You know how I say memories of Riley sneak up on me and knock me to the floor? Opening a box of a Scrabble game that I had brought with me to Kentucky did that. In an unsuspecting moment on a Sunday afternoon, I pulled the box out of the drawer. I hurried to open it to see if all of the pieces were in there. Games that were once a part of a family and have gone through years of being played sometimes lose their parts.
As I opened the box and laid out the board, I noticed that there were pieces of paper with scoring on them. As I looked closer, they included Riley’s name. And right there, right then… I began to cry. Memories flooded my mind of us as a family sitting around a Scrabble board at the kitchen table challenging each other’s words, laughing and scrambling to win with the most unique, impressive words hitting just the right squares on the board in order to increase our points.
From the scores, it looks like Bria got called away and that Riley, Dad and I continued to play. It seems that I got left in the dust and that it was a close competition between Riley and Greg. First of all, I’m loving the memory of us together playing a game. Memories of family and being together is always warming to my heart. I love that Riley and Dad battled it out and that Riley won. Greg has this lucky streak at any competition. We all gave it our best shot at beating him at something. So there was surely a big smile and some words of pride and boasting out of Riley’s mouth as he won that game that day.
Why do I cry over this little slip of paper? Because Riley should be here. Memories sting like a poison that starts with a prick on the finger and enters my veins spreading throughout me. I wiped my tears that Sunday and had a good time playing Scrabble.
The sting of that one memory from a piece of paper tucked in a box has invaded me for weeks. I want the opportunity to play a game with Riley again. I want the opportunity to touch him and kiss him. I miss his presence in my life. I miss his sense of humor. I want to sit on the couch across from him talking about nothing important and then sometimes talking about something deep and challenging. I want so desperately to see his smile again.
The scramble of the brain, to manipulate memories and thoughts during any given day in order to be like a normal person is very real as a grieving mother. It is memories of Riley that shake up a moment of normalcy. To organize my random thoughts of Riley so that I can function is normal now. To learn to enjoy my time and space in the present instead of wallow in my pain is my challenge. The only winning that happens with grief is making it through a minute, hour, sometimes a day without the debilitating pain of the loss of my son. I win at that sometimes. I lose at it too.
Still to this day people say to me, “With time it will get better” and the old common saying, “Time heals all wounds”. I often don’t handle it very well when I reply to such ideas. Time will not change this gaping wound left in me of losing my son. Healing is not in the future. I will learn better to live with it as life continues to move along across the board. As all things in life, change occurs. This is a loss in life not a win. I attempt to accept the loss and put on a brave face. I lose at that sometimes too.
Though fighting memories to function is a daily challenge, having them brings comfort as well. I know that’s kinda crazy, but it’s true. Is a memory of Riley that comes to mind a win or a loss? Neither. A memory of Riley is both. The memories are precious that I am glad I have. I had him here for 18 years. I wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t love him that much. Though invading and painful, I hold dear the memories I am reminded of like this one from a slip of paper in a box.
I Love You, Riley.
One 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.
R “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.
I “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.
L “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.
Y “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.
I Love You, Riley 