Happy Birthday Riley

May 4, 2015 / djuanadreed / 10 Comments

View of Lake Cumberland

Today is May 3rd, Riley’s ‘should have been’ 19th birthday. It is also the one year anniversary of his death. My experience with the first holidays and dates of significance since his death is that the anticipation of the day is worse than the day when I get to it. Not this one. The dread during the months before, the week before, the day before has been rough. Today has been heart wrenching with a flood of emotions pouring out of me. I miss him. I want him here on earth with me.

If I had my wish, I would be in Arizona sitting at his home away from home, a coffee shop called Coffee Rush. This is where he could be found any given day. He had his favorite spot to sit which was at a table on the outside patio facing the window. There he could see the reflection of the lake that laid behind him while he had a clear view of who was coming into the shop. I bask in stories told about my son. I want more of them. He truly affected those he came into contact with. Being there today I would be able to be surrounded with stories and laughter.

I needed a plan to get through today. I wanted to do something bright on such a dark day. I decided to hit the road to see something I hadn’t seen yet. The list was long of possible places to go to see for the first time. I chose to drive to Lake Cumberland State Park. It was over an hour from my cabin. A perfect day of 78 degrees…I put Bert in the car, rolled down the windows, opened the sunroof, turned Riley’s favorite music on and drove.

Once you turn off the highway, there is a 5 mile curvy tree lined road that leads to the lake and marina. Bert and I stopped at a scenic view on the way and there it was, the view of Lake Cumberland, it was breath taking. Curious to see what else the area had to offer, we continued down to the marina to take more pictures. We found a narrow trail that took us across little wooden bridges that hovered over slow running creeks. The trail wound around old trees and was surrounded by thick vegetation. That is what I needed today. I was breathing in and out, tears were falling as I thought of Riley yet I was enjoying my surroundings. I had to keep moving.

On our way out of the park, Bert and I stopped again at the scenic spot that we saw on the way in. I had brought a vile of Riley’s ashes with me. I had not spread any yet since moving here. I debated whether I was prepared to part with them. It had to feel right. I thought today is his birthday, maybe today was the time to let some of it go. I wasn’t sure that I was ready. I sat there. I contemplated. I looked over and saw a tree that stood tall reaching up to the sky. The tree had a clear view of the water. I stared at the tree’s trunk and thought about Riley’s thoughts on the concept of a tree of life. I looked at the water knowing Riley loved the water. I knew he would find wonder in this spot. I imagined what he would be saying if he were sitting quietly next to me taking in the view with me.

That is Riley’s tree now.

I took a deep determined breath and put Riley at the base of the tree. It was now a tree of life. I imagined that Riley’s ashes might soak into the ground and feed the tree. The tree would represent Riley looking out onto the water standing tall and proud. The tree’s beauty reflected in the blue sky. I sat there for what seemed like a long time.

As I sat there, a yellow Monarch butterfly flew around me. It circled me. A second one appeared and they flitted here and there, around the tree, around me, into the grass, and up into the sky. I tried to take a picture, they wouldn’t stay still. The butterflies were a confirmation to me that Riley belonged in this spot for alot of reasons. My aching heart took a rest in that moment.

As I started to pull away and head home, the butterfly reappeared in the view of my back window. I wanted to jump out of the car and stay longer. I didn’t. I pushed my foot down on the gas pedal and slowly pulled away. I have to keep moving.

Riley had a favorite spot at Coffee Rush near the water with a view of people that he treasured. He now is in a spot on a mountain side in Kentucky overlooking water with a beautiful view. I am sad that Riley is not here with me on earth to hold, touch, kiss and laugh with. I believe he is in a better place with no pain or sorrow, but true peace. I’m counting on it.

Look at the purple in the light on the tree in this photo! Riley’s favorite color.

Happy Birthday, Riley. Rest in peace my child until we meet again.

I Love You, Riley.

Can We Have One More?

April 28, 2015April 28, 2015 / djuanadreed / 2 Comments

Next Sunday, May 3rd is Riley’s birthday and the anniversary of his death. It feels like a countdown. I am already very uncomfortable knowing it is coming. There are a boat load of good memories of raising Riley. Eighteen years worth to be exact. Yet I cannot seem to be able to reach them all yet. It is like my brain has put up a road block that says you can’t handle them all at this time. I’m not pushing it. I can wait. They are there to be reflected on for the rest of my life. I’ll let my brain take it’s time.

On a summer day in 1995 while watching my 5-year-old and 3-year-old in the play pool in our backyard, I had a thought. The thought continued as I smiled content while they sat at their plastic table on the patio dripping wet from the pool eating the lunch I had made for them. The thought percolated for the rest of the day even when I was saying, “Do not draw on that table!” “Give it back to your brother.” Even while I was thinking Why do I bother to shut the door as Braden laid on the bathroom floor talking through that gap between door and floor saying, “Mom. Mom. Mom.” That night after our dinner for four, after tucking the kids into their beds, after we had covered our day’s events, I took a deep breath looked at Greg and blurted it out, “Can we have one more?”

Three children instead of two sounded good. The two children we had brought into this world were perfect one girl, one boy, yet when I thought about family holidays in the future, I pictured the more the merrier. We needed more grandchildren to spoil and to climb into our laps. I was still young, the kids were still young yet I was thinking ahead. Three children sounded good.

Greg’s reply was, “Wait, What?, Whoa…Hmm, OK.” Ok I really don’t remember what he said but it was probably a conversation that had a Wait, a What? a Whoa followed by some thought and a whole-hearted agreement. I think that process of thinking on his part didn’t take any longer than mine. It sounded right to both of us to have one more.

I decided that if I could have my wish, I would deliver before the heat of an Arizona summer. I knew I would be happy with a boy or a girl but from the start I imagined a boy. We believed God had a plan if it would happen, the timing if it did, and the sex of the child. We asked God for a healthy child. Greg and I started trying for one more.

I found out I was pregnant while Greg and the kids were in Oregon visiting his family. I couldn’t wait til he got home to tell him so I told him over the phone. It was meant to be. He was excited. I was excited. The kids were excited. There would be dinner for five now. We started preparing for one more.

When I was pregnant with Bria, I imagined delivering a chubby blonde boy who was like his Dad. Bria was a gorgeous baby girl with rose bud lips and big blue eyes. Braden was a handsome baby boy with a full head of dark hair and an easy sweet demeanor. We decided that the baby’s name would be Riley if it were a boy or a girl. We were going to have one more.

Riley Reed Peterson was delivered at 9:30 pm after my water breaking hours before with a rush to the hospital only to find out we weren’t even close. After some time, they induced me. As Greg sat by my side holding my hand while watching a Phoenix Sun’s playoff basketball game, the contractions got closer and the grip of my hand in his got tighter. In due time, I delivered my smallest baby in size of 7 lbs 7 oz with dark hair and a loud cry. He was perfect. We had one more.

We welcomed Riley into our lives with tears of joy and pride. We said goodbye to Riley with the same tears of pride and joy for having had one more.

I Love You, Riley.

The Stark Reality of Grief

April 24, 2015April 24, 2015 / djuanadreed / 2 Comments

Grief is individual. I am alone in this. Some people may not understand that statement. Unfortunately those who have lost a child do understand it. It is a lonely walk with many people standing all around me waiting to hug, help, ease my pain, yet I cannot receive help on this matter. There is no way I can help you understand what it is like. If you do understand, I am sorry.

I carried Riley in my womb for 9 months. Attached by an umbilical cord he grew within me. While he was growing, I ate the right foods, slept, and was careful to take care of myself in order to grow a healthy baby boy. When I pushed him out into this world, he took a breath and cried. I nursed him. I woke to his cry at night. I rocked him for hours upon hours. I slept with him in my arms.

Riley is and will forever be a part of me. Often I imagine him in my arms, cradling him tightly as I fall asleep. At 17, he towered over me in height and size. I couldn’t pick him up anymore. He picked me up off my feet and held me instead. With the loss of Riley on this earth there is an empty crater that will remain empty. The loss of Riley is felt by many. Their grief is their own.

He was a part of me as I was a part of him. Being a boy, he wanted to be like his Dad. He was so much like his Dad. He and his sister were like a comedy routine together jousting back and forth with words and phrases that sometimes only they understood. He and his brother were bound together as brothers. This was apparent when irritating each other in their bunk beds at night or when they were ganging up on their big sister. He will always be with us in our hearts. We will always cry for him.

The stark reality of how individual grief is has hit me hard. Since the day that he died, I have been waiting to grieve with the other half of him, his adult brother and sister yet it has not happened like I ached for it. They must walk this walk the way they need to. Their grief is individual. There is no right or wrong. There are stages. There are ups and downs. They will find their own solace and their own way of handling their pain. The memories that make me smile don’t always make them smile, but make them cry instead. The photos that warm me can’t be shared with a sure feeling that they will receive them in a moment they can handle the memory. I wait to be held by someone who feels it like I feel it, but it doesn’t come. There is not anyone that feels my loss like I do.

Family and friends consistently try. They ask, “What can I do for you?” My answer is always, “Nothing.” I can’t think of anything that might make me feel better. It is an empty hole, an ache that grips and runs rampant through my whole body. My heart aches, hurts, pounds like it is reaching out for him and then my heart feels lifeless within me. I cannot reach him. He is gone.

As I sat alone in my apartment the day after the funeral waiting for the promised call to come be with family that never came, I realized I was on my own. There, in that moment, I started to realize I must get through this for Riley. Without my youngest son on this earth, I can still get up, stand up and keep moving as hard as it is sometimes. I can make my way through this maze of pain, of loss, of a changed life. I can hold on to my love for him. I can fight for other teen’s lives. I can fight for mine.

Riley tried LSD for the first time on his 18th birthday. He was about to graduate from high school. He was accepted to Northern Arizona University. He was in love with a girl who loved him back. He could be found almost every day of the week at Coffee Rush sitting with old friends or making new ones. The LSD was bought online by the dealer who was a peer of his. Riley thought he had bought a certain amount, the tab was loaded with so much LSD that the medical examiner said he had not seen that high of an amount in one body in the 30 years of doing his job. In the horrors at the end of his acid trip, Riley took a gun and shot himself. In an unconscious pull of a trigger, my baby boy was gone.

Riley had consequences that he never considered. It was his choice to try a drug. My motivation to tell Riley’s story in my grief is that teens hear the message which is It can happen. It is absolutely not worth the try. Riley lost a future of experiences, milestones and memories for both of us. As I walk this walk, I will continue to tell his story in hope that it will be shared to help turn a teen away from risking the fate Riley suffered. Life is precious…….. even the grieving kind.

I Love You, Riley.

When Doves Fly

April 20, 2015 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

Spring is in the air. The grass is a lush green. There are buds of leaves springing on the trees. Overnight the scenery around me changes. I go to sleep with bare bushes and wake up to green, purple, and white buds blossoming. The pastures are a deep green with wild flowers and dandelions, the sky is blue and I am breathing fresh cool air. The birds are singing. This is all so refreshing. I have lived here six months. It is a new season to experience and I am ready for it.

Riley is on my mind. I have had a break from crying the last few weeks. I have had an uncanny sense of calm. I can’t really explain why. I’m fighting some anger these days about Riley’s case and the situation of his death, but not even that has dug into my gutt. I’m busy with work. I’m not sure exactly why I am calm. I’m not going to complain.

I am in tune to the birds here. It has made me think of a dove that appeared on my balcony during the time right after Riley died. I had lived there a year and had not seen one there before. I was alone on my couch crying and overwhelmed with my grief. I was wishing it wasn’t true- that it was all a bad dream.The dove appeared and stayed for two days. It flew back and forth from one side of the balcony to the other. When I rolled over to cry more, it would bump into the sliding glass door making sure I knew it was there. It perched, it cooed and it stared at me through the window. I went to sleep, I woke up and it was still there.

About then I decided I needed to keep moving. I had to stand up. I had to dig for my strength. I have just kept breathing and putting one foot in front of the other since. I cry when I need to cry. I yell into the empty space when I feel anger. I get it out. I talk to Riley and tell him that I love him every time he passes through my mind. I am facing my grief. All of the ups and downs, the lulls and the storm of emotions and I have found I am remarkably still standing as we near the one year mark.

A dove has recently started nesting in my gutter on my front porch of my log cabin here in Kentucky. It is raining. Even in the rain, she does not move. She looks at me. The sounds of Bert clunking around underneath her does not disturb her. The mail woman who drove up my driveway to give me a package did not make her budge. She remains steadfast and still. She is protecting what is growing beneath her.

Doves bring peace. They are rare amongst birds in that they produce their own milk to feed their young. They cease foraging before their babies are born to ensure the milk is pure. This is a sacrifice for their young. This is nurturing and motherhood. They represent care, devotion, and purity. In the midst of battle and conflict, the dove is a symbol of peace that will come. The cooing of a dove is lulling and calming. The dove is representative of unconditional love. It is believed that when a dove is seen flying it means a soul has been released from earth.

Riley’s soul is not here anymore. It has been released. I will continue to fight this fight for Riley. This I can do for him.

My son is gone because of a first time try of acid/LSD. He is gone because blood sucking, money hoarding human beings are behind making these drugs that are bought online. Someone messed up making the tab Riley bought from the high school dealer. A tab with the highest amount of LSD the medical examiner had seen in one body in his 30 year career. One try of LSD took my child. He couldn’t have, wouldn’t have known this outcome. I know that he would go back and make a different choice if he could. He cannot.

Choices have consequences. I beg teens to make smart choices. Think before you act. Know that you are not invincible. Riley’s death is proof of that. Save your parents from this pain. Don’t mess with drugs. Step away from whatever pressure you feel to try or to continue using. That’s whatever drug is in front of you. Be different. Stay alive. Think about Riley.

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.

I Love You, Riley.

The Connective Tissue of Loss and Life

March 9, 2015 / djuanadreed / 1 Comment

Riley’s 16th birthday, May 3, 2012, was a monumental day. He and I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get his driver’s license. Getting his driver’s license was a big deal. Big for Riley. Big for me too. This meant I could send him to get milk at the grocery store. It meant that I wasn’t the chauffeur anymore. It meant that now I would worry about him driving and being safe. Mostly, being my youngest, I knew he was the last of my children that I would bring to this very spot to pass one more milestone in his life. I remember sitting there waiting with him feeling very nostalgic and sad. This was one more last time which I knew more were coming quickly like each birthday party marking a year older closer to when he would be grown, gone and on his own. There would be high school graduation before I knew it and then college.

After many trips of being on the passenger side of the car to and from school, on errands, Riley was getting his driver’s license. When it was our turn, Riley was handed the paperwork to fill out. I watched him pen in his name, birth date, etc. He also filled out the authorization of the Donor Registration. He did not hesitate. He was willing to give the gift of life by donating parts of his body if his life ended. He marked ‘Yes’ to all twelve of the anatomical gifts listed. I remember the shiver up my spine imagining that his life could ever end. I wiped that thought from my mind quickly. I was proud of him it was just another sign of the giving person he was. Just like the pride I felt when he came back from his driving test with a smile on his face, he had passed.

On May 3, 2014, on Riley’s 18th birthday, only hours after we found out that he had died, we received a call from the Donor Network of Arizona to talk to us about his tissue donation. I was surprised at the call. There was a list of questions for us and a detailed explanation of what would happen next. We were all still in shock sitting in a room crying, pacing, staring in blank air, trying to put it all together. We were still trying to understand how this happened, why it happened. I was still pleading to God that it not be true. It was not a good time for a call like this. I understand why the call is made so quickly, but still who had the with all to focus on anything.

Yet, knowing he was giving the gift of life and healing to others from his lifeless body gave me a warm feeling even at that horrific time. He would live on in others physically. That sounded good and brutal in those moments of freshly losing my child. Riley donated every part of him that was viable. Tissue, eyes (cornea), veins, skin, bone and connective tissue. I’ve thought a lot about the fact that someone got his beautiful soft skin. I miss touching him. The good feeling is that he must have helped many people.

Recently we received our first letter from a recipient. I am sure there will be more to come. The letter came from a man who had torn his tricep from his elbow in a fall. By using Riley’s tissue, they were able to attach it back. He relayed his gratitude, thanking us and said when he was completely healed, it would be as good as new. There ya go, Riley, you’re still helping others. That’s my boy.

I am proud of Riley for this decision. I am thankful to be able to know that he lives on in others. I recently saw messages of his friends talking of missing him, wishing they would see him sitting at Coffee Rush, wishing they could talk to him. The loss of Riley is huge in our family, yet his death has effected so many outside of it. I have messages from his peers as well as adults that say who he was has changed their life forever. They will remember him and try to emulate the love he showed to others. I have messages from parents who tell Riley’s story in hopes that their children will not make such a fatal mistake of trying a drug. I have messages from teens who say they will not try drugs because of Riley’s story.

The connective tissue of a loss and still living is evident here in more ways than one. He is effecting lives to this day. That’s my boy!

I Love You, Riley.