Speaking to Save a Life

IMG_7170As 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

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.

Bug

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.

This Side of the Clouds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Love You, Riley.

 

A Story No Parent Wants To Hear

Prom Photo- one week before Riley died.

Prom photo taken one week before Riley died.

A year ago, on June 1st, 2014, an article was published on the front page of the Sunday edition of The Arizona Republic Newspaper written by Karina Bland, a well known Arizona journalist. She wrote the article telling Riley’s story through her eyes as she read the very first post that I did on Facebook the day after Riley died, I HATE DRUGS!  I didn’t skip a beat, I screamed as loud as I could in my pain asking my friends to tell Riley’s story. I wrote it like I felt it. I told the facts as I knew them.

It was a nightmare that first day. It is an ongoing nightmare one year later. I held on for a long time that maybe I would wake up. That it wasn’t true. That Riley would walk around the corner and say, “Hi Mom”. That I would breath again. After a year of holding my breath, I’m sure it’s true. This is real and nothing will bring Riley back.

Riley is still with us in our hearts and memories. He is changing lives by his fate of trying a drug for the first time. I hate that! But if his story saves someone else from his fate then that’s a good thing in the midst of all the bad.

In the months of June and July, the use of drugs and alcohol spikes. Now is the time to share Riley’s story. The message to teens is: You are not invincible. It can happen. It can happen even on the first try. You don’t know what you are taking, smoking, drinking, inhaling. You can’t know how it will effect you. That curiosity, that temptation to try it is not worth the gamble of your life.

That’s what Riley would say.

I say, I HATE DRUGS!!

I Love You, Riley

The Parent’s Reach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tell Riley’s story.

I Love You, Riley.