Whatcha Want Mom?

February 21, 2016 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

Facebook 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.

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.

Thanksgiving Traditions

December 1, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

I kicked into gear the day before Thanksgiving. I grocery shopped, picked up the house, dusted, mopped, and cleaned out the refrigerator as if it was going to be magically loaded up with leftovers the next day. I baked a pie.

At the end of the day, as I washed the last of the dishes I had used, the memories of Thanksgivings gone by snuck up and flooded my mind. Part of those Thanksgivings isn’t on earth anymore. He was a part of what made each holiday special.

My eyes welled up with tears, my heart twisted up in knots and I cried with my hands still in the soapy water holding a dish in one hand and wash rag in the other. As if my hands couldn’t leave the water, I leaned my forehead on the edge of the sink and cried. I stood up with my hands still in the water and stared out the kitchen window into the dark trying to find composure. I didn’t find it. More rounds of tears came. I washed the snot from my nose on the sleeve of my shirt as I lifted my arm up with water dripping down it. I returned to washing the dishes in the sink and continued to cry.

Eventually the dishes were washed, the sink drained and my hands were dried.

Dishes were clean but my heart is not. My heart has been damaged with cracks that run to a gaping hole in me. There will be no more Thanksgivings with Riley. Thanksgivings will never be the same. I worked very hard at making traditions and memories for holidays for the kids as they grew up.

Here in Kentucky I was doing the tradition of preparing for Thanksgiving though there wouldn’t be a brood of family coming in the door. My memories are of cleaning and preparing for a house full of family- trying to keep in front of kids dropping their things in freshly cleaned rooms and adding to the dishes to wash, being up early to peel potatoes and put the turkey in the oven.

Riley coming through the kitchen asking what kind of pies would we have. He liked pumpkin pie. Yes, there would be a pumpkin pie, but Grandma was bringing it along with three other kinds of pies. Braden’s humor and goofiness on Thanksgivings was a staple. Bria dragging herself out of bed just in time to shower before family got there. A day off from swim practice or work meant sleep for her.

Per tradition, the morning of Thanksgiving we had cinnamon rolls. I talked to Braden on the phone on Thanksgiving morning this year as he was eating a cinnamon roll. I didn’t ask, but it seems he was keeping to tradition. I like that. That’s what the traditions that I made sure that we had are supposed to do. To be carried on as they grow older and have their own homes.

My mind flashed to the family gatherings of aunts and uncles, cousins, my Mom who has been gone almost 7 years now – missing her homemade rolls, her smile and loving open arms. I thought of Aunt Una who has been gone 6 years. Watching Aunt Una enjoy the taste and smell of the holidays was a treat.

Those Thanksgivings are gone. I mourn them. I mourn what I have had. I wish I wasn’t mourning. I don’t want to mourn. I don’t want the pain. I am mad that I have this grief that I cannot shed. I give myself permission to mourn though permission doesn’t stop the pain. It is here to stay.

I have not forgotten to be thankful. I am thankful for my cabin, Bert laying by my feet, new friends and the health and happiness of my family. I am thankful that I wake up every day, that I have work with new opportunities opening up before me that bring on personal challenges and growth. I am thankful that I had Riley for the years that I did. I am not without thanks.

I am without Riley. That I cannot be thankful for.

In my leap of faith to move to Kentucky, there has been much to be thankful for and yet I miss my kids. I ache to hold all three of them. The tears come from the realization that space keeps me from them. I cannot hold Riley ever again-the space between us is far too great and it’s just not fair!

This Thanksgiving I followed traditions without realizing it. I was able to create new traditions. The one personal Thanksgiving tradition I kept with tenacity, dedication, persistence, and single-mindedness was completed. I ate my pie for breakfast each morning until it was gone.

I Love You, Riley.

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.

Always Be Yourself

May 18, 2015 / djuanadreed / 2 Comments

Riley and his best buddy.

Batman to the rescue with a little Star Wars help.

Riley’s ID badge for his NAU tour

Batman didn’t want his picture taken.

One of the things Riley is remembered for is encouraging others to accept themselves. That it is okay to be different. To love what makes you, You.

One of my favorite stories about Riley (and there are many) is that a friend of his was having a bad day. She was upset. He said, “You need a hug.” She said, “I am too big, you can’t pick me up.” He proved her wrong. He picked her up and he hugged her. He lifted her up in more ways than one with that hug.

Always Be Yourself! Be proud to be the Superhero that you are!

I Love You, Riley.

My Caterpillar

April 6, 2015 / djuanadreed / 1 Comment

My dream has been to write in a log cabin in the woods some day. Now that I’m here at my desk looking out the window at the green grass and trees …what will I do with this opportunity?

One of the projects I have in the works is a children’s book. The main character is a purple elephant with a big grin and paisley feet named “Smiley Riley”. Purple was Riley’s favorite color. The elephant was one of his favorite animals. The character has emerged to fit him perfectly. I have an illustrator that I am working with to develop “Smiley Riley”. I have the theme of the first book. Now how do I write it? Various ideas rattle through my brain on how to go about telling stories to a pre-kindergarten audience. It’s a creative heart warming process for me.

In my research, I have spent hours sitting on the floor in the isles of my own childhood memories of books. Danville’s library is a red brick building with white trim. It stands majestically with nearby church bells tolling on the hour. It has a round foyer and staircases with white banisters. The children’s section is a relaxed area for fun around books. On each trip, I find a new part of the alphabet to look through. I crawl along the floor picking books that look interesting then sit in the isle and read. I pick books that I don’t turn past the first page and then I find others that make me smile and literally chuckle out loud as I read them.

I smile at the story line, the illustration and sometimes I smile because I read that book many times to my oldest daughter, Bria who is now 25. The books I remember treasuring as a child myself are still on the shelves and popular amongst the little eyes and ears who are sitting on their mother’s lap listening intently today. I read Goodnight Moon to Bria so many times. Braden liked any book about firetrucks. Riley liked the adventures of Corduroy, the bear.

Recently I was working and was distracted to Riley’s Facebook page. I was looking through photos he posted on his timeline over the years. I reveled in listening to his voice by comments he made. Remembering who he was and that humor of his that was so him. It was a wonderful hour of being next to Riley again. There was his voice in what he wrote, a video of him playing the tuba, his laugh and funny faces right there on my screen. And then there it was, he posted a photo of the book Corduroy by Don Freeman and another of The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle. He was being nostalgic about his favorite books as a child. Eric Carle’s books had been on my mind. It is one of the examples of a book that has remained popular since Bria was born.

The next day, I went to the library and found The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle and checked it out. I got it home and I opened it. I read each page looking at the photos while remembering. I remembered the times of reading it to each of my children while they sat on my lap or sometimes a child was cuddled up close on either side of me and one little Riley was placed on my lap. I hadn’t thought of the story line of A Very Hungry Caterpillar in a very long time until the story unfolded with the turn of each page. At the end of the book, I cried. Tears rolled down my cheeks and hit that last page. At the end was a picture of a beautiful butterfly.

In some cultures, butterflies represent the soul. The souls of those who have passed away. The transformation from egg to adult. Riley was born and died on the same date. He lived. He laughed. He helped others. He shared his smile. He played his guitar and sang his heart out. He barely made it to adult by hours and then he was gone.

Riley had a good life. He had his teenage angst. He did things I wouldn’t have approved of. He did alot of things I did approve of. And his life was cut short by trying a drug. As our children grow older, they have the freedom of choice. To cross the road without looking both ways. To talk to strangers. To not put their seatbelt on when they pull out of the driveway. To text while driving. To have sex without a condom. To try a drug for a forbidden high.

There’s no way to beat it into their brains. My theory is that we educate them of the dangers out there and that they know the possible outcome of their choices. As they grow older, some of those warnings we have given make sense to them. Some of those warnings obviously don’t as our teens take chances. The teen brain says, “I am invincible. It cannot happen to me.”

Riley’s story says it can happen. We are not invincible. Drugs kill. Even on the first try. I hate drugs.