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 Connective Tissue of Loss and Life

March 9, 2015 / djuanadreed / 1 Comment

Riley’s 16th birthday, May 3, 2012, was a monumental day. He and I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get his driver’s license. Getting his driver’s license was a big deal. Big for Riley. Big for me too. This meant I could send him to get milk at the grocery store. It meant that I wasn’t the chauffeur anymore. It meant that now I would worry about him driving and being safe. Mostly, being my youngest, I knew he was the last of my children that I would bring to this very spot to pass one more milestone in his life. I remember sitting there waiting with him feeling very nostalgic and sad. This was one more last time which I knew more were coming quickly like each birthday party marking a year older closer to when he would be grown, gone and on his own. There would be high school graduation before I knew it and then college.

After many trips of being on the passenger side of the car to and from school, on errands, Riley was getting his driver’s license. When it was our turn, Riley was handed the paperwork to fill out. I watched him pen in his name, birth date, etc. He also filled out the authorization of the Donor Registration. He did not hesitate. He was willing to give the gift of life by donating parts of his body if his life ended. He marked ‘Yes’ to all twelve of the anatomical gifts listed. I remember the shiver up my spine imagining that his life could ever end. I wiped that thought from my mind quickly. I was proud of him it was just another sign of the giving person he was. Just like the pride I felt when he came back from his driving test with a smile on his face, he had passed.

On May 3, 2014, on Riley’s 18th birthday, only hours after we found out that he had died, we received a call from the Donor Network of Arizona to talk to us about his tissue donation. I was surprised at the call. There was a list of questions for us and a detailed explanation of what would happen next. We were all still in shock sitting in a room crying, pacing, staring in blank air, trying to put it all together. We were still trying to understand how this happened, why it happened. I was still pleading to God that it not be true. It was not a good time for a call like this. I understand why the call is made so quickly, but still who had the with all to focus on anything.

Yet, knowing he was giving the gift of life and healing to others from his lifeless body gave me a warm feeling even at that horrific time. He would live on in others physically. That sounded good and brutal in those moments of freshly losing my child. Riley donated every part of him that was viable. Tissue, eyes (cornea), veins, skin, bone and connective tissue. I’ve thought a lot about the fact that someone got his beautiful soft skin. I miss touching him. The good feeling is that he must have helped many people.

Recently we received our first letter from a recipient. I am sure there will be more to come. The letter came from a man who had torn his tricep from his elbow in a fall. By using Riley’s tissue, they were able to attach it back. He relayed his gratitude, thanking us and said when he was completely healed, it would be as good as new. There ya go, Riley, you’re still helping others. That’s my boy.

I am proud of Riley for this decision. I am thankful to be able to know that he lives on in others. I recently saw messages of his friends talking of missing him, wishing they would see him sitting at Coffee Rush, wishing they could talk to him. The loss of Riley is huge in our family, yet his death has effected so many outside of it. I have messages from his peers as well as adults that say who he was has changed their life forever. They will remember him and try to emulate the love he showed to others. I have messages from parents who tell Riley’s story in hopes that their children will not make such a fatal mistake of trying a drug. I have messages from teens who say they will not try drugs because of Riley’s story.

The connective tissue of a loss and still living is evident here in more ways than one. He is effecting lives to this day. That’s my boy!

I Love You, Riley.

Meeting Eternity

January 19, 2015January 19, 2015 / djuanadreed / 1 Comment

I’ve joined a closed group on Facebook called GRASP- Grief Recovery After a Substance Passing. The group exists for those that have lost a loved one as the result of substance abuse or addiction. The group is very large. Way too large. People post about their grief, their confusion, questions, anger, sadness. Often they post the date of when their loved one passed. This makes you realize how many have died because of drugs. How many died last week, last month, last year, two years ago, ten years ago. Even the date that Riley died has shown up.

People show support for each other in their grief, in their anger at the drug…heroine is one of the biggest culprits or a mix of opiates, but the common factor is death by a drug. I have realized that I really hate death. Before this, I had a belief that death was part of the circle of life. We come, we go. We live, we die. We are born into this world and we are to leave this world. Right now, death means an end to a life that I hold precious. That life of my child I want selfishly with me- here to touch, kiss, hug, talk to .

When children and young adults die, it is tragic. It is a life not finished. Riley made a huge impact on the lives around him. I would not have ever known the extent of how he touched lives if he was still alive. The stories told at the memorial that his classmates put together, the adults pulling me aside to tell me how he touched them and the private messages I have received give me a glimpse of Riley at a peer level -what he was like when he was not home and in my view. He was jovial and gave away hugs. He caused others- many strangers- to smile as he passed them in the hall of school just by his warm, goofy, what’s up smile. He stood up for the girl being bullied. He entertained a classroom. He brought on challenging conversations with teachers. He changed lives. He talked more than one from committing suicide. He helped a girl get through a teen pregnancy by being supportive and assuring her she could do this. He dried tears by diverting sad thoughts to better thoughts. To the boy who was an outsider, he showed him he should accept himself and how precious he is just as he is. Riley changed lives. Death took him from us at age 18. Too soon! Just imagine what else he would have done with his life…I can’t imagine now. There is no imagination to it. His life was stopped. My imagination of his future has stopped.

I read a post by a woman recently, a grandmother who is dying from cancer. She is facing her own death after losing her adult son to drugs. She expressed such dignity and grace about what she is facing right now. I am impressed. She is close to being reunited with her son yet she is holding on to the time she has here, now. She used the word eternity and it has made me think about the afterlife, the hereafter, everlasting life, where we go, what happens there. The bible says. The pastor says. We hope. We have faith that we will see our child again in a better place. A Heaven that holds no sorrow or pain. Timelessness.

I am in timelessness now. I forget appointments. I sit for hours without realizing it has been hours. There are moments I wish for death myself. Now. The pain, the loss I feel, how part of my heart is gone and it won’t come back or be replaced. Grief is an unyielding pain. There are days, sometimes even more than one in a row, that I am able to do okay and focus on work or something I am writing or yard work or how someone has really pissed me off, but then I sit still and remember… my sweet baby boy is gone. He has met his eternity.

So as I ponder the grace and dignity this woman shows while she faces meeting her eternity with the faith that she will see her son again, I would like to be able to face my life as it is now, without my son here to touch again, with grace and dignity until I meet my eternity. Knowing there are no guarantees of how long we have on this earth. Knowing that if I can make a difference while I am able to write and share Riley’s story. If I can muster my passion of working with abused and neglected children in the court system again. If I can create a children’s book with a purple elephant named Riley that leaves his paw print wherever he goes. If I can simply share a smile with a stranger like my boy did, then I’m doing pretty good. One single step at a time.

I Love You, Riley.

Mom’s Sugar Cookies

January 13, 2015January 13, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

I was blessed with a wonderful mother. She was simple, selfless, sensitive and she loved with her whole heart. I am the oldest of five. We grew up with homemade dinner on the table every night. My Dad sat and she served him. No matter if she was sick or had a long day, she stood in the kitchen and made her family something to eat. I have very few memories of take out meals or visits to a restaurant. Mom put all five of us in the station wagon and went grocery shopping. I can’t imagine five kids in tow while trying to grocery shop. She sewed. She made me new clothes for dates, prom and even created my wedding dress, bridesmaid dresses, flower girl and train bearers’ dresses. She mowed the yards. Clean laundry hung from a clothesline out back. She taught Sunday School to three year olds. She was a good wife and mother.

We have our favorite foods she made. Even my kids talk about Grandma’s cooking to this day. For the life of me, I’m not so sure what it was about her food. She didn’t make fancy dishes…….I wonder if it was the love that was served in her meals that everyone ate up and remembers.

One of the traditions we had growing up was making sugar cookies with Mom. They were not too sweet, fluffy not hard, just right. We rolled the dough out with flour and a rolling pin. We used cookie cutters, pressed them into the dough and placed them on a cookie sheet. We ate the remnants of the dough. She told us not to, we still did it. We decorated the cookies with her homemade icing and then we ate them. She continued the sugar cookie tradition with her grandchildren. I can picture my children, nieces and nephews up on bar stools covered in flour making sugar cookies with Grandma like it was just yesterday.

My mom died six years ago today. The call from my Dad, the feeling of Mom suddenly gone still runs through me. It was unexpected. Mom was young. She went to sleep and did not wake up. The sting of the loss of my mother remains. I still think to tell her things today as if she is a phone call away. I was the first to give her grand kids and what an amazing grandmother she was. She did not spoil them with gifts, but she gave them knowledge like how to sew, and cook. Just as Dad taught my boys to build things and fix things. Mom taught by being an example of her faith and her trust in God in all situations. She was always there when I needed her. I can’t think of a time that she wasn’t while she was alive.

Mom had planned to make sugar cookies with her youngest granddaughter at the time the morning that she died. The dough was made and waiting in the refrigerator. With the loss of Riley so fresh, I had a serious desire to make her sugar cookies this year at Christmas. I found two teenagers to make them with me here in Kentucky. To have that feeling, that mess, that pride in the finished product of an iced sugar cookie just like Mom gave her kids and her grand kids made me feel closer to her and Riley. I also made sugar cookies and sent them to Bria and Braden so that they had Grandma memories close to them this year. It was a hard holiday for all of us-our first without Riley.

The pain I feel from the loss of my mother is as instinctive as you can imagine. It does not even compare to the pain I feel from the loss of Riley, my sweet baby boy, my son, my love. I am glad that Mom wasn’t around to experience losing Riley. It would have devastated her. Parents are supposed to die before us. Our children are not. Riley had many years of making sugar cookies with Grandma and I. A comforting thought for me is that he is with Grandma now.

I wish that I could tell Mom, “Thank you for all that you did for me and for my children.”

Mom was sweet and fluffy and just right just like her sugar cookies.

I love you, Mom. Give Riley a hug and a kiss for me. Hold him tight.

I love you, Riley.

It’s Snowing!

November 19, 2014November 23, 2014 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

It is snowing. There was no grace period. One day it was sunny and working outside weather and the next it is cold and I am scrambling to layer up to stay warm. I am sitting by the window watching this light fluffy white stuff float down and stick to the ground. The green grass is slowly turning white. I will have to take Bert out in it today. Bert came out of Pennsylvania as a pure bred Bouvier puppy. He hasn’t seen snow since he was 8 weeks old. He is 6 now. He was definitely hot in Arizona always looking for cold spots on the tile to lay. With his furry coat, he is equipped to be in the snow. Already as the weather has changed to cold, he has been out in the yard laying in it when I am bundled up shivering. As I get acclimated to the cold and wonder if I am going to be able to handle being cold, he seems to be saying, “Finally I am comfortable, bring it on. ”

I have never started over in a new place before. I am not comfortable yet. I wonder how long it will take til I am for I know this is where I should be. I am very uncomfortable when I think of Riley. For me, time is not something that makes the pain less. I cry more. I ache for him more. I work harder at diverting my thoughts to get through those moments, minutes, hours, days of pain. I am not very good at diverting right now.

Too often these days I wake up and immediately start to cry. Riley is now in my dreams. He hadn’t reached them yet until now. I see him walking into a room with his soft blonde hair flowing as he moves. I see his face with that grin he had. I hear people patting him on the back and chatting with him. He looks at me with that twinkle in his eye. I can almost smell him. I hug him in my dreams and feel his soft skin. We have short conversations like we did, like he is still here. It feels so good to see, hear and touch him. It is like it should be. Just like it was. I wake and only reality is here with me. He is not here anymore. And it hurts. It hurts real bad. It is a stabbing ache of an empty space without him.

I love my boy with all of my heart, well what is left of my heart. There is a chunk of my heart gone now. I hold that stuffed dog which was not a favorite stuffed animal of his. It is just a soft dog that I bought him one year that sat on a shelf for years. I grabbed it and kept it with me because it was something to hold when I am sad and missing him. I have a broken leather belt loop that I hold too, a guitar pick, a rock he had saved sits by my sink with the other rocks the kids had gathered and given me over the years. Two of the rocks are naturally shaped like hearts. Handed to me by my children as a treasure found. I hold the rocks randomly. I pass Riley’s picture, touch it and tell him that I love him. Sometimes I wail and cry hard. Sometimes I cry softly letting the tears fall down my cheeks.

As I watch my news-feed on Facebook, I see more stories of young adults who have died from drugs. I feel for their parents. I know the pain and anger that they feel. My sweet baby boy is gone and each day it gets harder. My strength decreases with time. My stamina deteriorates and I wonder how I will survive the loss of my son. Even when I declare that I will survive, there are moments I don’t care if I do. Then I remember this happened for a reason and I will make the most of this tragedy to help others. I must.

As Bert digs his nose in the snow trying to figure out what this fluffy white stuff is, I dig my nose in to figure out life without my son. This experience is not fluffy or white, it is hard, dark and just plain unwanted. I had no grace period. One day Riley was here and the next he was not. I do not think, Bring it on! I think, Can’t we go back? One step at a time, I go on. One stinking step at a time.

I will continue to share Riley’s story in hope that his story will steer a person in a different direction then to try drugs. Riley was a good kid that made a bad decision. That’s usually how it begins.

I love you, Riley.