Are you Riley’s Mom?

April 4, 2016 / djuanadreed / 2 Comments

IMG_51822-L It 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.

Call me Grandma Reed

February 24, 2016 / djuanadreed / 3 Comments

IMG_0839a Grandmas are seasoned Mommies. They are squishy and soft. Grandmas know stuff. Grandmas overlook faults and see perfection. They have praises for our successes. They are a willing audience. Grandmas don’t need to say a word – we know their opinion by the look on their face. They bake yummy cookies and make the best meals. Grandmas have open arms and warm smiles at every visit. Grandmas give away hugs no matter how big you are. Grandmas have treasures and special toys at their house. Grandmas possess the tenderness of a mother sprinkled with love and laughter.

Unsuspectingly I answered a call from Braden and Hannah on Skype. I smiled at the sight of their faces on the computer screen while Braden said, “Hi Grandma”. I frowned and said, “Hey, I’m not that o..l..d….” I stopped. Hannah nodded at me with her big eyes. I looked at my son and I immediately began to cry. Braden’s eyes filled with tears as he watched my reaction. They were pregnant. It was wonderful news that filled me with joy. A baby was coming to bless our family. Yes, Braden, Call me Grandma.

As I sat in the hospital waiting room, anxious to hear the news that mother and baby were fine, I imagined Riley sitting there too. His handsome face framed with his blonde hair smiling that familiar smile of his while he looked back at me from across the room. He should have been there. He and his Dad would have surely been bantering back and forth across the room with humor as we waited. It gave me a teary grin to think of how Riley would be in that moment. He belonged there. His big brother being a Dad would have brought Riley joy. I can imagine the pride he would have had to be an Uncle. Riley would have enjoyed this event very much.

After a long wait, an eternity of time it felt like, Braden came through the doors with a big smile. She was here, mother and baby were doing fine and she had hair. I then heard her name over and over …Braylin Riley Peterson. Riley’s name was tucked in her name. She was perfect! She was 7 lbs 7 oz, the same weight as Riley at birth. The nurses wrapped her in a hospital blanket decorated with elephants. Riley’s favorite animal was an elephant. Sure enough, Uncle Riley was present as Braylin Riley made her debut into this world.

After holding her in my arms, I hurried back to the house to finish preparations for Hannah, Braden and baby to come home. Cleaning, shopping, trying to guess what need the three of them could have that I could be prepared to fill. At the end of a long day, I laid my head down and cried myself to sleep. I could not hold it in anymore.

The tears released an array of emotions. There were tears of the joy of baby girl’s arrival after quite an intense labor and delivery. There were tears of pride for my son’s new title of Dad and the tenderness I witnessed as he held his baby girl. There were tears of missing my youngest son. I miss Riley every day.

I am honored to have seen Braylin grow from birth to one month old. Being there was a privilege. To be back in Arizona was a good thing in so many ways. To be able to be near Braden again, to help Hannah and to hold my granddaughter swelled my heart. To change her diapers was a treat. I treasured every sound she made, her baby smell and her big eyes when she was awake. To rock baby girl to sleep feeling her breath on my neck in her peaceful slumber gave me peace.

Peace is something I look for daily. Being a mother has been my life, my first priority, my largest job. Being a grandmother is something I have looked forward to since my babies were no longer babies. This new position of Grandma Reed is covered with pride.

The title Grandma Reed is an honorary one. I want to be a Grandma like my Grandma Reed and my childrens’ Grandma Reed. To go about grandmothering as they did would be an accomplishment. Both women were the definition of selfless with comforting arms and a peaceful spirit. They took the punches of this world while continuing to behave with dignity and grace. Their children and grandchildren were their pride. There was safety in their arms. Wisdom when they spoke.

When my children were sick or had an immediate need, I asked the Grandma Reeds to pray. They had a direct line to God I believed. He would surely hear their prayers and get back to us with an answer lickety split if they were praying. Grandma Reed and Great Grandma Reed share heaven with Riley now. I like that they are there with him until I can be there too.

Grandma Reeds cooked the best food, sewed and mended, taught us, prayed with us and for us, wiped away tears, welcomed us with open arms, gave us kisses and hugs- not money- not things- they gave us lessons. That is the Grandma Reed legacy. I want to be that kind of Grandma.

Call me Grandma Reed.

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I Love You, Riley.

Riley’s Light Still Burns

December 30, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

385_10208519924902712_7427177614674201900_n Here 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.

What Would Riley Do Bracelets

November 20, 2015November 20, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

As the requests increase for me to speak and tell Riley’s story to groups, the requests for WWRD (What Would Riley Do) bracelets increase as well. I have been giving the bracelets out to whoever wants one when I speak. My thinking is it is a reminder of Riley’s story and perhaps seeing the bracelet will make a person think twice about using a drug. It also may spurn a person to tell Riley’s story to someone.

This is creating a financial strain on me since I can be speaking to 250 students at a time. I have created a Go Fund Me account so that I can take donations. I will only be using the money to cover the cost of the bracelets.

What Would Riley Do if given the chance again to try a drug? He’d choose to not do it. He’d say, “It’s not worth it.”

If you feel led to help me spread Riley’s story with these bracelets, donations can be made at www.gofundme.com/WWRDbracelets

Speaking to Save a Life

November 8, 2015 / djuanadreed / 5 Comments

As 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

October 4, 2015October 4, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

Around 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.

His 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.