Yet one more milestone to have gotten through -

I’m just shot this week.  I’m not feeling great, I’m exhausted and I’m grieving.  Not the best combination in life I’m sure, but it’s where I’m at.  I so badly want to turn to Chris and ask him to take over for an hour so I can sit and read a book in peace and quiet, or so that I can take a shower without having to “fix” buttons on pajamas or make promises to put on another cartoon the second I turn the water off.  I’m sick and I’m tired and I’m sick of being sick and tired.

I’m raw.  I’m too tired to put on my game face and make like everything in my life is golden.  It’s not.  Far from it.  I’ve cried more this week than I’ve creid in a LONG time.  And for once I just don’t care who knows it.

I’m tired of feeling like I’m being tested - whether those feelings are valid or not.  I feel like it’s getting harder to remember what life with Chris was like before cancer.  And if it feels that way for me, what must it be like for Shane?  How will he ever truly remember his dad?

I’m burned out and I’m starting to feel sorry for myself.  Something I didn’t want to ever happen.  Unfortunately, I’m not the only young widow in the world, and I know that.  I have no reason to feel sorry for myself.  I have some of the best parts of my husband in our son.  But I don’t have my husband.  And that is my reality.  And this week, it’s been a little more real than I care to admit.

And it’s only Wednesday.

Monday we got some sad news from one of Chris’ best friends.  The Rueb’s were family to Chris and have become family to Shane and I.  Their family can use everyone’s thoughts and prayers right now.

Tuesday morning found me having to acknowledge my widowhood while with our son at his first ER visit where he left with 5 stitches in the area just outside of his eye.

Tuesday evening found that same 3 year old being a hero as he came to get me to “come see, Mommy, come see” and dragged me by the hand over to the furnace room closet.  There were awful noises coming from within and as (my) luck would have it, the expansion tank “sprung a leak” and there was water all over the floor, the walls and the furnace.  The next 30 minutes found me inside the furnace closet ladling water from one pot to another (thanks, Jay!) and ended with an emergency service call from the oil company.  Could’ve been a lot worse, at least the new tank was covered by our service contract.  But perhaps next time I’ll pay a little more attention to my mom when she asks me what that sound is (sorry, Mom!)

And this morning I heard the weather forecast for the weekend, and for the 2nd time, in as many weeks, it looks like we’ll have to postpone our (much needed) trip to PA to spend the weekend with the Buesings.  Hopefully next weekend will be our lucky one.

I’m just about at the end of my rope.  I think widows should all receive a “get out of jail free” pass.  In other words, we should be “pardoned” from any other crap that life wants to toss at you.  Every widow in the world should have her own personal goalie-tended safety net.  The big guy with all the gear would stand in front of you and would block all the bad that life wants to dish out.  Only the good things would get through.  Widowhood, and grieving in general, is hard enough.  It equates to a lifetime of pain and suffering and there’s very little room left to deal with anything else.

Here’s to hoping things turn around quickly.  And then stay headed in that direction . . .

5 of them to be exact.  And with my (now) aversion to hospitals and all things medical, this wasn’t exactly how I wanted to start my morning.

I knew from the cry that something was REALLY wrong.  And I knew from the blood oozing down the side of his face that this morning wasn’t going to go as planned.  I used a lifeline and phoned a friend.  My mom, and shortly thereafter my sister, rushed right over to help a grieving mommy out.

I knew he had to be seen, but I SO didn’t want to go to an emergency room.  That was where my current nightmare began 15 months ago.  The walk-in clinic wouldn’t take us because of our new insurance (strike 1) so we had no choice but to head over to the ER (strike 2) where I was asked my marital status (strike 3) and soon learned that Shane would in fact need stitches (strike 4).  This was our very first ER visit.  And hopefully, our last.

(all pictures taken with my cell phone)

Apparently, when you’re 3, there is ALMOST nothing in life that a Happy Meal won’t fix (WARNING - bit of a “gross factor” here with food in the mouth):

Shane and I walked in the door Thursday night and I started to close the curtains and turn on the lights - my usual evening routine.  I turned on the light in the playroom and walked over to the front door to get the mail and as I opened the door a box fell at my feet.

It was addressed to me, and I knew from the post-it on the front, that it had been dropped off by someone at King Industries.

I carried everything into the kitchen, put the mail down on the counter and stared at the box from King.  I had no idea what might be inside, but I did know it would have to do with Chris.  On this particular day, a day which had been far more emotional and difficult for me, I wondered if this was a gift from my husband.

I put Shane’s dinner in the oven to heat and I sat down to open the box.  Carefully.  And as I lifted the lid and removed the contents from the bag, I found myself holding a framed certificate.  An award.  For my husband.

This is to certify that Chris O’Connor  is hereby presented with the King Industries Certificate of Excellence.

On February 18, 2009 Chris discovered a propane leak on a forklift near his building.  Chris took action to stop the leak and notify others that the forklift was out of service and needed repair.

Chris’ exemplary action is in keeping with the finest safety practices of  King Industries, Inc.

What struck me the most was the date.  February 18, 2009.  Almost 4 months AFTER his cancer diagnosis and just one week BEFORE his first (scheduled) liver embolization.  His condition, his pain, none of it kept him from doing his job.  He carried on like his life was normal.  As if he were okay.  Because that’s the kind of man he was.

I think this award speaks volumes to my husband’s character.  I think if you never had the privilege to meet my husband, this would tell you everything you would need to know to know him.

I think it’s amazing that the safety board at King Industries voted to give Chris this award.  But I also think that act speaks volumes as to the kind of company that King Industries is.

As if the award wasn’t gift enough, on top of the framed certificate sat a couple of notes from two employees at King.  Short little notes, filled with the kindest of words for Shane and I.  Those notes mean just as much to me as Chris’ award does.

To all of you at King, thank you for keeping Shane and I in your thoughts; but thank you even more for keeping my husband’s spirit in your hearts.  You’ll never know how much all of this means to me.

And to my husband, thank you for being you.  Even when it was difficult.  And thank you for this gift.  I will cherish it, and you, always.

Like father, like son.  My two goofballs.  Talk about quintesential OC!

This blog gets over 200 visits a day.  I’m sure there are some repeat visitors, and I’m sure there are some visitors that never had the privilege to meet my husband, but still.  There were only 4 people (yes, FOUR) who played along in my “let’s play a game” post!  I KNOW there are more of you out there that have an OC-ism up your sleeve!  You couldn’t spend 5 minutes with him without getting at least one!  Share your stories with us.  More importantly, share them with Shane.

He’s literally with us everywhere we go . . .

(taken with my phone)

We’ll call it “OC-isms”.

Add a comment to this post with something Chris said (either once, or all the time) that was just quintessential OC.  Afterwards, we’ll have a list of “OC-isms” that we can add to Shane’s book.

Help me, help Shane, to remember his dad.

I’ll start with the first one that popped into my head:

“T-L-E-O”

I’ve spoken before about his tendancy to speak in song lyrics.  After a while he started using Acronyms.  I don’t know if it’s because he got lazy or because he was trying to stump me.  He never did.  Stump me.  It would sometimes take me a while, but I knew him well enough to know his repertoire!  I miss our “cheesiness”.  I miss being able to be myself.  I miss OC.

(TLEO = They Love Each Other from the Grateful Dead)

A special treat, and a recap of our weekend, from Shane . . .

For those who don’t speak fluent Shane:

he’s singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”

“chicks/fries” = McDonalds

shuckee cheeses = Chuckie Cheese (we went on Sunday with Sue and her nephew, Brady)

Chipmunks = Alvin & the Chipmunks (we went with Mommy’s friend Kristina, and Shane’s friend Max - Kristina’s son - on Saturday)

Also, I took the video on our way back from Target Sunday evening.  It was shot with one hand and without looking, all WHILE I was driving.  Yeah, have I mentioned that I’m nominated for “Mother of the Year”???

Seriously, we had a great weekend.  Quiet park (a.k.a cemetery) visits were still made, tears were still shed, hearts are still broken, but some smiles were still had.  It’s all about putting forth a good “front”.

Enjoy the little peak into our world:

Shane

Our bathroom is TINY.  Imagine the smallest bathroom you can; cut it in half and you may just have our bathroom.

Because the room is so small, and because I was too lazy to take my 50mm lens off the “real” camera, I took all these photos with my point and shoot.  And I have a rule about not editing photos taken with the point and shoot - so these shots are straight out of the camera - funky lighting, shadow casts and all.  I hate not using natural light to take pictures; but seeing as how my new best friend (my cleaning lady) came yesterday, there was no way I could wait to take pictures.  A clean bathroom beat out natural light.  Go figure.

3 weeks ago this room was taken down to the studs.  The only thing we (and by we I mean my brother) didn’t take out was the tub.  The tub stayed.  50+ year old bathtub + no basement = a recipe for disaster when trying to replace.

Everything in this room was based off the shower curtain.  I got the shower curtain a year and a half ago from Target.  And I returned it a year and a half, minus one week, ago.  After Chris died and I started associating birds with my husband (it’s okay, he already knew I was crazy) I knew I had to have it back.  Thank God for ebay.

Again with the birds.  A vinyl decal that just peels right off.  I was unsure about it at first, but the more I live with it, the more I love it.

This shot shows the truest wall color.  It’s a great grey/blue color by Benjamin Moore called “Smoke”.

LOVE the VINYL floor.  L.O.V.E.

And the brand-spankin new ceiling in the office/mudroom/old dining room.  I still have lots of paint touchups to do in here - maybe this weekend.  It’s been a busy month at our house.

My husband, true to his character, made it his final goal to be sure that Shane and I would be taken care of.  In the months since his death; I’ve come to the realization that Chris knew, long before I did, that he wasn’t going to win the battle he was fighting - which makes the fact that he continued to fight (for us) all the more valiant.  It’s something I feel guilty about.  I feel guilty about not having those conversations with my husband - the “what if” conversations.  In part; we didn’t have them because I truly never believed he wouldn’t beat his disease.  In part; we didn’t have them because it was Chris’ nature to do all he could to protect me.  But in part; we also didn’t have them because we didn’t want to.  It’s the latter that feeds my guilt.  I wonder if it would’ve put his mind at ease.  I wonder if his final weeks would’ve been easier on him, mentally anyway, if he knew we’d be okay because of conversations we’d had previously.  But then I think, well maybe he did know; because of conversations he’d had with other people.  With this dad.  His friends.  His family.  I think Chris is at peace now; and I think part of that is because he knows how well Shane and I are being taken care of.  His family, my family, his friends - they’ve all stepped up in so many ways to be sure we’re taken care of.  It warms my heart; because I know it’s my husband’s doing.

Case in point: home renovations.

Jamie and his father in-law spent a couple of hours one Saturday before Christmas putting a CEILING up in our office/mud room.  Previously, that room had been without a ceiling for almost 2 years.  For almost 2 years, we spent our days looking at something that looked like this:

And now, because of people who loved OC, and who love us, we’re now looking at a REAL ceiling!  For the first time in 2 years!  Jamie spent that afternoon taping the ceiling and applying the first coat of “mud”.  My brother came by and did the next two coats and the day after Christmas found Jamie back up on the ladder applying the final coat and sanding the crap out of everything.  Later that week I threw on a coat of primer; my brother threw on the ceiling paint later that same night.  We now have a ceiling that looks like it’s ALWAYS been there.

And my brother.  I don’t even know where to start.  In less than 2 weeks, my brother (the physical therapist; who also teaches a class at Sacred Heart University and is a drumline instructor in his “spare time” for our high school alma mater) GUTTED and completely renovated our downstairs  bathroom.  A friend of his helped out with some of the plumbing in the shower and acted as Jay’s “phone a friend lifeline” a few times; but ultimately, my physical therapist/adjunct professor brother did a total bathroom renovation in my house in between all his “clinic hours” during his winter break.  The bathroom is seriously BEAUTIFUL!  His craftmanship is amazing.  I’ve told him that if the gig he’s got going now fails; he’s certainly got himself a backup career.  He took a 1950’s bathroom that once upon a time looked like this (these shots are several years old):

Into a bathroom that should be featured in a magazine.  I’m amazed.  And I’m beyond grateful that he would do something like this for us.

(I’ll post “after” shots of both the ceiling and the bathroom in the next day or two)

I know part of this is Chris doing his handiwork - making sure that Shane and I, and the home he loved SO much, are still being taken care of.  And I know part of this is because we’re surrounded by amazing people.  People who love us and who REALLY loved my husband.

There are just simply no words . . .

Chris’ death was the most profound moment of our life.  His loss will structure the outcome of our futures.  I’m having a really tough time finding the fairness in losing so much when we wanted so little out of this life.

My head and my heart are so broken from losing Chris and I don’t know that I can ever fix those things.  I’m a changed person and that woman I was 18 months ago; I don’t think I’ll ever see her again.

And our son?  He’s going to lose out on SO much by not having his Dad here.  When I think of the things those two would’ve done together, the things Chris would’ve taught him; the fun they would’ve had . . .

Chris was the best guy I’ve ever known.  I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him - and I never will again.  I know how blessed we were to have been able to experience that kind of perfect, easy, love; but I still can’t help but ask why it had to be taken from us so quickly.  I will spend more time in this life without Chris than I got to spend with him.  Tell me how that’s fair?  We’re all so scared by his loss.  Why him?  Why now?  Why us?  Why Shane?  Why OC?

I just can’t make sense of any of it.