There’s No Rewriting History

May 11, 2015May 12, 2015 / djuanadreed / 2 Comments

I lost a blog that I spent all afternoon pouring myself into. I spent hours on it and when I went to save it, I lost it completely. No drafts available. No automatic saves appear. It’s as if I didn’t even type at all today. Nothing. It’s gone. I used great vocabulary and symbolism. It was a good one. I was happy with it and about ready to publish it.

Can I describe it again? Maybe. Can I rewrite it like it was? No. Do I want to drag all the feelings and thoughts up to try again? No! I don’t think so. I don’t think I can reproduce it again from scratch with the heart and soul I put into it in the moment.

Note to self: Remember to push ‘Save Draft’.

In frustration, I got up from my computer, drug my hammock out to the middle of my grass. I laid flat in the cool evening air staring up at the moon lit cloud ridden sky. I was there to relax after spilling all that out about Riley and my grief. As soon as I laid down and looked up, I thought of Riley. It didn’t take long until my bottom lip started quivering. I let it out- loudly. I cried. I let the sobs and screams pour out of me right there with the bugs buzzing and the mysterious critters out there in the dark watching me. I wish I could see past the clouds to see Riley. What I would give to see him again. Touch him again. Laugh with him again. I cannot.

Note to you: Remember to push ‘Save Draft’. We can’t rewrite history. Make it count.

Don’t take anything for granted. None of it. Savor every moment with your child. That includes the uncomfortable and hard times. The moments of disappointment. The fun times. The awe moments. The sad moments. The proud moments. The scary moments. The still and quiet moments. The rush of life moments. Enjoy their firsts and their lasts. Enjoy the joy and laughter together. All of these make up your relationship, they help you know your child better…they are the memories you can’t make again.

Take your job as parent seriously- don’t let up. Make sure you are Preaching it. Teaching it. Sharing it. Whether they act like they are listening or not, say it. Ask the question whether they roll their eyes at you and give you that look. Be the example. If you expect it from your child you best be doing the same.

Ya know Riley was an amazing kid. Gifted. Talented. Smart. Full of potential. He made this world better by being in it. What did I miss? He made a bad decision. I can’t do anything differently. I can’t go back. The memories and moments are all I have now. We can’t make more together.

One of my memories is a little song I sang to my kids when they were little. My Mom sang it to me. It always produced a giggle. It goes, “Head bumper, eye winker, tom tinker, nose smeller, mouth eater, chin chopper and a gitty gitty gitty goo.” I am remembering Riley’s eyes opened wide at what I was saying when touching his nose smeller and his laugh when he was tickled with the gitty gitty gitty goo. I miss his smile with the dimple in his left cheek just like mine.

I want to have another shot at an argument with him. I can make my point better now. I want to finish ten conversations that we started. I think to tell him things. He’s not there. I have so many questions I wish I could ask. Simple ones…What do you like best about___? What is your favorite____? I cannot ask now.

I want to tell him what I know now about the drugs that are out there. What I know now about LSD. I want to have that conversation about legalizing marijuana again. I want to have said something different the night we talked about drugs just days before he died. I gave him the information that I had at the time. I assumed we were on the same page. He said we were. He lied. We weren’t. It’s too late to make my points stronger, better, to try to change his mind though I didn’t know what he was thinking at the time.

We can’t go back. We can’t rewrite history. We can’t change the outcome. We as parents can only do our best with the knowledge we have. Make sure you have accurate and current knowledge. Do your homework about drugs and drug use. Know about the risks of addiction and talk about it with your teens. Know what you are talking about. Share it with your teens. Watch for the signs of drug use.

Hug and kiss your kids. Enjoy them to the fullest. Tell them you love them. Live in the moment for that moment may be all you have.

I Love You, Riley.

The Stark Reality of Grief

April 24, 2015April 24, 2015 / djuanadreed / 2 Comments

Grief is individual. I am alone in this. Some people may not understand that statement. Unfortunately those who have lost a child do understand it. It is a lonely walk with many people standing all around me waiting to hug, help, ease my pain, yet I cannot receive help on this matter. There is no way I can help you understand what it is like. If you do understand, I am sorry.

I carried Riley in my womb for 9 months. Attached by an umbilical cord he grew within me. While he was growing, I ate the right foods, slept, and was careful to take care of myself in order to grow a healthy baby boy. When I pushed him out into this world, he took a breath and cried. I nursed him. I woke to his cry at night. I rocked him for hours upon hours. I slept with him in my arms.

Riley is and will forever be a part of me. Often I imagine him in my arms, cradling him tightly as I fall asleep. At 17, he towered over me in height and size. I couldn’t pick him up anymore. He picked me up off my feet and held me instead. With the loss of Riley on this earth there is an empty crater that will remain empty. The loss of Riley is felt by many. Their grief is their own.

He was a part of me as I was a part of him. Being a boy, he wanted to be like his Dad. He was so much like his Dad. He and his sister were like a comedy routine together jousting back and forth with words and phrases that sometimes only they understood. He and his brother were bound together as brothers. This was apparent when irritating each other in their bunk beds at night or when they were ganging up on their big sister. He will always be with us in our hearts. We will always cry for him.

The stark reality of how individual grief is has hit me hard. Since the day that he died, I have been waiting to grieve with the other half of him, his adult brother and sister yet it has not happened like I ached for it. They must walk this walk the way they need to. Their grief is individual. There is no right or wrong. There are stages. There are ups and downs. They will find their own solace and their own way of handling their pain. The memories that make me smile don’t always make them smile, but make them cry instead. The photos that warm me can’t be shared with a sure feeling that they will receive them in a moment they can handle the memory. I wait to be held by someone who feels it like I feel it, but it doesn’t come. There is not anyone that feels my loss like I do.

Family and friends consistently try. They ask, “What can I do for you?” My answer is always, “Nothing.” I can’t think of anything that might make me feel better. It is an empty hole, an ache that grips and runs rampant through my whole body. My heart aches, hurts, pounds like it is reaching out for him and then my heart feels lifeless within me. I cannot reach him. He is gone.

As I sat alone in my apartment the day after the funeral waiting for the promised call to come be with family that never came, I realized I was on my own. There, in that moment, I started to realize I must get through this for Riley. Without my youngest son on this earth, I can still get up, stand up and keep moving as hard as it is sometimes. I can make my way through this maze of pain, of loss, of a changed life. I can hold on to my love for him. I can fight for other teen’s lives. I can fight for mine.

Riley tried LSD for the first time on his 18th birthday. He was about to graduate from high school. He was accepted to Northern Arizona University. He was in love with a girl who loved him back. He could be found almost every day of the week at Coffee Rush sitting with old friends or making new ones. The LSD was bought online by the dealer who was a peer of his. Riley thought he had bought a certain amount, the tab was loaded with so much LSD that the medical examiner said he had not seen that high of an amount in one body in the 30 years of doing his job. In the horrors at the end of his acid trip, Riley took a gun and shot himself. In an unconscious pull of a trigger, my baby boy was gone.

Riley had consequences that he never considered. It was his choice to try a drug. My motivation to tell Riley’s story in my grief is that teens hear the message which is It can happen. It is absolutely not worth the try. Riley lost a future of experiences, milestones and memories for both of us. As I walk this walk, I will continue to tell his story in hope that it will be shared to help turn a teen away from risking the fate Riley suffered. Life is precious…….. even the grieving kind.

I Love You, Riley.

When Doves Fly

April 20, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

Spring is in the air. The grass is a lush green. There are buds of leaves springing on the trees. Overnight the scenery around me changes. I go to sleep with bare bushes and wake up to green, purple, and white buds blossoming. The pastures are a deep green with wild flowers and dandelions, the sky is blue and I am breathing fresh cool air. The birds are singing. This is all so refreshing. I have lived here six months. It is a new season to experience and I am ready for it.

Riley is on my mind. I have had a break from crying the last few weeks. I have had an uncanny sense of calm. I can’t really explain why. I’m fighting some anger these days about Riley’s case and the situation of his death, but not even that has dug into my gutt. I’m busy with work. I’m not sure exactly why I am calm. I’m not going to complain.

I am in tune to the birds here. It has made me think of a dove that appeared on my balcony during the time right after Riley died. I had lived there a year and had not seen one there before. I was alone on my couch crying and overwhelmed with my grief. I was wishing it wasn’t true- that it was all a bad dream.The dove appeared and stayed for two days. It flew back and forth from one side of the balcony to the other. When I rolled over to cry more, it would bump into the sliding glass door making sure I knew it was there. It perched, it cooed and it stared at me through the window. I went to sleep, I woke up and it was still there.

About then I decided I needed to keep moving. I had to stand up. I had to dig for my strength. I have just kept breathing and putting one foot in front of the other since. I cry when I need to cry. I yell into the empty space when I feel anger. I get it out. I talk to Riley and tell him that I love him every time he passes through my mind. I am facing my grief. All of the ups and downs, the lulls and the storm of emotions and I have found I am remarkably still standing as we near the one year mark.

A dove has recently started nesting in my gutter on my front porch of my log cabin here in Kentucky. It is raining. Even in the rain, she does not move. She looks at me. The sounds of Bert clunking around underneath her does not disturb her. The mail woman who drove up my driveway to give me a package did not make her budge. She remains steadfast and still. She is protecting what is growing beneath her.

Doves bring peace. They are rare amongst birds in that they produce their own milk to feed their young. They cease foraging before their babies are born to ensure the milk is pure. This is a sacrifice for their young. This is nurturing and motherhood. They represent care, devotion, and purity. In the midst of battle and conflict, the dove is a symbol of peace that will come. The cooing of a dove is lulling and calming. The dove is representative of unconditional love. It is believed that when a dove is seen flying it means a soul has been released from earth.

Riley’s soul is not here anymore. It has been released. I will continue to fight this fight for Riley. This I can do for him.

My son is gone because of a first time try of acid/LSD. He is gone because blood sucking, money hoarding human beings are behind making these drugs that are bought online. Someone messed up making the tab Riley bought from the high school dealer. A tab with the highest amount of LSD the medical examiner had seen in one body in his 30 year career. One try of LSD took my child. He couldn’t have, wouldn’t have known this outcome. I know that he would go back and make a different choice if he could. He cannot.

Choices have consequences. I beg teens to make smart choices. Think before you act. Know that you are not invincible. Riley’s death is proof of that. Save your parents from this pain. Don’t mess with drugs. Step away from whatever pressure you feel to try or to continue using. That’s whatever drug is in front of you. Be different. Stay alive. Think about Riley.

I Love You, Riley.

My Caterpillar

April 6, 2015 / djuanadreed / 1 Comment

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 on the floor in the isles of my own childhood memories of books. Danville’s library is a red brick building with white trim. It stands majestically with nearby church bells tolling on the hour. It has a round foyer and staircases with white banisters. The children’s section is a relaxed area for fun around books. On each trip, I find a new part of the alphabet to look through. I crawl along the floor picking books that look interesting then sit in the isle and read. I pick books that I don’t turn past the first page and then I find others that make me smile and literally chuckle out loud as I read them.

I smile at the story line, the illustration and sometimes I smile because I read that book many times to my oldest daughter, Bria who is now 25. The books I remember treasuring as a child myself are still on the shelves and popular amongst the little eyes and ears who are sitting on their mother’s lap listening intently today. I read Goodnight Moon to Bria so many times. Braden liked any book about firetrucks. Riley liked the adventures of Corduroy, the bear.

Recently I was working and was distracted to Riley’s Facebook page. I was looking through photos he posted on his timeline over the years. I reveled in listening to his voice by comments he made. Remembering who he was and that humor of his that was so him. It was a wonderful hour of being next to Riley again. There was his voice in what he wrote, a video of him playing the tuba, his laugh and funny faces right there on my screen. And then there it was, he posted a photo of the book Corduroy by Don Freeman and another of The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle. He was being nostalgic about his favorite books as a child. Eric Carle’s books had been on my mind. It is one of the examples of a book that has remained popular since Bria was born.

The next day, I went to the library and found The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle and checked it out. I got it home and I opened it. I read each page looking at the photos while remembering. I remembered the times of reading it to each of my children while they sat on my lap or sometimes a child was cuddled up close on either side of me and one little Riley was placed on my lap. I hadn’t thought of the story line of A Very Hungry Caterpillar in a very long time until the story unfolded with the turn of each page. At the end of the book, I cried. Tears rolled down my cheeks and hit that last page. At the end was a picture of a beautiful butterfly.

In some cultures, butterflies represent the soul. The souls of those who have passed away. The transformation from egg to adult. Riley was born and died on the same date. He lived. He laughed. He helped others. He shared his smile. He played his guitar and sang his heart out. He barely made it to adult by hours and then he was gone.

Riley had a good life. He had his teenage angst. He did things I wouldn’t have approved of. He did alot of things I did approve of. And his life was cut short by trying a drug. As our children grow older, they have the freedom of choice. To cross the road without looking both ways. To talk to strangers. To not put their seatbelt on when they pull out of the driveway. To text while driving. To have sex without a condom. To try a drug for a forbidden high.

There’s no way to beat it into their brains. My theory is that we educate them of the dangers out there and that they know the possible outcome of their choices. As they grow older, some of those warnings we have given make sense to them. Some of those warnings obviously don’t as our teens take chances. The teen brain says, “I am invincible. It cannot happen to me.”

Riley’s story says it can happen. We are not invincible. Drugs kill. Even on the first try. I hate drugs.

I Love You, Riley.

The Chair

January 5, 2015 / djuanadreed / 7 Comments

Here I sit at my desk, in my office, looking out my window at a winter day in Kentucky. I haven’t left the cabin in two days and am still in my pajama bottoms. This is where I pictured myself writing when I bought the cabin. I kinda feel like I finally made it to this spot. The furniture has been in my garage for months and the desk is very heavy so I had to wait for help to get it in here. My office is cluttered and very unorganized. But the desk is where I dreamed it to be. I’m sitting in Riley’s chair. It still smells like him. He lived in this chair sitting at his desk listening to music, playing music on his guitar- heck he learned to play guitar from this chair. He gamed on the computer, did homework and even when friends were over, they were often gathered around him in his chair looking at the computer and listening to music. If Riley was home and awake, he most likely was in this chair at his desk.

When I first brought it into the cabin, I rolled it into the middle of the family room, sat sideways in it and twirled it around and around. I put my nose to the back of the chair and breathed in his scent. I ran my hands along the arm rests and felt the wear and tear on them where his arms laid once upon a time. I tried to feel Riley. It has that chair sound. You know, that creak not a squeak when you lean back in it. There’s a bit of cat hair from his cat, J (named after Dinosaur Jr’s lead singer, J Mascis) tucked in where the back of the chair meets the seat. I think I’ll tuck it back in there. I told him “No” every time he asked for a cat then one day, we were looking at horse property and there was a stray kitten. After the second time of seeing the kitten at that property, I said “Let’s take it home” and we did and we gave him to Riley. That was a happy day for Riley.

Now I am writing about Riley from his chair. I sure wish he was still in it. All the times I tracked up the stairs to talk to him while he sat in this chair. I brought him medicine when he was sick and laid it in front of him on his desk. I sat quietly next to him listening as he played his guitar. I yelled from another room, “What’s the name of that song?” when I heard something he was listening to that I liked. I talked to him while he sat in this chair. Sometimes hard conversations. Sometimes it was Do you have homework? How was your day? conversations.

In the early morning hours of the day he died, some time after he had taken the LSD, he wrote the following from this chair. It appeared just like this.

May 3, 2014

i remember what joy feels like

i now know what it means

what it means to be happy

i swear

i figured it out

i’ve been waiting all my life

it’s happening

guh

i can’t stop smiling

acid

Several hours later, Riley made a phone call seeking help. They didn’t answer. I have been told you can think an acid trip is gone and it can come back with intensity. A trip can go bad. He typed a text message to a girl across the country in reply to her Happy Birthday message to him, saying “On Acid” then another right after, “Halp” (spelled just like that). Not long after that, he shot himself. The toxicology report says, he died from the gunshot wound. The medical examiner added “Note: The findings and totality of the circumstances in this gentleman’s case indicate his injury was self-inflicted. However, in light of the high concentrations of the hallucinogen LSD in his blood, in my opinion , the manner of death is best classified as undetermined.” You see Riley thought he bought a tab of 185 mcg of acid which the dealer bought online. The dealer being a high school kid- same school, same choir. The tab actually contained 950 mcg- that amount in one body was more than the medical examiner had seen in the 30 yrs of doing his job.

The drug dealer still deals drugs. The company still sells its drugs online. Kids are still buying drugs and experimenting with them. Riley won’t ever sit in this chair again.

Kids are dying from drugs. How do we stop this? I ask. How many more parents will lose a child by a drug? It only takes one time.

I HATE DRUGS.

I Love You, Riley.

One Holiday Down, One More To Go

December 16, 2014December 23, 2014 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

As I sit at a dead stop watching a train go by at a railroad crossing on a back road in Kentucky, I think of the crossroad I am at of two very painful holidays this year. One holiday down, one more to go! I can’t help from be impatient in my seat anxious for the cross bars to come up so that I can move on. It is the same kind of wait for the holidays to pass.

Christmas has always been my most favorite holiday. I love everything about Christmas. The lights, the decorations, the baking of cookies and sweets, and the giving. I love to give! As I finish dropping off gifts for children in need in the area, as I finish gathering gifts for my friends and family, there is only a numb feeling on my insides. I move through the motions. I do the things I think I am supposed to, the things that brought me joy every year yet the joy is not within reach this year.

I have decorated the outside of my cabin with big obnoxious multicolored lights. I have baked my traditional cookies and sweets. I have put up a live tree that smells wonderful and has soft pine needles. Mostly Riley ornaments hang from the branches of my Christmas tree. That is about all I have here. I brought with me part of the ornaments I had bought him each year since he was born. A tradition I had for the kids was that I bought an ornament for each one of them that represented their age, their likes and interests. My thinking was that they would have ornaments to take with them when they moved out and had a Christmas tree of their own. Riley’s ornaments will stay with us. He won’t be taking them and putting them on his tree some day like I had planned.

My Christmas tree sits by my fireplace burning warmly. My cabin smells like a camp fire. All of the new here doesn’t keep me from remembering the old. Oh how I miss my kids this year. I will hold two of them again. I wish to God that my boy was still here, alive, breathing, smiling, laughing and entertaining us with his ever present personality. I cry and I cry. I ache and I ache for him. Christmas will never be the same. My life will never be or feel the same.

I think of Riley’s smile as he opened presents. He was just as vibrant at age 17 on Christmas morning as he was when he was 7. Always thankful for his gifts even as he opened the boxes of clothes though you know he was anxious to get to the good stuff.

When he was young, he was the first to wake up. We would give him the go ahead to sort the presents and make our piles of gifts around the tree so that we could have a little more sleep. Then when he let us know that he was done, we would get up, wake up the teenagers and take our spots around the tree. Our tradition was to open presents youngest to oldest. Riley was the first to open a gift each year. He opened his last Christmas gift ever last year. We didn’t know. He didn’t know.

I wish Riley was opening a present from me this Christmas morning. I am glad that I cannot see his empty spot next to the tree. If only he could give us the gift of being here this year.

Just let it be over. Let the stabbing memories of this time of year pass. As the train passes, as I think the crossing bars will raise, another train comes going the other direction! That is where we are this year. Waiting for another Riley memory to pass with yet another one on its way. Though Riley memories give us smiles, the pain that there won’t be another moment in time created with him in it is the uncomfortable stabbing reality of now on. Riley’s choice to try acid on his 18th birthday ended his life and changed our lives, our holidays forever.

Riley, a graduating senior in high school, accepted to NAU, band kid, choir kid, computer whiz, entertainer for anyone in his presence by guitar, jokes, smiles and hugs, a brother, a son won’t sit underneath another Christmas tree and open a present. If only kids would realize that messing with drugs of any kind is dangerous.

Do you really know what is in that joint, pill, tab? Do you know what it will do to you? That possible high, that idea of an experience cannot be worth the outcome of what might happen. It happened to Riley. It is not worth it.

I Love You, Riley.

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