What Would Riley Do Bracelets

IMG_7346As 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

 

RILEY, MY SON, MY LOVE

IMG_9707Around 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.

December 2012 033His 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.

I Can’t

more Hawaii 029

What if I don’t want to go there? I know it has been a long time since I have posted a blog. I have many blogs started. I can’t finish them. I close my computer and walk away.

I want him here. I want him to say something to make me smile. I want him to say something to make me mad. I want him to say something that makes me frustrated. I want him to say something that makes me think. I want him to say something.

He can’t.

I want him to ask, “What’s for dinner?” I want him to ask, “Can I have some money for coffee at Coffee Rush?” I want him to walk into the hall carrying a pair of pants asking me to wash them. I want him to say he’s going to bed and ask if I will rub his back. I want him to open the front door and say a friend is here and 5 others walk in behind him. I want to sit on the couch with him and talk about something, anything, please anything.

We can’t.

I want to see him walk in with new vinyl that he scored at Zia Records. I want to hear some new music playing upstairs and ask who is that. I want to hear him playing his guitar. I want to hear his laugh again. I want to smell his smell as he picks me up off my feet. I want to touch his soft skin.

I can’t.

Riley was awesome. He really was. He was the light in a room. He went through life smiling and causing others to smile. He gave away hugs and they hugged back. He is gone never to speak, smile, hug again. That happened in an instant.

A fatal decision made to try a drug for the first time took him from me.  It only took one try to die. Stopped. Ended. Riley. I won’t ever hear his voice again. Touch him. Kiss him. Make dinner for him. Wash his clothes for him. Hand a $20 dollar bill to him for coffee again. See his shoes at the bottom of the stairs. Pick up a stack of coffee cups from his computer desk. I want to hear another, “I love you, Mom”.

We can’t share it. He can’t say it. I can’t hear it.

Whatever you think that drug might do for you, it’s not worth it.  Listen to Riley’s story.

I Love You, Riley.

Bug

filename-11In all of the beauty in the blue sky, white clouds, perfect black fence lines, barns sitting on hills with horses grazing in green pastures and cattle of different colors strewn across fields here in Kentucky, there are also bugs, lots and lots of bugs.

I was driving down the road with my elbow out an open window with cool breeze blowing in my hair. It was a beautiful day and I was smack dab in the middle of it. I was taking it all in and then suddenly there was a burning sensation on my left side- a sudden pain. I yelped, “OW!” I reached down with one hand still on the wheel feeling for what it was. I didn’t feel anything. “Ow, ow, ow… Keep your eyes on the road, Djuana,” I told myself. There was nowhere to pull off so I kept driving thinking, “What was that?”

When I got to the cabin and was able to look, I found a red spot that still felt like it was burning. I grabbed a cube of ice and put it on my side. It must have been a bug that flew into the window and stung me. I never found the remnants of whatever it was.

After sitting outside on my back porch last night, I came inside and laid across my bed  to reply to a text on my phone. Something very large and black dropped down from my hair in the right side of my line of vision. I threw my phone, jumped up on my knees on the bed and started shaking my hair and running my fingers through it looking  for it to drop down on the bed. Where did it go? I don’t know, but after inspection in the mirror, I didn’t see it on my shirt or still hanging in my hair anymore.

Bugs, bug bites, spider webs are everywhere in the summer in Kentucky.

I have chigger bites. I remember them well from growing up spending time at the cabin in Pine, Arizona. The five of us kids played in the dirt under the cabin making taco stands and finding sand rocks to crush – our imaginary life thrived in the woods in Arizona. If you play in the dirt, you get chigger bites.

Here in Kentucky, I tend to go out to mow and water plants without putting bug repellant on. It’s there  on the counter beside the back door to make sure that I remember it. I still don’t remember until the first bite and then I go running into the house looking for the Caladryl to make the itching stop. I’m tired of bugs right now.

I do have one bug that I love. One of Riley’s nicknames was “Bug”. Greg started that when he was born and it just stuck. I think of our bug every day. Sometimes it is just a good memory. I try to keep it at that but an ache, a wish, and reality always comes with a memory of Riley.

I miss my bug. I wish so bad that I had him here with me. His memory bites, burns and leaves a bump. He crawls up my back and gets under my skin at times. Sometimes my bug tickles and doesn’t bite. Every day is different. Each day I try very hard to find the good because the bad will put me to my knees in an instant.

Kentucky bugs will go away as the weather changes. My bug is here to stay in my heart and on my mind. The burn and itch of bug bites disappear after a short time. The burn of missing my bug, Riley does not disappear. It is a constant itch that will not heal.  I can stay in the pain or I can keep moving. I choose to keep moving best I can.

As I get ready to tell Riley’s story at a local community forum, Smart Start in 9 days, I am hoping my bug’s story will stick in the children’s minds. That they will remember the story about a boy about their age died because he messed with drugs. That it only took one try of a drug to die. That there is poison in drugs and they don’t know for sure what they are about to smoke, snort, inhale or swallow.  Riley’s death is a message that shows proof that it is not worth the try. It is not worth the chance. “Find a high another way”, I say.  Don’t die like my bug, Ri.

I Love You, Riley.

A Roller Coaster Ride

Roller Coaster- Choir Trip

Joy! Roller Coaster Ride, Choir Trip 2014

The pattern of Grief is a roller coaster ride. You never know what is coming day-to-day. There are good weeks and there are terribly bad weeks. I have recently made it through some of those terribly bad weeks that came with the one year anniversary of Riley’s death in May. I have moved into a feeling of numb but I am functioning. I am trying to recoop. I am trying to live. Once you go through one of the stages of grief, it doesn’t mean that you won’t ever feel it again. This I have learned. You might visit stages out of order, skip one, come back to another and repeat. My grief is not going anywhere. This I know.

IMG_6845This past weekend I attended The Great American Brass Band Festival in Danville, Kentucky. I took my chair and I planted myself on the grass with my camera in hand. What I saw around me were people of all ages eating ice cream, drinking drinks listening to music while sitting on the lawn. The stage was a gazebo. The backdrop was an old brick building, green grass, trees, pretty flowers with the sun going down and the fireflies blinking. As the bands played, children waved around light sticks. The patrons Moms, Dads, children danced close to the stage to the brass music from the bayou. The weather was perfect. The music was wonderful. Laughter echoed around me. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

Staring at the band, I focused on the tuba player. Oh, so innocently, I thought… Riley would like this event. And there the sharp edge of grief snuck in. It crept straight to my eyes and they puddled. It leaked into my heart and it ached. It was a quick thought that turned into a slump of my shoulders, a limpness of my extremities and a squeeze of my heart. The joy of the moment was instantly replaced.

You see, Riley was a band kid. He had moved from the saxophone to the tuba his sophomore year of high school. He played the tuba well just like every other instrument he took interest in. On Friday nights, we sat in the stands at the football games to hear him play. Over the years we sat in the seats of the Chandler Center for the Arts for his orchestra concerts. I volunteered in the band’s booster club. Band was a part of Riley.

IMG_7070This being a brass band event, I noticed a lot of saxophones and sousaphones (tubas) in the parade the next day. That didn’t make me cry. I wasn’t crying all weekend. It’s just those moments that all of a sudden grab you and yank you down. Like on a trip to the grocery store I was in the frozen food aisle, I saw a frozen pizza made with white sauce and a memory of having dinner with Riley at a restaurant came to mind. He ordered pizza with white sauce. The instant memory of conversation and laughter during dinner that night hit me straight on. That evening we spent together eating pizza was not long before he died. It was a good night.

So in the middle of the store, in a split second my mind went from what do I need at the grocery store to Riley. The tears welled up in my eyes, they sneaked down my cheeks while I stared blindly at a cold glass door thinking about my dead son that I will never share pizza with again. People walked around me as I continuously wiped each tear until the tears ceased and then I resumed my hunt for the next item on the list.

The realization that this is my life is in my face. I will forever have thoughts of my son and subsequent tears. Riley was lost by a first time try of LSD bought online. My youngest boy who had a whole life ahead of him of college and a future is gone by a decision to mess with a drug.  This is my life now because of his decision and the consequences of it.

I am me, but I am not me anymore. It’s like rediscovering life with a hole in my heart. It is trudging through the poop, the waste, the knee-high water that rises in front of me. Like a tide it disappears and reappears. This is grief. It is my life in the absence of my son who was a part of me.

I miss that part of me so very much. I am here living this altered life I didn’t ask for. What I ask is that my grief not be in vain. That the loss this world has suffered by Riley not being in it anymore be a story to be told to young adults who are and will be faced with the decision to try a drug. It is what keeps me telling Riley’s story. It is what has nailed me to the seat of the ups and downs on this roller coaster ride. It is my hope that lives are saved by my speaking out.

I Love You, Riley.

The Parent’s Reach

430023_3460963532894_988690135_n As responsible parents, we set out to keep our children safe, happy, and healthy. We bundle them up in cold weather before they step out the door. We slather them with sunscreen on hot days by the pool. We make sure they do their homework, have their seat belts on, get a good night’s rest, eat their vegetables, and lecture them on everything from “Don’t touch it’s hot” to “Drugs are bad for you”. I did that. I watched over my children like a hawk. They were my job. I took my job seriously working at it 7 days a week/24 hours a day. I was ready and waiting to spot a need I should fill in my pursuit to keep my children safe, happy and healthy.

I missed something. I do not know what I could have done different. Riley was healthy and happy. I thought I had done everything within my power to keep him safe. I think that I did.

Known for his Hawaiian shirts, purple vans, long blonde hair, acoustic guitar, warm smile and big bear hugs- he knew no strangers. He left lasting impressions with whomever he met by his whimsical demeanor and love for intense conversation about music, religion, politics and philosophy. Riley was smart. He was a computer guru. He was raised in a Christian home. He attended a Christian grade school. He was about to graduate from high school. He had been accepted to NAU. He had played in the high school band for three years. He sang in the high school choir his senior year. Oh how I loved watching him sing. He had a girlfriend. He was a musician with a love for all kinds of music. He played guitar, piano, saxophone and tuba. I sat quietly every chance I had to listen to him play his guitar.  He had interests, passions, plans for his future. He had so much to give and he did give.

He gave to the girl who was a stranger huddled along a wall in the school halls crying about her cat dying by making a comment that resulted in a conversation, a smile and a friendship. He stood in between a girl and bullies at school. He eased the apprehension of a new girl’s first day in class. He talked a boy out of suicide. He was a source of encouragement for the classmate that was pregnant. He helped his peers accept themselves as who they were- in their unique molds of different shapes, sizes, abilities and talents. He taught people to love….to love themselves and others. He gave the gift of laughter – smiles and the experience of a warm heartfelt hug. The kind of hug where he lifted you off your feet and held you tight. I often asked for Riley’s hugs myself.

On Riley’s 18th birthday, May 3, 2014, Riley tried acid/LSD for the first time. He bought the drug from a boy at school, a choir member who had bought it online. He sent out a snap chat of the tab on his tongue. He wrote of feeling joy at the beginning of the trip. Many hours later, he reached out to a boy who said to call him if he got into trouble. The boy did not answer. A girl sent him a “Happy Birthday” text. He replied, “On Acid” and then another, “Halp” (spelled like that). Not long after that, during an acid trip that must have turned very bad, worse than I like to imagine, Riley took a gun and shot himself.

Riley came into this world and left on the same date. Forever 18. A birthday dinner was planned for later that night. Presents for him were left wrapped not ever to be opened. Riley was gone in an instant by his decision to try a drug for the first time. Riley was a typical teen- he thought he was invincible. He was not invincible.

Only 30 hours before Riley put the tab on his tongue, he and I sat at the kitchen table together and talked about drugs. He brought the subject up. We talked about making smart choices, how dangerous drugs were and the possible consequences of drug use. This was a subject that we had discussed many times before. He assured me that we were on the same page. Yet now I know that he had already bought the acid when he sat down to talk to me.

The toxicology report showed that Riley had 5 times the amount of LSD in his system than what he thought he had bought. It was the highest amount that the medical examiner had seen in his 30 year career. Someone up the line of where the drug came from, whoever made it, messed up.

With all my know how, I attempted to keep my son safe. My reach, my arms enveloping him trying to protect him only worked so far into his life. Our children have opportunities to make decisions. Riley paid the consequences of the decision that he made to try acid.  A decision that I am sure if he could, he would make differently. My hope is that Riley’s story is repeated over and over. That the message is clear to those that hear it…Drugs kill.

As the school year ends, as summer break begins, the drug use and partying will be ramping up. More teens start drinking alcohol, smoke cigarettes, try drugs in the months of June and July than any other month of the year. Here we are approaching June in only a few days.

My hope is that teens hear Riley’s story, think twice and in turn make a different choice when given the opportunity to try a drug. My hope is that Riley’s story is repeated in the work place, in the classroom, at the kitchen table- that a parent hears his story and repeats it to their child.

If Riley’s story can save just one life, then we’ve made a difference.

Tell Riley’s story.

I Love You, Riley.