acid

RILEY, MY SON, MY LOVE

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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

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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.

Bug

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filename-11In all of the beauty in the blue sky, white clouds, perfect black fence lines, barns sitting on hills with horses grazing in green pastures and cattle of different colors strewn across fields here in Kentucky, there are also bugs, lots and lots of bugs.

I was driving down the road with my elbow out an open window with cool breeze blowing in my hair. It was a beautiful day and I was smack dab in the middle of it. I was taking it all in and then suddenly there was a burning sensation on my left side- a sudden pain. I yelped, “OW!” I reached down with one hand still on the wheel feeling for what it was. I didn’t feel anything. “Ow, ow, ow… Keep your eyes on the road, Djuana,” I told myself. There was nowhere to pull off so I kept driving thinking, “What was that?”

When I got to the cabin and was able to look, I found a red spot that still felt like it was burning. I grabbed a cube of ice and put it on my side. It must have been a bug that flew into the window and stung me. I never found the remnants of whatever it was.

After sitting outside on my back porch last night, I came inside and laid across my bed  to reply to a text on my phone. Something very large and black dropped down from my hair in the right side of my line of vision. I threw my phone, jumped up on my knees on the bed and started shaking my hair and running my fingers through it looking  for it to drop down on the bed. Where did it go? I don’t know, but after inspection in the mirror, I didn’t see it on my shirt or still hanging in my hair anymore.

Bugs, bug bites, spider webs are everywhere in the summer in Kentucky.

I have chigger bites. I remember them well from growing up spending time at the cabin in Pine, Arizona. The five of us kids played in the dirt under the cabin making taco stands and finding sand rocks to crush – our imaginary life thrived in the woods in Arizona. If you play in the dirt, you get chigger bites.

Here in Kentucky, I tend to go out to mow and water plants without putting bug repellant on. It’s there  on the counter beside the back door to make sure that I remember it. I still don’t remember until the first bite and then I go running into the house looking for the Caladryl to make the itching stop. I’m tired of bugs right now.

I do have one bug that I love. One of Riley’s nicknames was “Bug”. Greg started that when he was born and it just stuck. I think of our bug every day. Sometimes it is just a good memory. I try to keep it at that but an ache, a wish, and reality always comes with a memory of Riley.

I miss my bug. I wish so bad that I had him here with me. His memory bites, burns and leaves a bump. He crawls up my back and gets under my skin at times. Sometimes my bug tickles and doesn’t bite. Every day is different. Each day I try very hard to find the good because the bad will put me to my knees in an instant.

Kentucky bugs will go away as the weather changes. My bug is here to stay in my heart and on my mind. The burn and itch of bug bites disappear after a short time. The burn of missing my bug, Riley does not disappear. It is a constant itch that will not heal.  I can stay in the pain or I can keep moving. I choose to keep moving best I can.

As I get ready to tell Riley’s story at a local community forum, Smart Start in 9 days, I am hoping my bug’s story will stick in the children’s minds. That they will remember the story about a boy about their age died because he messed with drugs. That it only took one try of a drug to die. That there is poison in drugs and they don’t know for sure what they are about to smoke, snort, inhale or swallow.  Riley’s death is a message that shows proof that it is not worth the try. It is not worth the chance. “Find a high another way”, I say.  Don’t die like my bug, Ri.

I Love You, Riley.

Meet Bert

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IMG_6200Meet Bert. Bert is my side kick, my constant companion, my rock, and my security. Bert is a 6 1/2 year old pure bred Bouvier des Flanders.  At 8 weeks old, Bert flew to us on a plane from Pennsylvania.  He was a black and brown bundle of fur that blended into our dark floor. Today he stands tall and 120 lbs (or more). Buying him was a covert operation. He was a surprise Christmas gift from the kids and I to their Dad. He was a wonderful addition to our family. He fit right in. He is big and bulky like a bull in a china closet, soft to the touch as a furry blanket with a constant slobbery wet muzzle from lapping up water when he drinks.

When I bought the log cabin in Kentucky, Greg offered for Bert to move with me as he knew Bert would enjoy the larger space to roam with cooler weather. It is fun to watch Bert in Kentucky. He drug his nose, romped and laid in the snow during our first winter as if he didn’t even know it was cold. He moves around the yard smelling new smells. He posts himself at the bottom of trees looking straight up waiting for the squirrels to come back down. He chases fireflies in the grass in the evenings like he chased the laser light the boys would shine for him to chase.

Social is not a word I would use about Bert. Since he was young when he and I were on walks around the local park, he would stop and allow people to touch him out of a sort of obligation while looking at me like now can we keep moving? His job is to protect and care for others. His breed is a herding breed. When he was a pup, he would try to block me from climbing the stairs. He was always under my feet like a toddler. He still is.

Bert is my side kick and constant companion. Though he is not allowed to lay on my couch, he often slips in the maneuver of backing up to it, leaving his front feet on the floor and plopping his behind down beside me. He rides along in the car with me when I go into town. When he sits straight up and looks out the window, his head is close to the roof of the car. Passers by take a second look to see what that large hairy thing is in the car window. He naturally draws a lot of attention and often is gifted treats from people at our local stops.

Bert does not leave my side. I have to sit outside with him. If I go inside, he will stop whatever he is doing and hurry to the back door. I wish he would stay outside and play. He will not. He is like a ping pong ball in a maze. As I fold clothes and put them away room to room, he follows at my heels crowding me in the hall. I try to tell him to relax that I will be right back, but he doesn’t seem to get it. If I stand still, he lays down and then as soon as I make a sudden move, he pops back up to follow. I can’t even go to the bathroom alone when he is awake- see? just like a toddler.

Bert lets people know that he is here if they come close to the cabin. He has a very loud bark that stops the largest of men in their tracks while they prepare to run.  He sent the little old lady with her small dog in her arms running after hearing Bert’s bark of hello from the front porch. I tried to calm her. I yelled, “He’s really not mean. He’s just loud.” She kept going. I am safe with Bert around.

Bert is my rock. When the pain of missing Riley comes to a head, when the tears sneak out, Bert stares at me for a minute then moves out of sight to another room as if to say, I’ll let you feel this for a bit. When I am worn out, when the crying has stopped, he comes back and lays at my feet to let me know he is here.

I know he misses all of what he knew and was familiar with in Arizona from the other pets to family. They miss him too. I am thankful that Bert is here. I am never alone. He is in tuned to me. He senses me. I know he misses Riley too. There are many pictures of Bert and Riley together over the years.

I have the memory – one I had seen many times- of Bert and Riley wrestling when Riley got home from school. That was on the last day that I saw Riley alive. Bert is changed forever since the night Riley died. Me too. I know he would run up to Riley and give him his back to scratch with a big lick across his cheek afterwards if he could. Me too.

I Love You, Riley.

photo (23)photo (21)

 

 

 

This Side of the Clouds

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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

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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.