“Everyone thinks you’re annoying.”
I remember my heart breaking at that student’s words, imagining that one day someone could say that to my future son for asking “too many” questions in class, for being “too” passionate about learning. Tears filled my eyes as Riley reacted in an apologetic manner, and told his classmates that he guessed he could try and raise his hand more.
Out of a mix of anger and almost loss of total faith in humanity, I wrote Riley after that class. I assured him that everyone does not, in fact, find him annoying, and that people need to learn to express themselves more respectfully.
In turn, he assured me that they “meant no real harm.” “They were probably referencing how I have a tendency to make comments in classes, sometimes without raising my hand (yes, I have done that before, but who hasn't?). I also am rather hyper and (admittedly) talkative; I am always making comments and wisecracks and trying to make people laugh to lighten things up a little,” he replied.
After being taken aback by such a surprising, self aware and accepting response, I knew Riley could handle himself.
Three months later, on Last-day-of-finals Eve, I was studying in my room. And by studying, I mean probably daydreaming about what the holidays had in store for me.
Scrolling on Facebook, I came across various posts from fellow Longwood students sharing their condolences for the loss of a Lancer. My throat swelled and I belted out an unexpected cry when I realized Riley was gone. Despite having various classes together, I only interacted with him once.On Dec. 11, 2014, I felt an instant void left behind from the loss of one of the few, most genuine souls I had ever met.
“Remembering Riley” was published in the Rotunda after a long winter break. I was left uneasy by the way it left Riley known as a “misunderstood” Lancer. I went to Riley’s vigil and became encouraged by how much many people actually did understand Riley, and realized that there was one vital voice that had yet to speak on Riley’s character, his family’s.
“Riley called me the morning of the eleventh because he was having trouble getting the front wheel off of his bike to put it in his car. I remember making a mental note that we needed to get him a bike rack,” recalled Riley’s mother, Louise DeCamp Reeve.
““Mom, as soon as I hang up the phone, I’m putting it in drive.” And I said, “Okay, be safe, call me when you get to Dad’s, and I love you.” And he said, “I love you too Mom.””
Riley, having finished his last exam, was trying to get home to be with his family for his last winter break before graduating in Spring 2015. Mrs. Reeve works at a small private school in Charlottesville, and was at a fifth grade production of Midsummer Night’s Dream on the afternoon of Dec. 11, 2014, when Riley was in a fatal car accident. I was packing up my car and studying for my last few exams, as most students on-campus were. Other Lancers were already home, celebrating the beginning of their winter break.
According to his mother, Riley aspired to be the President of the United States. “I’m sure most people thought he was kidding, but actually, he wasn’t,”she said.
Mrs. Reeve describes her son as having had “an encyclopedic knowledge.”
“When he was very young, he was interested in trains, rhinoceroses, earth-moving equipment, things that were round, presidents and their families and the states and their capitals.”
Mrs. Reeve went on to recall some difficult moments earlier in Riley’s life, when things didn’t come so easy to him. As a two year old, he lost the ability to talk. He also began to lose interest in people and the world around him.
“He was diagnosed with autism, and few models existed for how to help him. As parents, we were traumatized, but determined to fight for him,” said Mrs. Reeve. “His development since that time has beaten every prediction and exceeded every expectation. Riley became verbally skilled, and he gradually learned to manage his own behavioral challenges.”
Initially, Longwood was a challenge for Riley, as mentioned by his twin brother, Sam, at Riley’s vigil. However, “by his second year, his growing comfort led to stronger interpersonal and academic successes,” said Riley’s mother. “We loved hearing his stories of faculty and friend interactions. He was headed toward graduation in May with passion and love for Longwood, and with great optimism for whatever future lay ahead. He was only three credits short of graduation.”
In remembering Riley, I encourage students to celebrate his life by connecting with each other. We are all sharing this college experience, so let’s begin to build each other up instead of destroy each other. Appreciate bad jokes told on elevator rides, excessive class contributors that take the teacher’s attention off of you, and start up conversations as if there were no strangers on campus. Let us not let another Lancer go by “misunderstood.”
Riley’s brother, Sam, will graduate from Guilford College the week after Longwood’s graduation, and plans to march in Riley’s cap and gown.
