son

I’m Back

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I have been gone awhile from my blog. I would say it is because grief has it’s stages. When I began writing here, it was healing to talk about how I was feeling and to share my memories of Riley. There is a lot of navigating needed in grief.

I would like to think that I have always met my grief of losing Riley head on. I saw a counselor right off the bat. I have done a lot of self checking over the past 5 years by stepping in to a counselor’s office or just a self check making sure I was on the healthy side of what I was feeling and how I was tackling my grief each day.

One of the things you’ll notice people who have lost a child say is, “say his name.” You who have not lost a child wonder do you mention the lost child and wonder, when is it okay to mention them and when is it not? I actually hesitate myself with my own immediate family. How will they accept this feeling if I say it out loud? Is it a day they don’t want to go there? So I wonder too.

But I would say, without a doubt………I love hearing someone say Riley’s name. I don’t want you to forget Riley. I don’t want you to forget Riley’s story.

So why I haven’t been here writing is because it increasingly got harder to pull up memories and feelings at some point. It was better to avoid them to manage my life. Not that they aren’t always there because they always are. But to pour it out here on my blog, took time and thoughts and tears. So, I quit and stopped making time to write. That’s the honest gest of it.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Everyone grieves differently. Everyone’s stages may look different. Some of us move as fast as we can (I think men do that more than women) and some of us stay in each stage of grief longer or do a repeat of hanging on to some of those stages. It is what it is. As long as you aren’t being self destructive or are in trouble mentally, going through the grief of losing a child is personal.

Pacing in my apartment, surrounded with people the day Riley died, I kept thinking I can’t make this better. This isn’t ever going to be better. This pain is going to stay.  I was right.

For whatever reason, I’m ready to write again. I have so much to tell you. There’s been like years of speaking, a grandson born and more- much more. If you follow me on Facebook, you’re caught up. If you’re not caught up, hang on I’m fixing to tell you all about it!

Life’s a journey and I am taking one step at a time.

 

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.

e

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.

 

 

Grief sucks.

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IMG_2382Grief sucks. A parent’s loss of a child doesn’t compare to any other loss. I’m telling you it’s true. Right now my pain is worse than ever. May has been hard. This is the second May since Riley died. It feels rougher than the last. Maybe I got better at not concentrating on my grief and it has hit harder. Maybe I got better at keeping myself distracted. Maybe my life has been fuller this past year with my own business, finishing a basement, a birth of a grand-daughter and more. Maybe I am more awake and less numb at the two-year mark of his birthday and his death.

I can’t get away from the grief in my life. It is in my face every time I sit still. If I only could not be still, but I have to be still sometimes. It’s the worst when I try to go to sleep. I lay there and my grief, my loss eats at me and gnaws on my heart. It hurts. It is miserable. I hate it.

In the mornings it can be just as bad when I open my eyes. Some days I have a project or a place to be that I can concentrate on and then, at some point…I have to be still again. And there it is, the black clouds creeping over me and parking themselves on top of me, covering me from the sunshine. Tears like rain fall.

I just want my boy back with his smile, his humor, to hear his voice say, “I love you, Mom”.

In the club of parents who have lost a child we did not ask to be a part of, but were thrown into without permission, we have lost parents who have given in to the pain. They have quit the club to join their children. It is sad. It makes me angry that they quit. Yet, I get it. The pain must stop then. This emotional pain is awful. I have never lived with physical pain that I couldn’t eventually relieve. The emotional pain of grief can be shoved to the side in the midst of a day, but it’s always there waiting for you and it’s not going anywhere.

My son should still be alive. I don’t know why it had to happen to him. Why did Riley have to try LSD that night? Why couldn’t circumstances have been different to keep him from trying it? I don’t know. It happened. There is no rewind.

I spoke a lot this month to adults and teens. Each time I tell his story, I relive how special he was, how much I miss and love him and also the details of how he died. It’s not easy. Knowing a person might be impacted by his story and make a different decision than Riley did keeps me sure that this is what I am supposed to be doing despite the pain.

Grief sucks. Life doesn’t have to suck. I feel that I have to live to tell his story. I have to carry this pain. I have to grieve because there is no way around it. Living means more than grieving. My job is to savor the moments like finding lady bugs on my apple tree leaves and enjoying the site despite also discovering the cedar rust at the same time. That’s life.

I am thankful for that hug that reaches into my soul and lets it rest for a minute. For the hour on a hammock in the dark, under the moon, staring at the stars and feeling a peace that Riley is safely tucked in the heavens. For the sweet grand baby in my arms. For that phone call from my son. For that message from my daughter. Living for dancing in the kitchen, tasting a new food, experiencing something randomly new. For learning something I didn’t know. For the smiles and belly laughs that come to me.

Riley savored new sights and experiences.

I am thankful to be able to hear Riley’s voice in that video, his thrill in the sight of a rainbow on the beach in Hawaii that felt so close that we could touch it. I am reminded to be thankful that there is something else around the corner that will challenge me to be better, do better, grow and thrive in some way. Those are the good things and the reason I am here.

Grief sucks. Life doesn’t have to suck. (Somebody remind me of this later.)

I Love You, Riley.

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Happy Birthday My Son, My Love I Miss You

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IMG_1416It’s Riley’s birthday, May 3rd. He would have been 20 today. I’ve thought a lot about what he might have been doing today on his 20th birthday…finishing his sophomore year at NAU, making plans for the summer. I’ve thought about what he would look like. What he would be like at 20 after two years in college and living away from home. I have thought alot these past few days. Yesterday I was dreading today. I was wishing it wouldn’t come.

Today I woke up and decided the dread of today wasn’t the same now that it is here. I had a plan to celebrate Riley’s life. Why not celebrate the 18 years I had with him and all the blessings that came with having Riley in my life? He gave me many smiles, lots of laughter, kisses and hugs. I am honored to have had him as a son and I am so proud of him for who he was. I had a plan and I kept to it. I went driving.

I went to Forkland, Kentucky first. It’s off the beaten path a ways with rolling hills of lush green and a great drive of scenery. I brought my camera. I found a creek with picnic benches. I climbed down to the water and touched it as it moved across the pebbles. I listened to the sound of the stream as it flowed. I breathed in and out. I enjoyed the moment of being near the water which is exactly where Riley would like to be.

From there I went to Lake Cumberland to where I spread some of Riley’s ashes last year on his birthday. On the way I clicked the CD on of Riley’s music that stays in my CD player in my car. Sometimes it is good to listen to the songs he liked. Sometimes it is not. Today it was a good idea.

I cried here and there while I drove. That’s okay. There is a good reason for my tears I miss my sweet baby boy. The tears that roll down my cheeks are full of my love for him. The drive back to the lake which I hadn’t done since his birthday last year, is so beautiful with winding roads and tall trees.

I went straight to the spot where I spread some of his ashes.  The ashes were spread at the base of a tree. It was still there standing tall above all of the other trees with a perfect view of the water. It looked healthy and strong. The air was cool with a breeze blowing. The ground was wet and the smell was of a damp forest. I jumped at the sound of a critter rustling in the brush below me. I laughed at myself and listened. I heard the breeze in the branches and the rustle of nature. I sat awhile. It was a good place to be today.

I covered a lot of miles today. I talked to Riley a little while I drove. I saw views that took my breath away. I found peace sitting on top of a mountain and dipping my hand in cool running water. I did some crying. I did some smiling. I saw purple flowers. I captured moments with my camera. I made it through today.

Today is not only Riley’s birthday, but it his angel date as well. I am tired. My heart hurts. It swells with love for Riley. It pounds with pain that he is not here anymore. It aches for him. It skips a beat and causes me to smile as well. Riley was one of a kind. He gave away smiles when he was alive. Thoughts of him still cause smiles to spread across our faces. It’s hard to think of who Riley was and how he lit up a room and not grin from ear to ear. It’s a certain reaction.

Happy Birthday, my son, my love, I miss you. I long for the day that I can hold, kiss and laugh with you again. I promise I will find moments of peace that contain sites, smells, and sounds to sink into my soul that I know you would have liked to have shared with me.

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.