Today is my 32nd birthday.  And at 32, I am a widow and the single mother to a 3 year old little boy.  Never, not even in my worst nightmares, did I imagine I’d ever be saying that about my own life.

At 32 years old I’m lonely.  I miss my best friend more than I ever imagined I could.  I miss holding his hand and having a place to rest my head.  I miss having a home for my heart.

Tonight, when I blow out the candles on my birthday cake, there will be no point in making a wish.  The wish I have is something that’s only attainable when I am no longer part of this earth.  Instead, I’ll wish for peace.  And health.  For those of us left behind.  I wish I could say I had faith in those wishes holding true, but I’ve been down this road and I know the ending is anything but happily ever after. 

I wish my husband was here to celebrate this day with me.  Every birthday I celebrate for the rest of my life will be marked by the abscense of the love of my life.  The flames on the candles will never again appear to be as bright as they were for every birthday celebrated before this one.  

I mourn those days.  I mourn all our days.  I long to celebrate, even just one more birthday, with him.

Christmas 2006. A much happier holiday.

Chris’ cousin Laura set this up for Shane.  When he watched this little video tonight, and when I saw his face light up when Santa mentioned him by name, and when I saw his eyes fly open when he saw his picture, it reminded me that I still have a reason to live, a reason to get up everyday, a reason to believe.

Chris left me the best parts of himself in Shane.  And I’ll be damned if this little boy doesn’t get to have the life that his daddy and I so badly wanted for him.

Laura, thank you SO much for doing this.  Thank you for giving Shane and I both a reason to believe.

Message to Shane from Santa

A year ago I never imagined that Shane and I would be spending this Christmas without Chris.  I never thought the cancer would take him from us this year.  I never expected to be living the life that we’re living now.  But it did, and we are.  And I’m more than eager to leave this year behind us.  I know a new year won’t change anything, but it’ll be nice to see a different number on the calendar.  2009 wasn’t exactly kind to us.

I like to think that he’s still with us.  That his LEON sign on display, his stocking hung by the tree, his Mets santa hat on Shane’s bedpost - those things are all him.  Here.  With us.  And as always, he’s in our hearts.  That will never change.

I’m thankful for the new relationships that were formed this year.  The existing ones that were strengthened.  Even for the wisdom to know which ones to let go of.  I’m thankful for the support group surrounding us.  I’m thankful to all of you, for being there for us - even when I know it’s impossible for you to understand what we’re really going through.  My best friend reminded me recently that I’m not alone in loving or missing Chris (she always knows just what to say, and when to say it.  Thank you, Catherine!) and that knowledge is comforting.  Literally.  So I thank all of you for missing him with us.  For not letting him be forgotten.  For not letting us be alone in our grief.  For being there to guide us through our dark moments (and there are plenty of them).

I’d like to think that 2010 will be a better year for our family.  But I’m afraid to be hopeful.  One thing I’ve learned this year is how much it hurts to fall.  Shane and I wish all of you a very, merry, Christmas - whatever that means for you this year.  It means something very different for us.

Shane and I have some big plans for the next week and a half.  A lot of cuddling and snuggling ahead of us.  We’ve learned just how important the important things are this year - and we’re taking full advantage of the time we have to spend together.  No daycare.  No work.

I don’t plan on posting much this week.  It’s going to be a difficult road.  I’ll check in from time to time and regular posting will resume in the new year.

We’ll see you on the other side.

Sunday morning, while we were sitting around eating breakfast, I couldn’t help but notice those little “fried bits of goodness” (as most people would refer to them) that were in the bowl of home fries.

Immediately I thought of Chris, and how he would clean the pan of every last one of those - whether it was home fries we cooked for breakfast or chicken picatta (one of his favorite meals) that we made for dinner.  Except, he didn’t call them “fried bits of goodness”.  In true OC fashion, he had his own unique name for them - and for the life of me I couldn’t recall what it was.  And it bothered me.  It was “signature OC” and I couldn’t remember it.  And it bothered me even more because I couldn’t turn to Chris for the reminder.  And I knew, if I couldn’t remember the word, it would be lost.  Forever.  It was one of those unique husband/wife things.  Something that the general public wouldn’t know.  I NEEDED to remember what the word was.

And Sunday night, I did. 

Schabadees (don’t hold me to the spelling)!  And so, I’m chronicling this OC tidbit here, and I’m sharing one of our personal moments with all of you, so that it will never again be forgotten - even if for just a day.

Schabadees.  I miss that “word”.  I miss OC language.  I miss our personal moments and memories.  I miss my husband.

. . . summed up in one photo:

Doesn’t really feel like 5 months.  5 days maybe.  Or 5 years even - but not 5 months.  I still have actual, honest to goodness, moments where I forget that he’s really gone.  It amazes me that I can still actually forget that my husband is dead.  That cancer took him from us.

I still wake up in the middle of the night and place my hand on his side of the bed.  Expecting to find his back, all I find is a cold mattress.  It’s moments like those that are the hardest.

I’d still give my life for even one more day with him.  To look into his eyes.  To hear his voice.  To watch him with our son.  To be in his arms.  To feel the kind of love and security that you can only get from your spouse.  We never even got to have one last conversation.  Cancer took that from us, too.

I think that hardest thing to get used to is that when you experience a loss like this, you realize that, yes, life does go on.  But living does not.  Life just becomes a routine and you spend your days getting yourself from one scheduled moment to the next.  Grief is lonely.  It’s the loneliest thing I can imagine.  And you realize that this routine, this lonely existence - it is your life.  All you’re doing is existing.  And it will continue to be your life for a very, very long time.  Perhaps even forever.  And that, that is a very difficult pill to swallow.

I was bringing Shane to daycare this morning and he asked me for “daddy’s  song”.  A request I hadn’t had in the car for a week or so now.  It was as if he too knew what today was.  It was like he could feel it too, and he also needed to feel that closeness to his dad.  He, too, was longing for that connection, the one he feels when he hears “daddy’s song”.   He’s 3.  He should have his dad here with him.  His dad should be bringing him to daycare.  Shane shouldn’t need to seek out the connection.  Tell me where the fairness is in that?  Explain to me how you’re supposed to go on believing in the beauty of life and in the existence of good when your three year old is seeking out a connection with his dad through a song?  Tell me how you go on after something like that.  Something like this.

So, here we are.  No better than we were 5 months ago.  The pain is still present.  The tears still fall.  The loneliness is still all consuming.  The memories still too painful to recall.  Life is going on all around us.  And we just are.  There’s no beauty in that.  There’s no break from grief.  There’s no escape.  No pause button.  It’s 24/7.  And it’s exhausting.  I’m tired.  I don’t want to do this anymore.  And I don’t think it’s fair that I have to.

He was the greatest man I knew.  I lost THAT guy.  And I have to find a way to go on living without the love of my life.  My best friend.  My partner.  My everything.  I love him more today than I did 5 months ago.  Maybe some things do change.

I’ve gotten a lot of comments on the picture that I used in our holiday card this year.

The guy in the suit, giving our son a smooch, is someone we all hold near and dear to our hearts.  He’s the love of my life and I miss him every second of every day.

I miss moments like these:

Hard to believe that picture was taken a year ago.

Bonus - if you look closely you can see the NOEL blocks under Chris’ hands.  Notice, also, that they currently say LEON.

He used to sign his name “Christ O’Connor”.  He’d let the “. . . ian” trail off after the “t”.  It was intentional and it was something I would call him on (and something we’d laugh about) often.

Just one more of those inside jokes that no one else but me gets.  You lose that when you lose a spouse.  All those oddities that only the two of you understand.  Suddenly it’s just you.  There’s no longer anyone to share those things with.  And the memories; they’re all up to you, too.  If there’s a moment from our 10 years that I don’t remember; does it mean it never existed?  I feel like half our life is gone.  The half he stored in his mind.

I miss that.  I miss him.  I miss seeing Christ O’Connor.

Shane sat in the backseat this morning and told me he wanted Santa to bring him Buzz Lightyear (a big one); a BLUE fire truck, a spaceship and “Rocket” from Winesteins (that translates to Little Einsteins for those of you who don’t speak Shane)!  You would’ve thought he put days worth of thought into this list!

The problem is his “official” Santa letter only asked for Buzz Lightyear (which I’m pretty sure Santa has already taken  care of), but I better let the big guy know about the new additions!!

Anyone know where Santa can find a blue fire truck?!?!

Yesterday was one of those easy parenting days.  The kind of day that doesn’t feel like it comes around often enough, but is so cherished when it does.  An easy kind of day.  The kind of day when daycare drop off goes smoothly.  When there are no tears.  When there are happy little faces (and little hands) at the window watching as I pull out of the driveway, bidding me farewell.

It was a day where a hug was waiting for me when I returned to pick up our beautiful son and take him home.  Where smiles far outnumbered frowns or angry looks.  It was a day filled with chatter in the car on the ride home.  A day of good moods and content hearts.  It was a day of childhood wonderment as Shane discovered Joe the Elf (more on that in another post) sitting on the counter in Santa’s mug; a day of holiday anticipation.  A day of believing in miracles.

It was the kind of day where doing cozies on the couch were a priority.  A day where bathtime was fun and the water stayed inside the tub.  It was the kind of day when you wish the snuggles at night would last far longer than they do.  The kind of day when you soak in the scent of a toddler.  A day you realize how quickly they’ve grown - as you sit and rock your 3 year old in the chair and realize he’s doesn’t fit in the crook of your neck quite like he used to.

It was an easy day.  It was a good day.  And it’s days like that that make me miss Chris even more.  It’s those days when I watch our son and realize how much my husband is missing out on.  How much he won’t get to be a part of.  And how much Shane will miss out on by not having him there.

Days like that lead to nights where I wish I had someone to crawl into bed with; someone I loved and trusted.   Someone to decompress with.  To talk about the easy day we just had and to dream about the easy days of our future.  Days like that lead to nights where I wish I had someone to share life with; to share responsibilities with.  I think about how nice that was and how nice it would be.  Days like that lead to nights that make me miss being part of a team.  Part of our team.  I miss that life.  I miss my husband.  And I HATE cancer.  HATE it.  Days like that lead to nights where I realize just how much it’s taken away from us.

I can’t believe how much I miss him . . .

I’m not a fan of “different” Christmas.  I want old, traditional, familiar Christmas back instead.

A lot.  It’s been one of those really difficult weeks.  Where all I can do is cry.  One of those weeks when I feel like I just can’t do this another minute; let alone the rest of my life.

And I’m tired.  I’m tired of being the only one I know who gets what this is like.  I’m tired of trying to explain this kind of loneliness - the kind that only comes when you lose your spouse.  Your best friend.  The love of your life.  The ONE person you were meant to spend forever with.  Your future.

I don’t want to feel like this anymore.  I don’t want to feel like the last time I had a GOOD day was on our anniversary - in 2008.  I don’t want to feel like I’ll never have a good day again.  A day without cancer.  A day without grief.  A day without pain.  Or sadness.  Or awful memories.

I don’t want to be a single parent.  I don’t want to count on Shane to be the thing that keeps me going - he’s 3 - I should be that for him.

Do you know what it’s like to ALWAYS know that your husband is dead?  To have that be the one thought in your mind ALL. THE. TIME.  To spend so much time consumed with the thought that he’s gone; to have nothing left to think about anything else.  My brain is gone.  Cancer took that, too.  I’ve walked away from my running car because I forgot to take the keys out of the ignition.  More than once.  I forget what needs to go on the grocery list in the 2 steps it takes me to get to a piece of paper.  Bills get paid late.  Phone calls don’t get returned.  Simple tasks take me twice as long to complete.  It’s like I’m living in a constant fog.  All I want to be able to do is to see in front of me again.

I want our life back.  I want that for all 3 of us.  I want our son to have the life that we wanted for him.  One with siblings.  With laughter.  With fun.  With a good education.  A safe home.  One with two parents.

I miss him more than usual this week.  And that’s a whole lot of missing.

No one loved sports, specifically NY sports, more than my husband.

For that reason; it seemed only right to honor his love for his teams using the 3 arborvite’s in his memory garden.

These pictures are REALLY noisy; but I didn’t want to use a flash (so as to capture the beauty of the lights) and I was way too lazy to go inside and get the tripod - so; you’ve got shots taken using a really high ISO (and my camera doesn’t handle high ISO well at all) and camera shake to boot - but you get the idea anyway.

The NY Rangers & NY Giants Trees

The NY Mets Tree:

Close-up shot of the Rangers tree:

Close-up shot of the Giants tree:

All 3:

The love of my life:

Thanksgiving certainly wasn’t a day i was looking forward to this year.  The one person I wanted to celebrate with the most wasn’t here.  His abscence was noted.  But, thanks to the help of amazing family and friends (and a little Cabernet), we managed to get through.

Sue Buesing came up Wednesday night with all 3 kids and we had ourselves one heck of a sleepover.  The company and noise in the house Wed. night and Thursday morning was exactly what we needed to get the day off on the right foot.  Before I knew it, the day was half over; only a few tears had been shed; and I hadn’t even left the house yet.

Around 1pm; Sue and the kids headed to her parent’s house to meet up with Jamie and spend the day with her family.  Shane and I loaded up into the car and head off to my mom’s.  That drive was probably the worst part of the day.  There was supposed to be someone other than me in the driver’s seat.  It was the first holiday where I was solely responsible for getting the family to where we were going.  It was the longest 2 minute drive of my entire life.

Shane and I (and the dogs!) spent that night at my mom’s house.  The thought of going home to an empty house on Thanksgiving just wasn’t sitting right.  Mom welcomed us in with open arms (which is HUGE when you show up with two dog beds) and we spent the night under the roof of the home that I grew up in.

Friday morning, Aunt Kate and I did some early morning black friday shopping and by 9:30, Shane and I were back home starting our Christmas decorating.

Obviously, Christmas decorating isn’t a high priority for me this year, but I know it’s what Chris would want me to do; and I know it’s what our 3 year old needs (and wants) - so with the help of friends and family; it got done.

Uncle Jay put the tree in the stand Thursday morning, and came over Friday afternoon to straighten it after it had time to fall out.  Sue came back over Friday afternoon to put the ornaments on the tree for me - a task I couldn’t mentally or emotionally handle.  Each and every ornament in those boxes tells a story; and I couldn’t handle a trip down memory lane this weekend.

Jamie came over with the boys on Saturday and put the lights up outside for me and by Saturday night; our house was looking pretty Christmas-y.  In addition to the LEON blocks; there are a few more special OC tributes that I’ll share in the coming days.  Finding ways to honor my husband is what has been getting me through the start of this “oh so joyous” (enter sarcasm) time of year.

Sunday morning Shane and I went up to the cemetery to decorate a little tree for Daddy and then, much to my surprise, he spent the afternoon with Jim Rueb (and his son, James) at a hockey game at the arena in Bridgeport:

Hockey 1

Hockey 2

Hockey 3

Thanks to all of you; Shane and I got through our very first holiday on our own.  It wasn’t pleasant; it wasn’t special; it wasn’t even nice - and it’s certainly not something I’m looking forward to doing again year after year for the rest of our lives - but we did it.  And for now, that’s good enough for me.