Every year I put out these NOEL blocks and every year Chris and I engage in a friendly holiday battle of NOEL/LEON.  A word is never spoken, but each of us keeps an eye on the blocks, and when we notice that they’d been switched by our spouse, we’d switch them back.  I was NOEL and he was LEON; though I’m sure I didn’t need to tell you that.  It was a month long, silent battle.  Until this year.

Last year, he made the switch very little, and that’s how I knew how crappy he was feeling.  And the few times he did make the switch, I knew he was doing it for me; not because his heart was in it.

When I pulled the NOEL blocks out of the holiday storage bin this year, with tears streaming down my face, I made the decision to put them back.  I couldn’t look at them.  Not now.  Those same blocks used to SCREAM happiness to me, and now they just made me sad.

Later that same day I realized they had to go out.  And they had to say LEON.  There will be no switching of the NOEL blocks this year.  This year, they will serve as a tribute to what we lost.  With those LEON blocks on the console table, his spirit will be with us this holiday season.

Tears still fall when I look at those blocks.  It’s another loss for me.  Another fun time gone.  But it was our tradition.  And it deserves to stay that way. 

Miss and love you always, baby.

Aunt Mary “elfed” my little guy and shared the video with me on Facebook.  I just HAD to download it and share it here; it’s WAY too cute, and SO very Shane.

Thanks, Aunt Mary!

Shane the Elf

‘Tis the season to be thankful.  Perhaps for the majority of the US population, that statement is true.  And for the last 31 years, that statement was true for me, too. Even more so these last 10 years.  But not this year.  This year, being thankful doesn’t come easy.  This year, the holiday season is just a string of moments in time when I feel the grief take hold a little deeper and a little harder.  It’s the time of year when I feel like I’m being slapped in the face with my dead husband’s spirit, as if a reminder is needed.

Sure, I have things to be thankful for:

1) Our son.  For whom I am forever grateful to Chris, for loving me enough to leave me with a piece of himself.

2) My family, especially my mom.  For without whom I shutter to think of what my existence would be like right now.  My mom is the proverbial light at the end of my forever dark tunnel.  She keeps her light shining for me, and for Shane, and because of that I try to have the faith that I will find my way to the other side someday.

3) Our home.  And that, thanks to my husband’s foresight, (and as long as I’m extremely careful), I’m still able to afford to live in it.

4) My health.  Shane’s health. Our families health. Though I now know that’s not a given and it can change at any time.

5) Chris’ family.  For giving up so much of themselves to help us through the last year, and for seeing past there own grief to help me deal with mine.

6) For our friends and extended families.  This last year brought a lot of things to light for Chris and I.  We quickly realized who our true friends were.  Those who where there for us in the deepest parts of our cancer battle became our truest and closest friends.  A lot of relationships were formed this last year, a lot were strengthened, and a few were lost - but I’m thankful for having you all to lean on.  To remember with.  To cry to.

7) Our girls.  Kylee & Zoe.  Our first children.  And the memories of Chris I have every time I look into their dark eyes.  Those dogs loved no one the way they loved him.

I know what to be thankful for.  And I’m thankful that I still have things to be thankful for.  But this is not a season of thanks for me.  For us.  It’s a season of reflection.  Of what was lost - past, present and future.  Of what was planned and will never be.

It’s a season of make believe.

Paying it forward was going to be priority #1 for Chris when we found our way through his cancer battle.  He wanted others to know the strength that comes from support, the way he did.

This is one way we can help him do just that.

http://www.firstgiving.com/chrisoconnor

After bowling, the crew headed upstairs to a new “kid paradise” - a room filled with huge, inflatable bounce houses and structures.

Normally, I would’ve sworn that this was EXACTLY the type of thing that my kid wouldn’t be into, but once again he surprised me.  He had an absolute blast, and I think these video clips prove that.

I especially love this first one.  Typical, crazy, Shane.  This is Shane EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.  Full of energy, just like his dad was.  Feel free to take pity on me . . .

Bounce 1

Bounce 2

Bounce 3

Bounce 4

Thanks again, Aunt Kate!

I’ve been taking control of one of the few things I have complete control of - our house.   I’ve discovered that this last year a lot of extra “stuff” was accumulated.  I’m not usually one to let things sit around, but this last year was anything but “usual” for us.  We were busy fighting a losing battle and we had two extra people (and for a while, one extra dog!) living with us.

Our house isn’t all that big.  And storage space is minimal.  There’s no basement and closet space is all but non-existent.  Since Chris died, and since Jerry and Zita moved to FL, I’ve been feeling like the house has been closing in on me.  Too much clutter.  Too much stuff.  So, slowly, I’ve been taking back control.

It started shortly after J&Z moved out.  The desk and kitchen drawers had annoyed me long enough.  After purchasing some drawer dividers at Target, I went to work and now when I’m looking for something, I know just where to find it and don’t spend 5 minutes rummaging through an overfilled drawer looking for it.

Shane very recently got new bedroom furniture (pictures to come).  I had to empty out his room entirely to make space available for his new “big boy” stuff.  If he doesn’t need it or hasn’t used it, I tossed it.  Seeing as how there won’t be any more babies in my life, I also took the opportunity to purge a lot of his overly used and no longer needed baby items.

The playroom was next.  Lots of toys got tossed or given to baby Brady (and his future sibling!)  What was left behind was organized and I finally, painstakingly, scraped every last sticker off Shane’s table and chair set.

When we got his new furniture, his old stuff (which was really my old stuff) was moved upstairs.  That meant, all the furniture that was upstairs had to come down (and eventually out).  So I took the time to straighten out a few things upstairs.  Organize a little bit more, toss some of the stuff I had previously saved for God knows what and made the space more breathable.  One weekend this winter when I’m feeling brave, I’ll deal with the closets up there.

Our bedroom is next.  This room is tricky.  I’m not anywhere near being ready to pack up anything that once belonged to Chris.  Having his stuff around, and where it belongs, is comforting to me.  Even on my worst days, his belongings can bring me great peace.  But still, my drawers, and my closet, are screaming for some attention.

Little by little, I’m staring to feel at peace in the house again.  You should see the amounts of garbage I’ve dragged out to the curb these last few weeks.  It feels good to be getting clutter free.  To not feel so closed in by “stuff”.  To be organized and to have everything be in it’s place.  It feels good to be in control of something again.  To feel like I have a say in something.  There’s something calming about coming home at the end of the day to a house that’s “breathable” and clutter free.  I’m looking forward to having everything organized and put away.  Who knew a little cleaning could go such a long way.

**On a side note; anyone notice how I keep saying “our”.  I catch myself doing that all the time now.  I still think of things as “ours” though, not as “mine”.  I guess old habits are hard to break.  Especially when you’re not all that eager to break them.**

. . . was to be a wife and a mom.  That’s it.  I didn’t want a big house, a fancy car, a lot of jewelry.  I just wanted a family.  MY family.  And I was lucky enough to have that.  And I loved absolutely every second of it.  What I don’t understand is why I was only allowed to have it for such a short time.  Why do people who ask for SO MUCH MORE get everything they want, and then some, while I’m left picking up the pieces of my once perfect and ideal life.

I had the white picket fence.  I had the two dogs and the cute little cape cod style house on a corner lot.  I was married to my best friend, the gentlest and kindest man.  A man who put his family before anything else.  A man who loved me despite of my flaws.  I had the perfect child.  A boy.  The apple of his father’s eye.  Our life was perfect.  Happy.  It was everything I wanted in this world.  And while it’s true that the only thing actually removed from that perfect life was my husband, it does feel like the rest of it was taken away as well.

I feel like I’m back at the beginning.  I have no one to share my perfect life with.  That doesn’t make it very perfect.

Now all I have are memories.  Memories of a perfect life gone.  And sadness that fills the void.  I feel alone.  Painfully alone.  There are days when Shane is literally the only thing that keeps me from wanting to join Chris.  On those days, the pain is so real and so constant, that it’s all I can do to keep from burying myself along side him.  And then I see those blue eyes looking at me.  Those eyes need me.  They need me to be his mom; and his dad.  They need me to pull it together and show him that there is good in the world, whether I choose to believe that’s true or not.

I hear a car pull up somewhere near our house and I hear the familiar “beep” when the doors have been locked from the keypad, and for the briefest of moments it sends shivers down my spine as I think that he’s finally home.  And I can tell by the looks on the faces of our two dogs that for the briefest of moments they thought it was true, too.  And that’s what it’s like for us.  To constantly have these briefest of moments - of hope.  To, for that one solitary moment, forget that he’s gone.  And as quickly as that moment comes, it is gone again. And the sadness and the pain take hold just the tiniest bit tighter.  And it laughs in your face because it knows it has won.  And it will continue to win.

Chris’ death is harder on me than I ever imagined it would be.  I don’t think you can fully grasp what losing your spouse entails until it actually happens.  And in those early weeks and months, when you’re surrounded by friends and family, you’re protected.  All of you built a wall around us.  A wall the shielded the grief from being able to come in and take complete control.  The last month or so I feel as if that shield is missing, or at the very least breaking, and that little by little the grief is forcing it’s way into my being.  My biggest fear is not only how much worse will it get, but also, will it ever leave?

As the holidays approach, and people go about them as they would any other year, unmarked by our loss, I feel anger rising inside of me.  I’m bitter that the holidays will just mark another painful day for us.  Another day without our husband and father.  Another “first” to check off the list.  Another day to stumble through.

I do not have the energy to do this anymore, I am so tired from (and of) grief.  I need you all to know that I don’t really know how to reach out.  But I can tell you that there is nothing more comforting than an email, a message on the answering machine, or a call late at night - these things have meant so much during these difficult months.  They’re just happening less and less.  I need to know that people remember him.  That someone other than me still thinks of him and smiles.  That tears other than mine still fall.  I’m eager to know that you all still tell his stories.  And that together you laugh, and cry, at the memories.  For me, and in his own little way - for Shane, we still grieve every second of every day.  And I believe it will still get worse before it’s able to get better.

And this is not what I wanted out of life, but it’s what I have been given.  It’s honest.  It’s how I feel.  It’s how I’ve felt since the day my husband died.  Today I’m just strong enough to share it with all of you.  Maybe that’s something in itself.  Or maybe it’s just because this morning was one of THOSE mornings.  The kind that had me running since my feet hit the floor.  The kind of morning that had me rounding up a load of stuff to wash because Shane’s precious blanket was wet from pee.  I don’t know.  But it feels good to share my journey.  What I wanted.  What I had.  What I have now.

Last Wednesday (Veteran’s Day) daycare was closed.  My mom, bless her heart, graciously took the morning off to spend with Shane (and to allow Kate to sleep in) and then Katelyn took him on a playdate in the afternoon.  They met up with one of Kate’s friends from work (who has two kids of her own) and they had a fantastic afternoon together.

Aunt Kate has taken Shane bowling twice before, and he loves it even more each time he goes!  He’s not too bad either, considering he’s only 3!

Below are a few video clips from their bowling adventures!  A few of them need to be rotated, but I have no clue how to do that (photos are my thing, not videos!) - so my apologies in advance for any strained necks that result.

It’s always so nice for me to see my little guy having a good time and being a kid, despite all the turmoil and sadness that currently is our life.  It does my heart a world of good, and I know it does the same for his little soul.

Bowling 1

Bowling 2

Bowling 3

Bowling 4

Bowling 5

I’ve got some more videos to share tomorrow, so stay tuned!

On a “Shane side note” - he’s been using this new expression lately when he does something he shouldn’t do (either on purpose or by accident) and it’s the cutest thing ever:

“I SO sorry I do that”

To hear him say it brings a smile to your face.  There’s just no being mad at him after that!  This kid sure knows how to get his Mommy wrapped around his little finger . . .

It’s impossible to believe that my husband has been gone for 4 months now.  You can read THIS, THIS, and THIS to see what I’m thinking and feeling because absolutely NOTHING had changed for me in 4 months.  The pain is just as raw today as it was that moment I stood next to his bed in the ICU, running my fingers through his hair, and thanking him for 10 great years and a hard 9 month battle on our account.  The grief is just as overwhelming, the tears don’t fall any less often (or any less hard), going to bed isn’t any easier (neither is waking up) and getting through a day is still an absolutely exhausting task.

I still can’t find the sense in all of this and I still can’t fathom having to live the rest of my life without him and feeling the way I do.  I still can’t picture Shane’s first day of school, first soccer game, first girlfriend, first driving experience, first day at college or first baby, without having him there to experience all of those things with us.

I still ask why.  I still ask how.  I still try to convince myself it’s not real.  But it is.  This is our life now.  A life without Chris.  A life without a dad for Shane or a husband for me.  A life with only half of myself.  Makes me wonder what kind of life it will be.

I recently found the blog of a young, widowed, father.  His story was a breathe of fresh air to me.  It was total understanding.  It was hearing my voice come out of someone else’s mouth.  It was comforting to know that there are others, in similar situations, on the same journey.  And they’re feeling the same things that I feel.  And they’re thinking the same things that I think.  It also makes me sick to my stomach.  To realize that there are so many families out there being affected the way mine is.  Where is the good in that?  Where is God in that?

That’s the price of love
Can you feel it?
If we could buy it now
How long will it last?
- New Order 1993

The Price of Love is based on my own experience of bereavement as a single father of two small children.

The perspectives and insights learned along that hard road were many and unexpected. But it was the bafflement of friends facing similar struggles since which inspired me to write and to encourage them that they are not alone.

Books about cancer are always written by survivors. They tell of positive approaches, heroic struggles and managed outcomes. It is only the unwritten post-script which records later relapse – but that is never in the book.

And yet, alongside these striving-to-be optimistic cancer sufferers, every night as they fall asleep, lie their partners. Worried, overwhelmed, terrified, and facing their own fears. Having to remain positive, however bleak the outlook. It’s a terrible place to be, especially when there are children in the equation. There so often are.

It’s exhausting, and emotionally debilitating to support and nurse a partner whilst caring for tiny children, too. It’s not easy to bring your kids to their mother’s bedside, knowing that they will never see her or be held by her again.

And yet the deathbed, when it finally comes – it brings no release. Because far from being the end of a journey, it’s really just the start. Life goes backwards, not forwards as we had hoped. That’s simply how it is, and how it has to be.

There are new responsibilities and demands then. Dealing with relatives, when strained emotions bring tensions to breaking point – as they nearly always do. Facing the loss of all those dreams you shared together. Nurturing a family, alone, when you’re on the floor and no one nurtures you in return.

In our society, death is something that happens far away, to other people. It shouldn’t happen in our own living rooms or bedrooms. But it does, every day. And whilst our grief for remote public figures knows no bounds, it’s uncomfortable to think about that death which is much closer to home.

Those left behind by death are often shunned, even by their closest friends, precisely when they need emotional and practical support the most. You’d think that surprising, but it’s entirely natural, and it happens in every case I know.

It takes time to come through that. Much more time than anyone would believe. Six months on, we think the person is on the mend, and yet that’s just the lowest point. And later, too, the calendar brings no release. New seasons, birthdays, anniversaries, family reunions, Christmas – we don’t want to see any of them, but they come round relentlessly all the same.

Amongst all this, there are new lives to build. For the children as they grow, bringing such bitter-sweet joy in achievements that your special girl, their mother, will never see.

And as for you – how can you build a new life, whilst holding on to and honouring the one which went before ? Just how can you be a father, a breadwinner, and a perfect mother, too ?

There are no easy answers. And yet, there are people facing these issues, every day and all around us. Knowing that others face them too can only help.

For a few months now, our coffee maker had been shutting itself off shortly after it finished brewing.  On Monday it wouldn’t go back on.  It didn’t owe us anything it was over 5 years old.

On Tuesday, I picked up a new coffee maker on my lunch hour and when I got home that night after work, I brought it into the house to make the switch.

Then I started to cry.  As I was taking the, now broken, coffee maker off the counter I realized it was a gift at our bridal shower.  That coffee maker outlasted my husband by almost 4 months.  That just sucks.  And as I started taking the new one out of the box, I realized that Chris would never get to use it.  He’d never even see it.  Double sucks.

So apparently replacing broken kitchen electrics is one more thing I have to put on my “can’t do” list.

Again, I have to ask, how in the world did we end up here?

Nothing about losing your husband, being a widow and being a single mom to a 3 year old is easy.  NOTHING.  But, I’ve noticed over these last (almost) 4 months that it’s the small things that I miss the most and are the hardest on me.  The things you would take for granted in your everyday life.  The things you don’t even notice - until they are gone.

-I miss being held.  A LOT.  This may be the worst part for me.  Losing that feeling of being wrapped in his arms.  Makes me cry everytime I think about it.

-I miss having someone to change the toilet paper roll

-I hate seeing the word “Home” in my cell phone’s contact list and not being able to call - because there’s no longer anyone there to answer.

-I miss getting dressed up for our rare date night and being told I was beautiful (even though I knew better!)

-I miss being naive about life.  I miss thinking that things that happen on TV, or to other people, could never really happen to us.  I’m one of the statistics now.  Lesson learned.

-I miss having my “built in date”.  For the rest of my life he was the one I was supposed to attend weddings with, formal dinners with, company holiday parties with.  Now I need a table for one.

-I miss having my car all warm and toasty in the morning because someone who loved me went out in the cold to turn it on.

-I miss being held.  A LOT.  

-I miss having someone to share the parental “duties” with (getting a sippy of apple juice, making the bowl of cheerios and bananas, only to have to take out the bananas when Shane decides he really doesn’t want them, getting him dressed, getting him up, getting him into the car)

-I hate having to do all of the driving.  ALL of the time.  I miss being a passenger.

-I miss feeling like I’m being taken care of.  I think that stems from Chris caring for me (for us) SO well.

-I miss having someone to ask me if I’d like a glass of water, a cup of coffee or a piece of toast.

-I dread my first ER visit with Shane and not having Chris there to keep us calm and grounded.  How do you drive to the ER in panic mode?

-I miss having someone to bounce ideas/concerns off of.

-I hate having to make all the parenting decisions on my own.

-I miss being held.  A LOT.  

-I don’t want to be the only one worrying about our finances and making sure all the bills are paid on time.

-I miss having frozen peanut butter cups in the freezer.

-I miss making him grilled cheese.

-I hate making only 4 cups of coffee because there’s no one there to drink the rest of the pot.

-I hate having to remember to put gas in the car.

-I now hate the idea of family vacations.

-I miss having his dirty laundry to do.

-I miss his call from work at dinnertime to check in on the two of us.

-I miss giving each other the play by play of how our days went at the end of the night.

-I miss his hands.  Calluses and all.  They were such strong hands.

-I miss seeing his car in the garage.

-I miss the smell of King Industries when he’d walk in the door after work.

-I miss having someone call to check on me.  To see if I reached my destination safely.  To see what time I’d be home.

-I miss the sound of his voice.  His breathing.  His footsteps.

-I miss the smell of his cologne.  The smell of having a man in the house.

-I miss being held.  A LOT.  (have I already mentioned that?)

-I miss his touch.

-I miss his laugh.

-I miss looking into his eyes.

-I miss running my fingers through his hair.

-I miss being loved unconditionally.

-I miss being a wife.

. . . and so much more.

We spent another fantastic weekend down in PA with the Buesing’s.  Life with those guys is easy.  It’s comfortable.  It’s honest.  It’s like being with our family.  And still one of the best things for me is watching Shane be able to be a little boy with his “psuedo-siblings” (at the end of this video Shane’s a bit annoyed that his hands are dirty; he was a little out of sorts that day.  Just keeping it real):

Playing in the Leaves

Yet, even in the midst of all that fun, thoughts of his daddy are never far from his mind.  Sue and I took the boys over to a great hiking spot for a while Saturday afternoon, and as we were backing out of the driveway we were (somehow) talking about one of Sue & Jamie’s dogs, Aiko, who died earlier in the year and as if it had been scripted, the following conversation took place behind us:

Ryan - “Aiko died”

Shane - “My daddy died”

Ryan - “Aiko’s in heaven”

Shane - “My daddy’s in heaven”

What 5 and 3 year old should be having a conversation like that???

That is our reality.  All 4 of these kids pick up on the lingering sadness in the house, given off by their parents.  Sue’s told me a few times that when the kids see her in tears they automatically assume she’s crying because she misses Uncle OC.  Whether it’s Shane’s Daddy or Jake, Ryan and Lily’s Uncle OC - we all miss him just the same.

Halloween was really the first (of many) holiday’s without Chris.  Like always, our family and friends rallied behind us and got us through the day.

My sister took Shane out a while back to let him pick out a halloween costume.  My heart wasn’t in it and she grabbed the reins and ran!  Shane chose Buzz Lightyear (from the Disney movie Toy Story) this year and he was the cutest Buzz ever!

My sister had said from the beginning that she’d take Shane trick or treating if I wasn’t up for it, while my mom handed out the candy at home  (Halloween last year was 3 days after we got Chris’ diagnosis and our hearts just weren’t in it).  As if all of that wasn’t great enough, my best (and longest) friend, Katie, took the night off from work so that she and her (one year old) son could come with us.  So, off we went, the 5 of us and as it turned out, I got so wrapped up in the “cuteness” of the two kids, and in the joy of seeing Shane trick-or-treating for the first time, that I almost got lost in the moment and allowed myself to not think about what was missing.  What’s always missing.

Thanks to Katie, there’s photos to document the holiday!  She was able to get a few shots of Shane on her camera, and I’m forever grateful!  I love you, Catherine!  Mom, Kate (even Jay and Aly) thank you all SO much.  We’re lucky to have you all.

“…to infinity and beyond!”

Brady (the cutest lion EVER) and his buddy Shane:

Mommy & Shane:

Showing off his new flashlight from Nana:

LOVE that you can see his freckles in this one:

Thanks, Kate!

A few days before my “bereavement leave” ended and I had return to work, Jerry, Zita and I took Shane to Ocean Beach Park in New London for a day to, hopefully, have some fun.  So much of the weeks prior to this outing where spent in tears, that we wanted to try to do something fun for Shane.  I wanted him to know that our life would still go on even though Daddy was gone (regardless of the fact that I didn’t believe it myself).

Of course, the day we had slated as “beach day” was overcast, and there was even a little rain, but we still managed to have a pretty decent time.

Shane was out of sorts that day, which happens time to time since Daddy died, and he ended up taking 2 naps while we were there (VERY uncharacteristic for Shane); one on my lap at the playground and one on the sand:

Checking out the scene:

Our guy.  And his papa.

I received this email the other day from the Caring For Carcinoid Foundation. I thought I’d share it here for anyone who may be interested in learning more about, and/or donating to, a charity whose goal it to eradicate a rare cancer that receives very little government funding.  The same cancer that took my husband from me, Shane’s daddy from him, Jerry & Zita’s son from them, Tracie’s brother from her, and the world’s greatest friend and guy from many.  ’Tis the season to give.  ’Tis the season to believe.

Dear Kristin, Carcinoid cancer and related neuroendocrine tumor patients find ourselves living in a very dark corner of the cancer world: we face an incurable cancer with few effective treatments.  And since our cancer is relatively rare, it receives much less federal money for research towards a cure than other more common cancers.  Fair?  No way.  But it’s the reality for me and thousands of other Americans each year.

You can help us change this.  The Caring for Carcinoid Foundation (CFCF) is funding a ground-breaking research expedition called the Genome Study of Carcinoid at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute - because we believe that research into the genetic code of carcinoid cancer can brighten this dark corner of the cancer world by discovering effective treatments and one day a cure. There’s no better time than now to help us complete this expedition. Every donation received before January 1, 2010 will be matched by theSteve and Caroline Kaufer Fund for Neuroendocrine Research . We are launching a bold expedition to brighten this dark corner of the cancer world, and we need YOU to help us do it! Click here to make a donation or help byforwarding this message along to someone you know. The researchers at Dana-Farber cannot reach their destination alone. Their path will be lit by shining stars like YOU: cancer survivors; loving families and devoted friends; and those who offer gifts of hope and helping hands in this life-saving effort. Will you help our team of explorers crack the code?  Click here to donate today.  Will you tell a friend about this important expedition?  Click here to spread our message. Every dollar donated by individuals to the Caring for Carcinoid Foundation goes directly to research, so you know that every dollar you give makes a difference. I believe there is hope for a cure.  By exploring this cancer at the genetic level, we can crack the code on this incurable disease.  But it will take people, like you and me, who are filled with the courage and compassion to support the expedition. Remember, all donations received by New Year’s will be matched by the Steve and Caroline Kaufer Fund for Neuroendocrine Research. Please help us brighten this dark corner of the cancer world, donate today.

Thank you for your support and joining me in this expedition to crack the code! Sincerely, Nancy Lindholm Founder & Chairman Caring for Carcinoid Foundation

Thank God for my photo obsession.  A camera is usually never far from my hands (though that’s not so accurate this last year) and because of that - because of the thousands (literally) of photos I’ve taken in the last few years - I have the opportunity to stumble upon gems like this.  A photo which was once tossed aside as a “test” shot, now means EVERYTHING to me.

My husband as I hope to someday be able to remember him - handsome, happy and healthy:

I miss you, my love.

It’s unpredictable.  I walked into the grocery store on Sunday for only the 2nd time since Chris died, though this was the first time I walked in alone.  I grabbed what we needed in the produce section (some bananas, a package of celery hearts, a bottle of yogurt based salad dressing), picked up some apple juice from the next aisle and a box of cereal from the aisle after that - and then it happened.

I saw the packages of corned beef, prominently displayed in the meat case in the center of the aisle, and I lost it.  It started with me having a hard time catching my breathe - and I knew what was coming, I know this process all too well now, I could feel the familiar burn behind my eyes.  I ran to the baby aisle, the first aisle I could find with no one it, and I “phoned a friend”.  Sue stayed on the phone with me until I reached the checkout lane.  She walked me through finding the aluminum foil, then the garbage bags, then the yogurt.  I think if it wasn’t for her, I’d still be standing in the baby aisle with tears streaming down my cheeks, unable to catch my breathe.

You see, in my real life (I haven’t yet excepted “this” life as real - my therapist and I are working on that) I would’ve turned to Chris, asked him if he felt like having corned beef anytime soon and we either would’ve placed it in our cart or we would’ve moved on leaving it behind.  But this not my real life.  And Chris isn’t behind me holding onto the cart (or our son) like he was every other time we went to the grocery store.  Because, like everything else, it was just one more thing we did together.

Seeing the corned beef sent my brain for a tailspin.  All of a sudden I was reminded of all the things I “couldn’t” buy anymore.  The cuts of meat were all too large.  Even a pound of chicken breast seemed like a lot for my “this life” family.  I no longer had a need to purchase aftershave, or men’s deodorant.  There was no one to eat the potato sticks.  There was no need to visit the seafood counter because there was no longer anyone at home that would eat it.

The entire thing caught me off guard.  And I think that’s the worst part.  It’s bad enough to feel lousy all day long, everyday.  It’s bad enough to know that I’m going to cry every time I get into my car or see that favorite photograph of my two guys from the day Shane was born.  It’s another thing all together to have a wave of grief hit you when you’re not expecting it.  That’s just cruel.  And in the middle of a grocery store.  In the middle of a public place where people will see me and wonder what’s wrong.  Some days I wish I had a neon sign over my head that read “widow” with a big ol’ flashing red arrow pointing to me.

I feel like grocery shopping is one more thing I have to put on the list of things I can’t do right now.  That list is growing by leaps and bounds lately.  ”This life” of ours is crap.  I want my real life back.  The life I signed up for.  The life with the happily ever after attached to the end of it.

I want to be able to do the grocery shopping again.

Two weeks after Chris died Shane and I headed up to Lake George with Nana and Papa to spend a few days with some family who knew what we were going through - they knew because they’d been where we are.

Those few days were a breath of fresh air for all of us.  It was our first time out of the house and away from all things medical in months.  And being with people who understood the grief was refreshing.  Roseann and Pete - thank you again for opening your home to all of us and thank you for all the words of support.  Kellie & Jen - thank you both for all the laughs, all the old stories, all the hugs and all the “Shane watching”.  We miss you guys and hope to see you again soon.

Our first day up there we took a ride over to the Saratoga race track - one of Chris’s favorite places in the world.  It was a bittersweet day for me.  The first of many “first’s” to come along for me.  As luck would have it, the Sullivan’s were all vacationing up in the Lake George that week and they met us at the track.  Shane and Melissa had a ball running around together.

The morning before we left, we took Shane and Kellie’s son Devin, to an amusement park geared toward kids.  Although there were some rides that Shane wanted no part of, the rides he did love, he loved BIG time!  I think he went on the “car ride” about 10 times!!

Shane & Mommy on the Merry-go-Round

All in all, the little get away was just what we all needed.  And like everything else, it would’ve been perfect if there was just one thing that wasn’t missing.