moves from one hand to another between parent and child. I miss that bond of touch that Riley and I shared from his birth to his death. The memories span from when he was little and would run up to my leg to hug it to the hugs he gave me as a teen when he picked me up off my feet and held me tight.

That feeling, that touch, the Riley hug that I will never have again.

We use our hands while we  are looking out for, protecting , soothing our children. The love we carry for our children is a sacred love that we do not give to anyone or anything else in this world quite the same. I raised Riley with all the knowledge I had yet the curiosity of a teenager got the best of him. He carefully held a tab of acid and placed it on his tongue at the beginning of that fatal night.

Drugs kill, maim,  destroy people and their families. Using drugs is playing russian roulette.  Teens need to know how little control or knowledge they have of what will happen next when they try a drug.   Death happens to teens all too often on the first try of a drug.

Because of Riley’s decision to try a drug, he is gone from this earth. Riley’s touch is not reachable. I cannot get to him. I will never feel the touch of my son’s hand in mine again nor the feel of my love’s thumb wiping away my tears saying, “It’s okay, Mom”.  It took only one fatal decision to end all of that and more.

Tell Riley’s story to someone perhaps it will save a life.

I Love You, Riley.

I Can’t

more Hawaii 029

What if I don’t want to go there? I know it has been a long time since I have posted a blog. I have many blogs started. I can’t finish them. I close my computer and walk away.

I want him here. I want him to say something to make me smile. I want him to say something to make me mad. I want him to say something that makes me frustrated. I want him to say something that makes me think. I want him to say something.

He can’t.

I want him to ask, “What’s for dinner?” I want him to ask, “Can I have some money for coffee at Coffee Rush?” I want him to walk into the hall carrying a pair of pants asking me to wash them. I want him to say he’s going to bed and ask if I will rub his back. I want him to open the front door and say a friend is here and 5 others walk in behind him. I want to sit on the couch with him and talk about something, anything, please anything.

We can’t.

I want to see him walk in with new vinyl that he scored at Zia Records. I want to hear some new music playing upstairs and ask who is that. I want to hear him playing his guitar. I want to hear his laugh again. I want to smell his smell as he picks me up off my feet. I want to touch his soft skin.

I can’t.

Riley was awesome. He really was. He was the light in a room. He went through life smiling and causing others to smile. He gave away hugs and they hugged back. He is gone never to speak, smile, hug again. That happened in an instant.

A fatal decision made to try a drug for the first time took him from me.  It only took one try to die. Stopped. Ended. Riley. I won’t ever hear his voice again. Touch him. Kiss him. Make dinner for him. Wash his clothes for him. Hand a $20 dollar bill to him for coffee again. See his shoes at the bottom of the stairs. Pick up a stack of coffee cups from his computer desk. I want to hear another, “I love you, Mom”.

We can’t share it. He can’t say it. I can’t hear it.

Whatever you think that drug might do for you, it’s not worth it.  Listen to Riley’s story.

I Love You, Riley.

My Riley Quilt

IMG_7503My Riley quilt has arrived. If you have followed me on Facebook over the past year, you know that Greg’s older sister, Sharon, offered to make he and I quilts out of Riley’s t-shirts. We divided the shirts picking which ones were important to us. Greg and Riley went to concerts together. They both loved music. I was a booster Mom for band and choir. I went along to some concerts and I also shared his love of music. We chose our memories with him in the shirts we picked.

10430438_10204045400842407_7255478289055572262_n (1)2I had a hard time parting with the shirts that weren’t washed. They still smelled like him. I held them close. I stared at them trying to make myself, will myself to wash and send them. It was too hard. I wasn’t ready. I decided to not make myself do it. I waited.

And when it felt right, when I decided I wanted the quilt enough to let them go, I washed them, folded them and sent the box of our chosen shirts to Sharon. Right now, to be honest, I am missing the shirts again. I can see the remnants of the paisley shirts that I bought him and the Hawaiian shirts I picked out for him that he was so well-known for wearing. The one he wore that last evening that he was alive I miss the most. He had dropped it in the same spot in his room that most of his dirty clothes gathered. He had a hamper. He rarely used it! I held that shirt the most.

When UPS rang my doorbell today, I stepped out and saw the box and knew what it was. Sharon let me know that it was coming. I hurried inside, put it down, ran to my junk drawer to find a pocket knife and started to cry before I even got back over to the box. More quiet tears fell as I opened it and more came as I spread it out and admired it. When I wrap myself in the quilt, I will cry again.

Sharon said that it took her so long to make the quilts because it took her awhile to be able to open the box of shirts when they came to her. It was an emotional task of love what she has done for us. I have imagined being wrapped up in this quilt for a year now. I am forever grateful to Aunt Sharon. Bria and Braden have their quilts from her when they graduated from high school. She has done a quilt for all of her nieces and nephews at age 18. Riley’s was planned, but he died before she had the shirts to make his.

IMG_7498`1On my quilt are t-shirts from The Beatles, Rush, Weezer, The Ramones, The Doors, Foo Fighters, Dinosaur Jr., Jimi Hendrix, Reel Big Fish and Two Verse. There are specific memories for each band t-shirt I picked. Music was Riley and there are experiences he had with each shirt on or experiences he shared with me while in them that are my memories. I also chose one of his CHS Marching Band t-shirts. I was remembering lining up feeding the band during long practices and before football games. I chose a CHS Choir t-shirt because I have beautiful memories of watching him on stage with his long blonde hair in his sparkly red bow tie singing his heart out. I have a tender memory of watching him play his guitar and sing with a classmate during choir class. His choir teacher told me that she watched me watching him from the back corner of the room. She said she will forever remember my face in that moment. I also picked his Senior t-shirt because of the box of graduation announcements I had sitting on my desk that never got mailed. For the cap and gown that I bugged him to make sure that he got ordered. He never picked those up to wear on graduation day.

In the center of my quilt is the last gift Riley gave me. On my birthday in April,  he gave me a Northern Arizona University MOM t-shirt that I hadn’t worn yet. I would have worn it proudly. He never got to step on campus as a freshman.IMG_7506

The times I scooped these shirts up off that pile in his room and washed them are on my mind. The times he sat himself next to me in them and said, “Mom, will you scratch my back?”  The times I ironed the paisley shirts before he left the house on a date or for senior pictures. Senior pictures that he never got to see. Sometimes I sleep in his white under shirts. I kept those.

My love, my son, at 18 died from trying a drug the very first time. A drug that was bought online. A tab that was loaded way past the amount he thought he bought. Chasing a cool experience, Riley had a horrifying one that he wasn’t able to climb out of. I lost my son that night.

I hold this quilt of memories of Riley trying to remember how he smelled. How he felt when he hugged me in them. What he looked like in the t-shirts smiling at me and hearing his voice saying, “I love you, Mom”. I want so bad to look at his face alive and healthy with that twinkle in his blue eyes. I want to be able to smile back at him and say, “I love you, Riley”. I will have to hold him in my Riley quilt instead.

I Love You, Riley.

This Side of the Clouds

photo (20)It’s a beautiful summer day in Kentucky. Weather is in the 70’s with a breeze. The sun is peeking in and out from behind the clouds. My property is a little over an acre. I have a hammock that sits out in the middle of my backyard of mostly grass. I walked out to the yard and laid on my hammock today.

I found myself staring at the crisp white clouds floating in the blue sky. I thought of how far that sky goes past those clouds. I thought of Riley and then I thought, Is heaven up there? Is he up there? We usually look up for heaven. Where is heaven? Then I started talking to him.

I said, “Riley, I am sorry this happened to you.” I pictured his face, his long blonde hair, his smile and my bottom lip started that quiver that I know so well now. The tears came for a few minutes like a cleanse. It happens like that a lot. One thought, one memory of Riley causes water flowing down my cheeks. It was only a few tears this time. Sometimes that is all I need. I kept staring at the clouds.

I truly am sorry. It shouldn’t have happened. He didn’t plan for it to happen. He thought he was doing something cool on his 18th birthday. He didn’t know. He couldn’t have known that his first try of acid would end like that. That he would die.

I wish he hadn’t tried the acid alone. I wish he hadn’t tried it at all. I wish the person that made the tab hadn’t screwed up. I wish that the little weasel that bought it online and sold it to him wasn’t still walking around and dealing. The kids at school knew who sold it to him. There was a hush and whispering as he showed up at the memorial and as he sat there at the funeral. How does he live with himself I wonder. I want him to stop selling. I fear for other teens lives that buy from him.

I wish LSD wasn’t being made or being sold period. I wish kids realized they don’t know what they are buying. They have poison in their hands. So many teens are dieing on the first try of a drug. They are dropping dead. Teens like Riley, like Montana, like Sam  who went looking for something to do on a weekend, looking for a high.

This is the deal…..Drugs kill. There is so much crap out there. Even pot can be laced with other drugs. What you think you are buying is probably not what you are getting. Synthetic weed is killing teens like Connor. It is still legal in many states and sold in convenience stores. Teens are dieing. Dead. Gone because of a chase of a high. It may sound fun at the time. Of course they don’t want to or plan to die. These teens had things to do the next day, things they were looking forward to.

As I find my high in other ways, I wish our teens would learn to do the same. There is so much around us to enjoy. To make our hearts skip a beat, to feel light, free, excited.  For me it is the cool breeze on my face, the sun shining,  the dirt under my fingernails, the skip of my heart when I climb a tree or dance with no one looking. I like the feeling of finishing a good book, good food, a good laugh, an intense conversation, and winning an argument.

What makes your heart skip a beat? Do that. Not drugs. Skip the drugs, put them away, get help if you need it. Live, Laugh, Love… Grow, Be challenged. Don’t die. Live Please Live.

I’m sorry Riley that this happened to you. You should be here laughing, shaking your head at me, being irritated at my constant questions while asking for a back scratch. You should be laying with me on my hammock having a good long talk about where heaven is. I miss you. I wish you were here. You should be playing your guitar under the blue sky – on this side of the clouds.

I Love You, Riley.

 

A Roller Coaster Ride

Roller Coaster- Choir Trip

Joy! Roller Coaster Ride, Choir Trip 2014

The pattern of Grief is a roller coaster ride. You never know what is coming day-to-day. There are good weeks and there are terribly bad weeks. I have recently made it through some of those terribly bad weeks that came with the one year anniversary of Riley’s death in May. I have moved into a feeling of numb but I am functioning. I am trying to recoop. I am trying to live. Once you go through one of the stages of grief, it doesn’t mean that you won’t ever feel it again. This I have learned. You might visit stages out of order, skip one, come back to another and repeat. My grief is not going anywhere. This I know.

IMG_6845This past weekend I attended The Great American Brass Band Festival in Danville, Kentucky. I took my chair and I planted myself on the grass with my camera in hand. What I saw around me were people of all ages eating ice cream, drinking drinks listening to music while sitting on the lawn. The stage was a gazebo. The backdrop was an old brick building, green grass, trees, pretty flowers with the sun going down and the fireflies blinking. As the bands played, children waved around light sticks. The patrons Moms, Dads, children danced close to the stage to the brass music from the bayou. The weather was perfect. The music was wonderful. Laughter echoed around me. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

Staring at the band, I focused on the tuba player. Oh, so innocently, I thought… Riley would like this event. And there the sharp edge of grief snuck in. It crept straight to my eyes and they puddled. It leaked into my heart and it ached. It was a quick thought that turned into a slump of my shoulders, a limpness of my extremities and a squeeze of my heart. The joy of the moment was instantly replaced.

You see, Riley was a band kid. He had moved from the saxophone to the tuba his sophomore year of high school. He played the tuba well just like every other instrument he took interest in. On Friday nights, we sat in the stands at the football games to hear him play. Over the years we sat in the seats of the Chandler Center for the Arts for his orchestra concerts. I volunteered in the band’s booster club. Band was a part of Riley.

IMG_7070This being a brass band event, I noticed a lot of saxophones and sousaphones (tubas) in the parade the next day. That didn’t make me cry. I wasn’t crying all weekend. It’s just those moments that all of a sudden grab you and yank you down. Like on a trip to the grocery store I was in the frozen food aisle, I saw a frozen pizza made with white sauce and a memory of having dinner with Riley at a restaurant came to mind. He ordered pizza with white sauce. The instant memory of conversation and laughter during dinner that night hit me straight on. That evening we spent together eating pizza was not long before he died. It was a good night.

So in the middle of the store, in a split second my mind went from what do I need at the grocery store to Riley. The tears welled up in my eyes, they sneaked down my cheeks while I stared blindly at a cold glass door thinking about my dead son that I will never share pizza with again. People walked around me as I continuously wiped each tear until the tears ceased and then I resumed my hunt for the next item on the list.

The realization that this is my life is in my face. I will forever have thoughts of my son and subsequent tears. Riley was lost by a first time try of LSD bought online. My youngest boy who had a whole life ahead of him of college and a future is gone by a decision to mess with a drug.  This is my life now because of his decision and the consequences of it.

I am me, but I am not me anymore. It’s like rediscovering life with a hole in my heart. It is trudging through the poop, the waste, the knee-high water that rises in front of me. Like a tide it disappears and reappears. This is grief. It is my life in the absence of my son who was a part of me.

I miss that part of me so very much. I am here living this altered life I didn’t ask for. What I ask is that my grief not be in vain. That the loss this world has suffered by Riley not being in it anymore be a story to be told to young adults who are and will be faced with the decision to try a drug. It is what keeps me telling Riley’s story. It is what has nailed me to the seat of the ups and downs on this roller coaster ride. It is my hope that lives are saved by my speaking out.

I Love You, Riley.

The Parent’s Reach

430023_3460963532894_988690135_n As responsible parents, we set out to keep our children safe, happy, and healthy. We bundle them up in cold weather before they step out the door. We slather them with sunscreen on hot days by the pool. We make sure they do their homework, have their seat belts on, get a good night’s rest, eat their vegetables, and lecture them on everything from “Don’t touch it’s hot” to “Drugs are bad for you”. I did that. I watched over my children like a hawk. They were my job. I took my job seriously working at it 7 days a week/24 hours a day. I was ready and waiting to spot a need I should fill in my pursuit to keep my children safe, happy and healthy.

I missed something. I do not know what I could have done different. Riley was healthy and happy. I thought I had done everything within my power to keep him safe. I think that I did.

Known for his Hawaiian shirts, purple vans, long blonde hair, acoustic guitar, warm smile and big bear hugs- he knew no strangers. He left lasting impressions with whomever he met by his whimsical demeanor and love for intense conversation about music, religion, politics and philosophy. Riley was smart. He was a computer guru. He was raised in a Christian home. He attended a Christian grade school. He was about to graduate from high school. He had been accepted to NAU. He had played in the high school band for three years. He sang in the high school choir his senior year. Oh how I loved watching him sing. He had a girlfriend. He was a musician with a love for all kinds of music. He played guitar, piano, saxophone and tuba. I sat quietly every chance I had to listen to him play his guitar.  He had interests, passions, plans for his future. He had so much to give and he did give.

He gave to the girl who was a stranger huddled along a wall in the school halls crying about her cat dying by making a comment that resulted in a conversation, a smile and a friendship. He stood in between a girl and bullies at school. He eased the apprehension of a new girl’s first day in class. He talked a boy out of suicide. He was a source of encouragement for the classmate that was pregnant. He helped his peers accept themselves as who they were- in their unique molds of different shapes, sizes, abilities and talents. He taught people to love….to love themselves and others. He gave the gift of laughter – smiles and the experience of a warm heartfelt hug. The kind of hug where he lifted you off your feet and held you tight. I often asked for Riley’s hugs myself.

On Riley’s 18th birthday, May 3, 2014, Riley tried acid/LSD for the first time. He bought the drug from a boy at school, a choir member who had bought it online. He sent out a snap chat of the tab on his tongue. He wrote of feeling joy at the beginning of the trip. Many hours later, he reached out to a boy who said to call him if he got into trouble. The boy did not answer. A girl sent him a “Happy Birthday” text. He replied, “On Acid” and then another, “Halp” (spelled like that). Not long after that, during an acid trip that must have turned very bad, worse than I like to imagine, Riley took a gun and shot himself.

Riley came into this world and left on the same date. Forever 18. A birthday dinner was planned for later that night. Presents for him were left wrapped not ever to be opened. Riley was gone in an instant by his decision to try a drug for the first time. Riley was a typical teen- he thought he was invincible. He was not invincible.

Only 30 hours before Riley put the tab on his tongue, he and I sat at the kitchen table together and talked about drugs. He brought the subject up. We talked about making smart choices, how dangerous drugs were and the possible consequences of drug use. This was a subject that we had discussed many times before. He assured me that we were on the same page. Yet now I know that he had already bought the acid when he sat down to talk to me.

The toxicology report showed that Riley had 5 times the amount of LSD in his system than what he thought he had bought. It was the highest amount that the medical examiner had seen in his 30 year career. Someone up the line of where the drug came from, whoever made it, messed up.

With all my know how, I attempted to keep my son safe. My reach, my arms enveloping him trying to protect him only worked so far into his life. Our children have opportunities to make decisions. Riley paid the consequences of the decision that he made to try acid.  A decision that I am sure if he could, he would make differently. My hope is that Riley’s story is repeated over and over. That the message is clear to those that hear it…Drugs kill.

As the school year ends, as summer break begins, the drug use and partying will be ramping up. More teens start drinking alcohol, smoke cigarettes, try drugs in the months of June and July than any other month of the year. Here we are approaching June in only a few days.

My hope is that teens hear Riley’s story, think twice and in turn make a different choice when given the opportunity to try a drug. My hope is that Riley’s story is repeated in the work place, in the classroom, at the kitchen table- that a parent hears his story and repeats it to their child.

If Riley’s story can save just one life, then we’ve made a difference.

Tell Riley’s story.

I Love You, Riley.