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.

What Would Riley Do Bracelets

November 20, 2015November 20, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

As the requests increase for me to speak and tell Riley’s story to groups, the requests for WWRD (What Would Riley Do) bracelets increase as well. I have been giving the bracelets out to whoever wants one when I speak. My thinking is it is a reminder of Riley’s story and perhaps seeing the bracelet will make a person think twice about using a drug. It also may spurn a person to tell Riley’s story to someone.

This is creating a financial strain on me since I can be speaking to 250 students at a time. I have created a Go Fund Me account so that I can take donations. I will only be using the money to cover the cost of the bracelets.

What Would Riley Do if given the chance again to try a drug? He’d choose to not do it. He’d say, “It’s not worth it.”

If you feel led to help me spread Riley’s story with these bracelets, donations can be made at www.gofundme.com/WWRDbracelets

Speaking to Save a Life

November 8, 2015 / djuanadreed / 5 Comments

As the weather changes, as the brisk air chills me, as the beautiful colors of fall are around me, I feel like a zombie that stuck around from Halloween. I am staring ahead and putting one foot in front of the other with my arms stretched straight out guiding me to the next destination. All this while there is an ache that is heavy weighing down my heart. The ache does not let up. It hurts.

Perhaps it is the change of weather triggering the sense of the seasons of holidays ahead. Holidays are hard for those who are grieving the loss of a loved one. Perhaps it is one of the waves of intense grief that come and go. That happens. Perhaps it is those things and all of the speaking I have been doing telling Riley’s story.

To speak and tell Riley’s story takes strength in a new form for me. If you have ever heard me speak, I have a small “baby” voice. Yes, it is true. It has been my whole adult life that the phone rings, I answer and the sales person on the other end says, “Is your Mom home?” and my regular reply is, “I am the Mom.” I have to work to speak loud enough for the room to hear me.

I do not speak in front of people well. My mind gets jumbled. I cannot remember everything I would have written skillfully with purpose and order. I have no skill in speaking. I have quit worrying about skill- instead of trying to do it perfectly, I sit down and tell Riley’s story to the students. I talk to the teens as if they were in my home sitting on the couch with me. Mother mode is easy for me.

Mother mode also opens me up to feel for who I am talking to. I want to protect those precious lives in front of me.

To tell Riley’s story over and over is to relive my nightmare. To speak to the students as a mother who has lost her child to drugs, to beg for them to hear his story and make a different choice than Riley made is draining. It is an opportunity I am thankful for.

I want Riley’s death to not be in vain. My hope is that Riley’s story saves a life.

The impact of my telling his story has already shown as teens (both boys and girls) line up to hug me when I am done. Many step up to me with tears in their eyes. Some uncontrollably crying, telling me their experiences with drugs. This is the case often for the teens that are living with drugs and addiction in their family- these experiences have affected them deeply. Kids are coming into the counselors’ offices individually- needing to talk, to share, to ask for help.

If you have been following me over the last year, you may know about the purple WWRD (What Would Riley Do) bracelets that were made by Riley’s friends to wear and remember the unconditional love he gave to others. I have been handing them out to the students when I speak.

I share the original purpose of the bracelets because that is who Riley was. I also tell the students, I am hoping that when they look at the bracelet, they think to themselves, What Would Riley Do? Riley would say it’s not worth it. He was looking forward to college. He didn’t even get to walk across the stage and get that high school diploma. His life stopped at 18 because of trying a drug.

The bracelets have become something the students are embracing. If they didn’t get one, they are stopping in the counselor office and asking for one. Perhaps the bracelet gets thrown into a drawer, ends up under their bed or thrown into a jewelry box. Perhaps in the moment they need to remember Riley’s story, that person opens the drawer, finds it under the bed or inside the jewelry box and remembers a boy like them died by his choice to try a drug.

It is like playing russian roulette using drugs. You do not know what you have. Riley didn’t. There are too many stories to count of teens who have died using drugs for the first time. It only takes one try. If there isn’t death, there are teens in wheel chairs, half blind, in a hospital bed on a ventilator and many others are chained to drugs by addiction. Addiction ruins lives, is difficult to beat and all too often ends in death.

I HATE DRUGS. I hate that Riley is not here on this earth anymore because of them.

I wish I was making a phone call to Riley in his dorm at NAU to hear about his week. Instead I am looking out a window wrapped in a sweater with an aching heart. I am watching beautiful leaves of red, orange, yellow and brown fall to the ground in the breeze wondering how to have more opportunities to tell Riley’s story in hope to save a precious life. FullSizeRender

I LOVE YOU, Riley.

RILEY, MY SON, MY LOVE

October 4, 2015October 4, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

Around 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.

His 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.

Broken Dishes

August 11, 2015 / djuanadreed / 6 Comments

I walked to the cabinet, picked up a wine glass, walked out the back door and slammed it as hard as I could to the ground. I screamed out loud. I crouched down, hugged my knees and rocked back and forth while I cried. I stood up, walked back to the cabinet, picked a plate and threw that one down. I kept at it for a while. Crying, marching back to the cabinet, tossing dishes onto the concrete and watching them shatter into pieces. The quiet of the night, the noise of the bugs in the dark interrupted with crashes of glass and ceramic as the broken pieces spread across my back porch.

Little shards hit my ankles as the dishes broke. If I had gotten cut I would have welcomed it. I much rather feel the pain on the outside. If it’s on the outside you bandage it and it heals. It is hard to find relief when the pain is on the inside. I was looking for a bandage by breaking something. I needed to let it out.

I am angry. I am sad. I am hurt. I am lonely. I have no control. I have no freaking control! Anger is like a poison. I don’t like how it stews and burns on the inside of me. It’s prickly with sharp edges. It eats up the good. It taints my days. I need a punching bag to punch. I don’t have one though I’m thinking it might need to be on my next shopping list next to dishes.

I chose breaking dishes on the hard concrete to let the anger out. Oh I picked which dishes and I counted to make sure I had at least 4 of each before I walked back outside. (I’m practical even in my anger.) It helped. I feel a little better. It helps to see it all broken and scattered on the concrete this morning. The pain is visible in a way and I am in no hurry to clean it up.

My grief stretches wider than the death of my son though that makes me very angry at times. It is a broken marriage of half of my lifetime. A broken family. I lay under a bus that I threw myself under to shield and protect. There is loss of family and friends. The home that I ran and took care of, where my kids grew up in is on the market to be sold. Riley’s organ is at the dump buried under someone else’s garbage. A 400 lb albatross that didn’t work yet it was one of Riley’s prized possessions. If only I had been asked first. If only I had a chance to find it a home before it got pushed off the back of a truck. I have no control.

Those broken dishes that lay on the ground represent my grief in more than one area of my life. Eventually I will pick up the pieces, sweep it up and bag it. I want to throw away the anger with the broken dishes. I want peace. I need peace of some sort as I sift through my life. If only I could live in a cocoon.

Like a butterfly emerges from a cocoon, I have to believe despite what life brings, that I can fly above it all. I want to look forward not backwards. Can the grief of losing a child have its place in our lives without it taking over and ruining us? I believe so.

With grief comes anger, hurt, pain. I will carry Riley with me in my heart forever. I will mourn for him and miss him until the day that I die. I will get over these other circumstances that have created anger. I have accepted that Riley is gone. I can’t bring him back. I will continue to tell Riley’s story in hope that his story saves a life.

Harboring anger has eaten me up inside. I cannot walk barefoot in my freshly cut grass that I proudly mowed myself because it is now laden with broken glass. My advice is: Don’t hold it in. Let it out. The longer you hold the bitter emotions in, the bigger it will fester. Cry if you need to cry. Scream and yell at the wall if you need to. Kick something. Stomp like a 2 yr old having a temper tantrum. Do what you need to do to release it. Save the dishes if you can.

Circumstances that make me hurt and angry will come and go. The control that I do have is to take care of myself by constructively releasing the anger before all I have are paper plates.

I Love You, Riley.