I thought about holding off posting this until tomorrow (I didn’t want the “one in a million” post below that I posted early this morning to get lost in the shuffle) but this deserves immediate attention.

About an hour ago, Chris’ oldest and dearest friend sent me the most beautiful email.  It’s a letter to Chris that Jim wanted me to include in Shane’s journal.  It’s a beautiful tribute to a beautiful relationship and to an amazing man.  I started crying within the first 3 words.  It’s so easy to feel Jim’s pain, and to feel it to the extent that I do, because I feel it too.

Jim - your loss is a huge one, no doubt.  I feel your pain and I’m so sorry.  Know you meant the world to him - you always will.  You were his first true friend.  And while I’ve always said you two never “played well together” (I was ALWAYS “cleaning up” the OC/Jim messes), I always knew what you meant to each other and I would never have taken that away from either of you.  Shane and I are here for you always.

I realize that what I’m going to share is something that most of you already know, but still, I think it warrants sharing.  Honestly, it’s something I’ve meant to share time and time again since Chris died and just never got around to doing it.

The morning after Chris died, I sat down at the computer at home and sent his two oncologists personal emails.  I wanted to let them know that Chris had died, wanted to see what their opinions were on what caused his death (the cancer or the procedure), but mostly, I wanted to thank them for taking such good care of the love of my life.

The replies I got back from both of them floored me.  It was apparent that in the short time (less than 9 months) that they knew Chris, they knew EXACTLY the kind of man he was.  Chris was just THAT special, his personality just THAT large.  He was a tough guy to not like and an even tougher one to forget.

It was a comfort to me to get these very human emails from these very prestigious doctors.  To know that they saw my husband as a person and not just as a patient speaks to Chris’ character, I think.  So for all of you, who love Chris like I do, I wanted you to know what his doctor’s saw in him.  I hope these emails bring comfort to you as they do for me.

From Dr. Kenneth Dressler - Chief of Oncology - St. Vincent’s Medical Center:

Kristin,

Ken Dressler

From Dr. Raymond Meng - Oncologist - Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center:

Hi Kristin,

On behalf of everyone here, I just wanted to express my condolences to you and to your family on Chris passing away.  I am so sorry for your devastating loss and your son’s loss as well.  I also wish that there was more that could have been done for your husband, as he was much too young to be taken away from you and your son.   I often wonder why our nicest patients, who are such good people, can be afflicted with such horrible cancers with so much suffering, but Chris is in a much better place now.

Again, I am truly sorry for your horrific loss.  Chris was always a fighter and will always be a fighter.  If we can assist with anything with you or your son, any paperwork, any counseling, please let us know.

Take care Kristin.  God bless Chris and your family.  We will keep you in our prayers.

Ray

If Shane becomes even half the man that his father was than I consider that a blessing and at the same time, an almost impossible feat.

We still miss him every second of every day.  Our hearts still ache for him.  The tears still fall many times throughout every day.  We still feel his missing presence.  We still long to be in his arms and to hear his voice.  I don’t think these things will ever change.  This guy was one in a million.

There’s a blog I’ve been following since Chris was diagnosed last October.  The blog is written by a man, 37, and chronicles his 5 year battle with Stage 4 colon cancer.  I had interest in his story because, like Chris, his cancer had spread to the liver, and he was young and had two young kids (6 and 4) at home, too.  Two year ago, his doctor’s told him that they were out of options here.  Tony took the reins into his own hands and sought out treatment options in Germany (this would’ve been our next step, had Chris survived).

I’m sad to say that Tony, too, lost his battle with cancer this month.  His blog has been difficult for me to read these last few weeks because so much of what he went through at the end of his life was so similar to what I had just been through with Chris.  His wife has now taken over writing the blog and her most recent post, “It is”, sums up EXACTLY how I’ve been feeling and what I’ve thinking - but haven’t been able to turn into words.  She says it perfectly.  Unfortunately, I suppose it takes someone who’s going through the same thing to understand the pain and anguish.  It truly is the worst thing imaginable:

http://tonyfellerfund.blogspot.com/2009_09_01_archive.html#645802484833339837

Yesterday marked the first day of fall, and it also marked the start of a period of time which I’ve been dreading ever since Chris died.

I’m terrified of the fall and the winter.  TERRIFIED.  I’m terrified of these upcoming months not only for the dates they contain (our 5 year anniversay, the anniversary of Chris’ diagnosis, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, my birthday, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, St Patrick’s Day, weddings to be attended - alone) but also for the “mood” they create.  I despise the thought of long, cozy weekends at home for Shane and I - without Chris around.  The thought of the two of us spending a quiet weekend confined to the house is beyond depressing.  Yet, doing something fun and adventurous on our own sounds even worse.  This was always our favorite time of the year.  Chris was always so good at coming up with cool little day trips for us to do.  Things to get us out, keep us moving and keep us busy.  These next 6 months just feel so dark and dreary.  They make me feel so alone.  They make me miss my husband even more (as if that could even be possible).

I still don’t understand how a person is supposed to move on from here.  I try.  I do things all the time.  Constantly on the move and doing things for Shane (and I) that I know Chris would want me to do - but it’s still a constant struggle.  And I’m tired of trying to keep it all together.  I just want to collapse into his arms at the end of every difficult day and have all my concerns melt away.  Being in his arms always had a way of making EVERYTHING (ANYTHING) better.  I just feel so lonely.  So exhausted.  So unlike me.

I just want to feel like me again.  I want Chris to walk back through our door.  I want to see Shane’s face light up again.  I want the dogs tails to wag.  I want him to see the new shades and curtains in the family room that his best friend hung up for us.  I want him to see that the holes in the family room ceiling have finally been patched - and painted.

I want our life back.  For all of us.  And I really want to fast forward to spring.

Missing you now and always, my love.

Saturday I spent the day with my girls.  My girls, their kids, good food, good conversation and new memories.  And even though tears still fell from my eyes that day, I went to bed that night feeling more content and peaceful than I have in a while.  Being around people is good for me.  People who love me.  People who love Chris.  People who love our little boy.

My UConn girls are amazing - they always have been, I’m just more aware of it now.  They swarmed my house Saturday with cars overfilled with groceries for us.  Pantry goods, paper goods - even dog treats.  They all wrapped their arms around me and I felt that ease, that comforting, that only comes when you’re with your true friends.  Saturday was a day good for my soul.

After a spirit lifting day on Saturday, Shane and I got up Sunday morning knowing we’d have to take Zita to the airport, she was heading down to Florida for a few days.  While we know she’ll be back soon,  soon after that she’ll be gone for good.  That officially puts all 3 “original” O’Connor’s in Florida, and Shane and I here on our own.  Lord knows I have the most amazing family in the world.  My mom, my sister, my brother - even my aunts and uncles - would be there for me in a second if I ever asked them to be - but none of them are Chris.  Having the 3 of them in FL, officially makes all of my direct connections with Chris out of state, and that makes me incredibly sad.  Tears rolled down my cheeks (again) as I pulled away from the terminal in White Plains yesterday.  Tears for what Shane and I had already lost, and tears for what we were losing then.

Our saving grace was where we were going next, we were heading to be with another of our direct connections and when we got to the restaurant in Darien, where we were meeting up with Sue and her mom, we walked through the door, Shane caught a glimpse of her (and we honestly believe, in some ways, a glimpse of his dad) and his pace quickened.  He got over to the table, climbed up in her lap, wrapped his little arms around her neck and just melted into her.  My heart melted too, right there on the floor of the Sugar Bowl.  Shane’s never been an affectionate kid, not with people outside of his immediate family, not right away certainly - but since that night that Chris died, Shane has had a special connection with Sue and Jamie.  I think that’s Chris working his magic for his little boy.  And for that, I’m blessed too.

***And because they don’t get enough recognition (probably because they’re family and I take it for granted) Mom and Kate - thank you.  Thank you for dinner.  Thank you for the groceries.  Thank you for the cleaning and the bath giving and the pet feeding.  Thank you for the wisdom, the hugs, the love.  Thank you for swooping in and sweeping my life up off the floor time and time again.  I know how blessed we are.  And now everyone else knows, too.

Two very long, and very painful, months.  Can it really be true?  Can you really be gone two months already?  Has it really been two months since I last spoke to you?  Saw you?  Hugged you?  Held your hand?  Has it really been two months since our little boy saw his dad lying in that bed in the ICU?  It feels like forever, yet I feel like you just here - and we were just us.

Two months.  Yet the medical bills are still rolling in.  And they still expect to be paid.  Two months.  Yet the mail still comes with your name on it.

I miss your smiling face.  I miss your deep voice.  I miss the way my name sounded coming out of your mouth.  I miss the sparkle behind your eyes.  I miss your hand holding mine.  I miss your breath on my cheek at night.  I miss your presence in our house.  In our room.  In our son’s room.  Our home is painfully quiet without you.  And lonely.  Very, very, lonely.

I’m heartbroken at how many people are so deeply affected by your loss.  I ache for every single one of them.  I know how severe that pain can be.  I wish I could take it away from everyone.  I wish you were still here with us.  I’ll never understand why you’re not.

I miss you more and more everyday.  I love you more and more everyday.  Your heart will always be my heart.  As long as mine continues to beat, so will yours as well.

Always and forever.

I’ve said it before, and I KNOW I’ll say it again, but if it wasn’t for family and friends and I don’t even want to think about where Shane and I would be right now.

After yet another tough week, and an upcoming weekend that would be equally as rough - thanks to the Giants’ home opener, two of my best girlfriends whisked me away for a weekend on the Cape.

To Kate (my lifelong friend, my other sister) and Clauds (my very first college roommate - and very first UCONN friend - ) THANK YOU.  Thank you for a weekend filled with great friends, plenty of girl talk, lots of laughs and an amazing group of little boys - every single one of which steals my heart - I owe the two of you the world.  You may never know how good this weekend was for my soul.  It also makes me realize how much I miss spending time with you guys - and I know we need to do this on a regular basis.

We’ve certainly come a long way from our days at UConn.  We’ve traded in our Bud Light cans for cans of Diet Coke and we’ve given up nights out at the local bars (miss you Civic Pub!) for nights spent curled up on the couch, cuddling with our sons, but I don’t think any of us would trade it for anything.  And to know we can still come together and pick up exactly where we left off - that’s something to write home about.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to see that life can still be beautiful.  That I can still go somewhere that holds special memories for us (Chris, Shane & I) and make it through the other side with minimal scarring.  I love you guys.  I’m eternally thankful for our friendship and I look forward to many more weekends of the same.

Looking forward to seeing the entire crew on Saturday.  It’s nice to still feel lucky sometimes.

Last weekend, after Nana and Papa pulled out of the driveway, with Aunt Trae and all her luggage in the backseat, Shane and I retreated to our backyard for some Mommy and son time.

A while later, Aunt Kate pulled into the driveway and an excited Shane ran right over to her and then right out the front door - with no clue what was in store for him!!!

Three hours later when he returned, he ran over to me in the garden yelling “Melmo hug me!! Melmo hug me, Mom-me” and “I throw BIGGGGGGGG balls and heat fech fries!!!!!!”

Which, in case you don’t speak Shane, translates to: “Aunt Kate took me to the bowling alley that was celebrating their 15th year in business!  To lore in all the beaten down parents with their overly active children celebrate they had characters there - like Scooby-Doo and ELMO!!!  And I was terrified of Elmo, but Aunt Kate picked me up and Elmo gave Aunt Kate a big hug while she was holding me (which translates to Shane getting a hug from Elmo)!  And then I bowled my very first game wearing my very own smelly, rented, adorable, little pair of bowling shoes and made Aunt Kate stand online FOREVER to get me some french fries and ketchup ‘cuz I was starving!!!”

Don’t believe me??  Here’s the proof.  Thanks, Aunt Kate!!

(Video taken on her cell, I’m unable to rotate it - sorry!):

Bowl 1

Bowl 2

And a cute shot of his little bowling shoes:

Shane and I have been back in the land of the living for 4 weeks now.  4 long and painful weeks.  This is what our “new normal” will be like.  This is what life without Chris will be like.  Exhausting.  And hard.  And sad.  Life without him could never be considered “normal”.  Far from it.

My heart still aches for his heart.  My body still wants to be wrapped inside his arms.  I still want my husband and I still want for our little boy to have his daddy.  The tears still fall.  Every.  Single.  Day.

This Sunday is the Giants’ home opener.  First home opener in the 10 years I’ve known Chris that he won’t be there for.  First home opener Jamie will be going to without his best friend.  His brother.  My heart aches for Jamie.  This was their “thing”.  These 4 months were always their favorite 4 months of the year.  The house is quiet without all of the sports talk.  Painfully quiet.  Football season will never be the same again.  Much like a lot of things in life.

You’re missed, babe.  In so many ways.  By so many people.  I’m so very sorry.

We spent our first holiday weekend without Chris having fun with Aunt Trae.  She flew in from Florida for the weekend and we loved every second of having her around.

She and Shane picked up right where they left off and poor Aunt Trae was outside playing “chase” just minutes after rolling out of bed.  He was her 5th appendage all weekend long!

Trae, thanks for spending your long weekend with us.  Thank you for taking Shane to Build-A-Bear (though I’m not thankful for the 5am wake up this morning because a certain little boy wanted to change his bear’s outfit!).  Thank you for cleaning my house - again.  Thank you for keeping the little guy busy and allowing me so much time with my precious garden.  Thank you for watching trashy television with me.  Thank you for sharing my love for Criminal Minds.  Thank you for the nice talk Saturday night, it’s comforting to know you’re not alone.  Thank you for sharing your precious Trader Joe’s cheese puffs.  Thank you for taking another bath with Shane.  Thank you for giving me reasons to laugh when all I want to do is cry.  Thank you.  We love you.  We can’t wait to see you again.

I just want a hug.  A real hug.  I just want to fall into his arms, rest my head on his chest and feel safe.  Loved.   Protected.  I want to melt into him and have all my worries and concerns melt along with me.  I want to be held.  Comforted.  I want somewhere to rest my head.  I want to listen to his heart beat and fall asleep to that sound like I have so many nights in the last 10 years.

He was just here.  We were just having a conversation.  He was just holding me.  We were just talking about how much we loved our little life.  And each other.  And our son.  How can he really be gone?  How will I ever move on from here?  Will I really go through the rest of my life without that feeling of security?  Of love?

I miss him.  I want him back.  It just hurts to much to keep living life this way.  Something’s gotta give.

If it didn’t feel real before, it sure does now.

I was at the store Wednesday night, looking for things to put in our garden, and my phone rang.  It was Zita.  My heart sank - I just knew why she was calling.  I had been waiting for this moment.

A minute later, I was taking a right out of the parking lot and was heading up to the cemetery.  Nothing in the world can prepare you for seeing your husband’s name engraved into a huge, cold, block of granite.  Nothing.

It’s beautiful.  No doubt.  Worth every bit of it’s exorbitant price tag.  But I still hate it.  I hate that it’s there.  I hate that that is where I have to go to be with my husband.  I hate that this is what our life has turned into.  Not at all what we imagined.  Not at all what we wanted.  I hate cancer.  HATE.  IT.  The one thing it can’t take away from me is the love.  And the one thing it gave to me is pain.

Beloved Husband, Father, Son, Brother & Friend

He was a lot of things to a lot of people.

Our wedding date.

From the Grateful Dead song “Brokedown Palace”.  I thought he’d appreciate it:

“Fare you well.  Fare you well.  I love you more than words can tell.  Listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul.”

For months, these were two of my all time favorite pictures of my boys.

Now, this one breaks my heart:

And this one gives me chills:

He was sick when these pictures were taken, but he looks so strong.  So healthy.  Hard to believe that he’s gone so quickly.  I still miss him every second of the day.  I still wonder if life will ever be good again.  I wonder if I’ll ever feel like me again.  I wonder if things, moments, will ever hold meaning again.  I wonder when life will quit feeling like we’re stuck in a holding cell.  I wonder if our little boy will ever not feel cheated.  I wonder what his future holds for him - a little boy without a daddy.  I’m so tired of crying.  So tired.