Really good looking, Intelligent, Likes pizza, Exellent at Saxaphone, Yippee

September 12, 2016September 12, 2016 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

One 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.

R “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.

I “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.

L “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 “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.

Y “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.

Grief sucks.

May 29, 2016May 29, 2016 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

Grief 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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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.

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.

The Chair

January 5, 2015 / djuanadreed / 7 Comments

Here I sit at my desk, in my office, looking out my window at a winter day in Kentucky. I haven’t left the cabin in two days and am still in my pajama bottoms. This is where I pictured myself writing when I bought the cabin. I kinda feel like I finally made it to this spot. The furniture has been in my garage for months and the desk is very heavy so I had to wait for help to get it in here. My office is cluttered and very unorganized. But the desk is where I dreamed it to be. I’m sitting in Riley’s chair. It still smells like him. He lived in this chair sitting at his desk listening to music, playing music on his guitar- heck he learned to play guitar from this chair. He gamed on the computer, did homework and even when friends were over, they were often gathered around him in his chair looking at the computer and listening to music. If Riley was home and awake, he most likely was in this chair at his desk.

When I first brought it into the cabin, I rolled it into the middle of the family room, sat sideways in it and twirled it around and around. I put my nose to the back of the chair and breathed in his scent. I ran my hands along the arm rests and felt the wear and tear on them where his arms laid once upon a time. I tried to feel Riley. It has that chair sound. You know, that creak not a squeak when you lean back in it. There’s a bit of cat hair from his cat, J (named after Dinosaur Jr’s lead singer, J Mascis) tucked in where the back of the chair meets the seat. I think I’ll tuck it back in there. I told him “No” every time he asked for a cat then one day, we were looking at horse property and there was a stray kitten. After the second time of seeing the kitten at that property, I said “Let’s take it home” and we did and we gave him to Riley. That was a happy day for Riley.

Now I am writing about Riley from his chair. I sure wish he was still in it. All the times I tracked up the stairs to talk to him while he sat in this chair. I brought him medicine when he was sick and laid it in front of him on his desk. I sat quietly next to him listening as he played his guitar. I yelled from another room, “What’s the name of that song?” when I heard something he was listening to that I liked. I talked to him while he sat in this chair. Sometimes hard conversations. Sometimes it was Do you have homework? How was your day? conversations.

In the early morning hours of the day he died, some time after he had taken the LSD, he wrote the following from this chair. It appeared just like this.

May 3, 2014

i remember what joy feels like

i now know what it means

what it means to be happy

i swear

i figured it out

i’ve been waiting all my life

it’s happening

guh

i can’t stop smiling

acid

Several hours later, Riley made a phone call seeking help. They didn’t answer. I have been told you can think an acid trip is gone and it can come back with intensity. A trip can go bad. He typed a text message to a girl across the country in reply to her Happy Birthday message to him, saying “On Acid” then another right after, “Halp” (spelled just like that). Not long after that, he shot himself. The toxicology report says, he died from the gunshot wound. The medical examiner added “Note: The findings and totality of the circumstances in this gentleman’s case indicate his injury was self-inflicted. However, in light of the high concentrations of the hallucinogen LSD in his blood, in my opinion , the manner of death is best classified as undetermined.” You see Riley thought he bought a tab of 185 mcg of acid which the dealer bought online. The dealer being a high school kid- same school, same choir. The tab actually contained 950 mcg- that amount in one body was more than the medical examiner had seen in the 30 yrs of doing his job.

The drug dealer still deals drugs. The company still sells its drugs online. Kids are still buying drugs and experimenting with them. Riley won’t ever sit in this chair again.

Kids are dying from drugs. How do we stop this? I ask. How many more parents will lose a child by a drug? It only takes one time.

I HATE DRUGS.

I Love You, Riley.

Time

July 22, 2014 / djuanadreed / Leave a comment

Harvey MacKay said, “Time is free, but it’s priceless. You can’t own it, but you can use it. You can’t keep it, but you can send it. Once you’ve lost it you can never get it back.”

Time stood still when Riley died. I didn’t know what day it was for the first month. I was in such a task mode at first. I dragged myself out of bed, showered and moved forward. The funeral plans kept me moving. Then the funeral was over and I feared what was next. What was next was pain that had gotten larger. The ache inside me got to a new level. I wondered how I would be able to function but I did function. I cried. I wiped my tears and moved slowly across my day. Each step is heavy. This grief thing is like carrying a heavy load. There is no getting it off your back. It’s always there.

Two and a half months later, I think time is my enemy. The pain is becoming stronger with time. How much worse can it get I wonder. It hits me out of the blue. A Riley memory happens, the pain floods through me and then poors out. One evening I was looking for a picture that my daughter asked me to send her. I came across a file on my computer of pictures from a Thanksgiving a few years ago that I hadn’t seen in a long time. There was Riley…. younger, his hair not even touching his shoulders with his arm around me smiling at the camera. I broke out in tears. I couldn’t stop crying. You know the swollen eyes, snot stuffed up in your nose you can’t breath kinda hard cry? It was one of those cries. It’s the realization that hits. He is not here. He will not be here. He is gone forever.

When I open my Facebook page and see my cover photo of him in one of his senior pictures that was taken only two weeks before he died, I ache to touch his face. It makes me so pickin’ mad that he won’t be looking at me again with a Riley grin. It is so real now that I won’t ever touch him again. I don’t want it to be real. I was hoping it wasn’t. I kept hoping I would wake up and he was back. If its only been this amount of time and it hurts this bad, how much worse can it get?

The pain of losing your child has to be the worst pain anyone ever has to go through. I am sure of it I’m angry that this happened, just really really angry. My sweet baby boy had a life ahead. Taken from him by a drug. A pill. The culture we live in promises drugs are cool. Smoking pot is the norm among teens today. Teens of all peer groups smoke pot-legal or not, they smoke it. Why not go for a different high and see what that is like? How about mix a few drugs and see what happens? It’s cool right? No, its not. No, its not when the drug causes harm to yourself or someone else. It can end a life. Riley’s story is not rare. It happens. Too often it has happened. It can and does happen by that one try. I HATE DRUGS.

How can I get this message out? How can we make sure that the risk is known that every time a drug is smoked, snorted, inhaled, or swallowed death can occur? Time is defined as “the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.” There is no continued progress of existence or events for Riley. Time for me as a parent exists, but it is skewed to a point that I don’t know how to exist and progress without my son. Riley lost time forever by one decision to try a drug. Tell Riley’s story to the young and the old in your life. Tell it to the neighbors, the relatives, coworkers and the teens you know. Educate yourselves on the synthetic drugs that are out there being sold by online labs to dealers who don’t give a crap what’s in it or the outcome of its use. Talk to your kids.

I Love You, Riley.