mysteryoriley

We don’t know what it means to rest anymore.  That time seems so innocent now.

“Rest and relaxation” used to be something our family and friends enjoyed in our home.  We spent time discussing personal issues, global issues, business and government issues – and our time spent in those discussions was not uncomfortable, difficult, or angst-ridden.  Those were times of camaraderie, of sharing thoughts that were both aligned and controversial. 

The sparks certainly flew when we were in disagreement, and we worked through them, even though the outcome was sometimes, nothing more than to agree to disagree.  That agreement worked for us.  Why?  Because we recognized our differences and accepted them.

We are and were, individuals, with strong opinions, convictions, and beliefs.  That is not likely to change, though Owen is not here to offer his two bits.  (He had a lot to say, so they were more like twenty bits.)

Owen was outspoken.  He was not as adept at knowing his audience, as those of us with more life experience.  He trusted people, even those who stole from him.  We know this (that people stole from him), because we’ve been told so by young people who slept in our home, ate our food, and enjoyed our coffee-conversations. 

We fear Owen’s words may have struck a discordant note with others whose opinions or convictions differed, on that last night of his life.  We acknowledge his words may have been strong enough to cause someone young (or not), maybe someone suffering personal, mental, emotional, or spiritual challenges – and that s/he thought their expression of truth was worth ending Owen’s life, whether of their own accord, or as observers.  We don’t know.  We only know what they told us, but refused to confirm once police officers asked for confirmation.

What we do know is this: none of Owen’s belongings, those that he carried with him on the night he went missing, have been retrieved, including the new bicycle he was riding.  In fact, the woman who admits to keeping his cell phone after asking to make a call (or did she steal it from him?) stated in her police statement, that she and an unnamed young man threw Owen’s cell phone in the Petaluma River, once they learned it was one of the missing items in the investigation (approximately four days after that news was reported in our daily newspaper).  She stated she was afraid that having Owen’s cell phone in her possession might, in some way, attach her to his death, or the knowledge thereof.  Huh.  

One of Owen’s old friends (formerly living in Bellingham, WA, and now in his home town) sent me this poem last night.  I think it’s worth posting.  Owen was unafraid of reactions to his “open mic nights”, and I think he would like it that Jordan offered up Buddy Wakefield’s poem as somehow related to his own life, to Owen’s life, and to Owen’s death.

Poem for the night:  The Information Man, Buddy Wakefield

http://youtube.com/watch?v=tIr4pL9P0SA

~ by Linda on February 7, 2008.

Posted in art, beauty, blogging, child loss, grief, friends, Nat Riley, Owen Riley, Michael Douglas Riley, Linda Siniard, loss, love, children, death, family, friends, grief, learning, Life, literature, mothering, music, mystery, parenting, poetry, theater, writing
Tags: Buddy Wakefield, controversy, death, Emmitt Owen Riley, Linda Siniard, mysterious deaths, Owen Riley, Petaluma Police Department, rest, rest and relaxation