Saturday 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

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.