drug use

Saturday Mornings

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saturday-706914_1280aSaturday mornings…they are my favorite. The work week is over except not in my case because social media does not ever close for business so neither do I.  A load of clients, deadlines and another project handed to me when I think I am seeing the end of the tunnel fills my day. Then there is the fact that I should have said,”No” and am kicking myself right into my favorite day of the week. I am hopeful that Sunday is a day of rest. That’s what God said it should be.

But still Saturday’s are quieter. They have this standing of, I am here, you can do something different kind of spot on the calendar. I like that.

As I started my coffee this morning, my stomach grumbled and I walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. Grocery shopping has been on the to do list, but I haven’t left the house in days due to that work schedule thing.  The refrigerator is pretty much empty.

On a shelf, all by itself, sits my takeout leftovers from dinner last night. As I opened the container and took a bite, I had a flashback of Saturday mornings years ago. The years where I was mom with sleeping children in their beds and always some kind of leftover to partake in the refrigerator. All the years of pizza leftovers are on my mind. Pizza is a fine cuisine fresh out of the oven or bagged in the refrigerator a day later.  Pizza was Riley’s favorite meal and cold pizza with some ranch dressing on the side would be a usual breakfast during his teen years.

It was a score for me to get a piece of leftover pizza before the masses of human beings that inhabited my home got out of bed. I was usually the first one up on a Saturday morning to inhale the quiet before the storm of live breathing humans that would soon rustle about in my home. A “Mom, I want…”, “Mom, can I?”, “Mom, will you?” was on the horizon. I could count on it.

Today, this Saturday morning, my cabin is silent with only a tick of a clock, the sound of an old ceiling fan making its rounds, round and round and the sound of me typing on my computer’s keyboard. It will stay just this quiet all day long with no looming rustle of awakened souls coming any minute. I miss the anticipation.

The warmth of family around you is something to embrace as some day the nest becomes empty. That scenario is one we parents know will be coming. What I didn’t know is one of those souls from my family would be gone from my life here on earth. That soul that was a light in every one of my days is no more. That soul that was a part of my world is gone.

As my computer powers up each day and Riley’s face stares back at me, I think, how could he be gone? How could this have happened? I tell him so as I see him looking back at me. Oh, how I miss him being a part of my Saturdays. I miss him being here to worry about, think about and care for. I miss fighting over the leftover pizza with him

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Riley must have thought it couldn’t happen. Riley must have thought this will be cool – that it was something to tell his friends he had done. He was celebrating his birthday. It didn’t end up to be a celebration, but a nightmare that he couldn’t get out of.

On this Saturday, the memory of Riley grabbing leftover pizza from the fridge while looking for the homemade ranch dressing with sleep tousled hair, barefoot in boxers and a t-shirt, causes my lips to curl in a smile as my heart aches with pain at the same time. That is what happens most times I think of Riley.

Don’t mess with drugs. It’s just not worth it.

I hate drugs!

 

I Love You, Riley.

 

Really good looking, Intelligent, Likes pizza, Exellent at Saxaphone, Yippee

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img_0295One of Riley’s self portraits that he made in grade school hangs in my office. It  hung up in the loft of our home for many years pinned by a magnet to a catch-all board there. I have always loved it because there it is….. THAT’S  Riley.

rR         “Really good looking” He was. I love his self confidence! He was cute as a button as a baby and as a teen he lit up a room. His smile, his pretty blue eyes, that luscious blonde hair- you couldn’t miss him.  One of his classmates told me a story after he died of how Riley told her daily that she was beautiful. She said she began to believe him after hearing it over and over. Those words changed how she saw herself. He charmed us all from birth on.

iI           “Intelligent” Yep, he was intelligent. School was not hard for him.  Getting him to do homework was another story. Tests came easy. He was accepted to college and was thinking about chemical engineering. He built computers. He loved intelligent conversation and savored in the shock factor of the arguments he entered into. He looked for the opportunity to discuss anything from music to politics and religion.

lL           “Likes Pizza” Yep! It was his favorite food. If you gave him a choice what do you want for dinner, it would be pizza 90% of the time. We made homemade pizzas for special occasions.  I have many memories around a meal of pizza with Riley. I have a great memory of having pizza with him at a nice restaurant the year he died – how he ordered, what he chose, how he handled himself and the ‘Thank you’ I received after.

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E           “Exellent at Saxaphone”.  Uh-huh! He liked  musical instruments and saxophone was his first instrument at school. The saxophone took him into high school marching and concert band. He picked up the tuba as well. He taught himself to play guitar. He owned an organ and played piano. His choir director his senior year of high school was his grade school band director. She often commented to me at how Riley had grown musically. He loved and had an appreciation for music.

yY             “Yippee!”  Of course Yippee! That was Riley- smiles, hugs of lifting you off of your feet, causing laughter where ever he was, his excitement for living and the enjoyment of being with him in any circumstance. His smiles, his attitude about life, his unconditional love was contagious.

The picture is a good reflection of Riley as well. There is his big smile that melted us all. His big blue eyes that were lit with life. He was always thinking behind those eyes. His short hair at the time grew long past his shoulders. He even put detail to his ears in this picture. His ears were open listening soaking it all in. He liked to draw.

On May 3, 2014 Riley’s smile faded.  The insurmountable amount of acid in his body that night from one tab bought online by a high school student must have caused demons that he could not push away as he reached out with a text of “HALP”. What did he see that night that he couldn’t run from? What voices were in his ears that caused him to use that gun on himself? That loud gunshot was the last sound he heard.  His tongue to never taste pizza again. His big blue eyes went blank- closed for the last time.

The light of Riley turned dark at that point. My sweet baby boy, an adult for only a few hours- born and died on the same date- he was 18. Gone by trying a drug for the first time.  The boy who drew this picture, that boldly stated who he was, was no more. He lives in the hearts that knew him and now from his story being shared, he lives in the hearts of those that did not know him. Intelligent but made a poor choice- he made a decision he cannot take back. No more eating pizza, playing the saxophone and no more YIPPEE’s.

We will love him forever. I believe you will remember him forever now. RILEY- really good looking, Intelligent, Likes pizza, Excellent at the saxophone and lived a life with a Yippee went dark that morning.

I can’t touch him again, hear his voice, laugh with him until we cry because he tried a drug and he didn’t know what he really had in his hand.

Don’t mess with drugs. It’s not worth it.

I Love You, Riley.

The Small Notebook

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IMG_1134There are moments that make you smile and moments that make you cry when you are a grieving mother. It is how it is. Some weeks more tears come than smiles. Some weeks you can keep the tears at bay. In reflection, you can instantly feel guilty that you were okay that week.

I reached into my nightstand drawer to jot down a “To Do”. You know, one of those things that you remember and then forget unless you write it down. This time I was going to have something in front of me to make sure I did the “To Do” instead of losing it in the mix of my busy mind juggling days. Out I pulled a small notebook that I hadn’t looked inside of in a very long time. I had forgotten what was inside until I opened it. Well, that won’t do to write a note in, I thought. I dug some more, found something available to write on and jotted my ‘To Do’ down.

Later, when I went back into my bedroom, I saw the notebook still sitting on top of my nightstand. I opened it and smiled. I had forgotten I had done this. I had put this little notebook aside many years ago- stuffed in drawers and boxes and yet there it was-still in tact. A moment of smiles had just crossed my path. Now, do I want to read further?

It is a tiny journal I kept that I wrote to the kids in as they grew.

When they were tiny, I wrote on their calendars of all their milestones and then some. First smiles, first words, rolling over, standing up and when their first tooth appeared. I wrote notes to them telling them what they were like at that age. Later I moved over to writing it down somewhere else. This was one of those somewhere elses.

Inside a photo of me, young and smiling, was placed between the pages. Look at me! I thought. There aren’t as many pictures of me since I was always the one behind the camera. Wonderful memories emerged as I leafed through the notebook. Memories I didn’t remember as well- small intricate details of their accomplishments, fits they threw, where we went, what we did.

Bria was and still is such a character. She was my first live doll. My first project as a mother. We didn’t have a car. We were together all day every day. Braden was Bria’s first live doll. I would catch her trying to lift him up to hold him without my help or put her plastic doll’s bottle in his mouth. I was amazed that he instinctively knew the sound to make as he pushed a toy car across the floor. He slept and ate with a basketball and was trying to fix and take things apart at a very young age.

Then in May of 1996, I wrote: Riley is Here!

And the curves of my smile turned downward and a lump in my throat developed. I read through it. I smiled as the memories popped out from the pages. Remembering my sweet baby boy despite the lump and rapid heart beat happening at the same time.  He was a joy from the start who was always smiling. He was an easy baby. He made our family complete.

Smiles, tears, anger, broken heart, the joy of having him in my life for 18 years, the pain that he is not here anymore….those are the emotions that come and go in moments. Facing the emotions are important to keep yourself healthy when you are grieving. Tears cleanse. Tears wipe us out. Smiles give us a break. Smiles give our hearts a jump start. Smiles can make us cry again.

All of the emotions are here to stay til the day that I die. I wouldn’t have any of them unless I loved him with all of my heart. That I do.

 

 

I Love You, Riley.

 

 

Are you Riley’s Mom?

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IMG_51822-LIt catches me off guard every time.

“Are you Riley’s Mom?”

It is a question that used to come from a class mate, teacher, or parent in Arizona when Riley was alive. Now that question is asked of me in a town where Riley never lived from teens who have never met him. But they know him now.

Saturday afternoon while I walked the isles of the local Hobby Lobby feeling anxious about how to spend my gift card. I see a lot of things I want, but which items should I spend my money on is the question. I had already decided to buy a frame for a Foo Fighters poster that hung in Riley’s room. It will now hang in my office, but still there was a little money left to spend.

I noticed a smiling girl and a woman as I turned down an aisle. As I was staring at an array of kitchen signs, the same girl appeared and asked, “Are you Riley’s Mom?” The woman she was with said, “She wanted to say Hi to you.” Surprised, I smiled and answered her question with a “Yes.” She then showed me that she was wearing the purple WWRD-What Would Riley Do bracelet that I had given out when I spoke at her school. She asked if she could give me a hug. My eyes welled up with tears. I took that hug and held on.

I have been introducing my son, Riley to teens in classrooms and gymnasiums. I want them to know Riley. Grieving parents desperately want their children to be remembered. It is a common desire. My desire for Riley to be remembered is more than that. I want them to know Riley’s story.

I show the kids pictures of Riley being Riley. A picture of Riley standing in front of his first car smiling in his Hawaiian shirt  with his thumbs up. As I speak, they see pictures of him as a student, brother, son, band kid, and choir kid. I tell them that he didn’t like to clean his room and how he dropped his clothes on the floor in the same spot when he went to bed. How he had a hamper that he rarely used. I tell them that he loved pizza and all kinds of music. I share that he decided to not cut his hair again when he started high school and that he didn’t like to do homework.

I tell the audience that Riley was accepted to college and was only weeks from graduating from high school. That he knew no strangers and would strike up a conversation with just about anybody. In his own unique way, a lot of times just by his smile, he made a difference in people’s lives when he was here on earth.

I cry every time that I tell his story. I sit. I don’t stand. I talk to them as a mom, a mom just like their mom. I tell them about my kid, a kid like them.

I tell them how Riley died.  I take them through that night with all of the details that I know. We talk about drugs and how they kill. I say it several times, You aren’t invincible. It can happen. It does happen. You do not know what you have in your hands. You cannot know for sure. I tell them stories of other teens that have died from a first try of a drug like synthetic LSD, Molly, and Spice. I share a story about the 16-year-old girl who smoked synthetic marijuana and is now blind and in a wheelchair having to relearn the simplest tasks.

I warn them. I beg them. I tell them, It’s not worth the try. I want you to graduate from high school, go to college, get your first job, get married, have babies whatever you aspire to do. Please live. Don’t mess with drugs.

When I am asked, “Are you Riley’s Mom?” I think to myself you remember Riley. Then I think, you have heard his story. When a person shows me that they are wearing a purple WWRD bracelet, I think you are still being reminded of his story. That person knows Riley now. They know Riley died from trying a drug for the first time.

I desperately want to save lives by telling Riley’s story. Maybe I am.

Yes, I am Riley’s Mom.

I Love You, Riley.

 

Whatcha Want Mom?

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27086_1407749240838_8380450_nFacebook 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. 

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I Love You, Riley.

 

Riley’s Light Still Burns

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385_10208519924902712_7427177614674201900_nHere 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.