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.

I was driving to daycare last night to pick Shane up and I was thinking about Chris (typical) and about how much he loved our car (Honda Pilot).  ”Sophisticated Silver” he called her (all of our cars where of the female variety).  That was one of his things; naming his cars.  When I met him back in the summer of 1999 (almost sounds like a Bryan Adams song) he was driving a burgundy colored Chevrolet Cavalier . . . “Mighty Maroon” he called her.  I thought he was nuts (I soon learned I was right); but I also thought he was cute (right again).  I also believed him when he told me how “Mighty” got the scratches that were all over her exterior roof and hood.  I asked him about it shortly after our first few dates and he told me that when he and Jamie drove cross country to visit Sean a mountain lion attacked the car (while they were inside it!!!) when they were in Colorado.  I was in complete shock; and at the same time SO grateful that his guy I was falling for was okay.  I told that story many times over the next few years and it wasn’t until shortly before our wedding that I found out there was no mountain lion!  He used to remove the snow from his car with a snow shovel!!!  That’s how the scratches really got there.  That was the thing about OC - he was ALWAYS telling such outlandish stories; and there were just as many true stories as there were tall tales - you just never knew what to expect (or to believe) when he spoke.

In July of 2001 we got our first car together; a brand-spankin’ new Honda Civic (OC also got an ice scraper/brush as a “Congrats on our new car” present from me).  Her name?  ”Sexy Silver” (we, apparently, had a thing for silver cars).  And my guy; the man I was living with and had fallen in love with; let me drive her home from the lot that day.  How many guys would offer to let their girlfriend (we weren’t even engaged at the time) drive their brand new car home from the dealership?  One.  My guy.

I cried on my way to daycare last night (typical) as I thought about all of this; of our car history together over the last 10 years.  I was sad that he’d never again get to drive the Pilot, a car he absolutely LOVED everything about.  I was sad that none of my future cars would ever have names given to them by OC - that privilege stops with “Sophisticated Silver”; makes me never want to give her up.  Not that I ever planned on it.

Just one more reason to miss Chris.  Seems like I find a least 100 new reasons to miss him each day.  Life really is hard.

That’s my most recent conclusion.  Earth shattering, isn’t it?

There are moments in this new life when I find myself drifting.  Drifting off in my mind, wondering what we’d be doing at that exact moment in our real life.  If Chris were still alive.  If cancer hadn’t hit our family.  And hit us hard.

Usually, these moments come when it’s just Shane and I at home.  Like this morning, when I found myself eating my bowl of cereal at the dining room table by myself.  It was just me, my makeup bag, and my cornflakes.  It was one of those sobering moments.  When I really allow myself to feel what this new life is like.  How sad and lonely it truly is.  What not having Chris here really means.  And I wonder what we’d be doing at that moment if that cancer diagnosis never came.  I don’t think it would be just me sitting at that table.  I’d be sitting there feeding our infant child.  Child #2.  Another boy, I bet.  Shane would be off in the playroom watching his cartoons, eating his Cheerios and playing with his matchbox cars.  Chris would be standing in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher (a task I’ve ALWAYS hated) and asking me if I wanted a cup of coffee now or just when I was on my way out the door.  Depending on my answer, he’d pull the appropriate cup out of the clean dishwasher and place it on the counter in front of the coffee pot.  He’d have the radio on in the kitchen, listening to WFAN sports talk and we’d be chatting about what lie ahead for the day.  I’d shortly be heading off to work and he’d be making plans to spend the morning with his two boys; his sons.  The apples of our eyes.  We’d all reconnect at lunch for a bit and then I’d head back to work and Chris would drop the boys off at daycare on his way into King.  It was a simple, happy life.  We loved everything about what we had and shared.  We loved being a family.  Everything we wanted in life could be found within the 4 grey walls of our little house.  A cape; situated on a corner lot on a cul-de-sac street.

But that’s not our life anymore.  I buried that life along with my husband in July.  And now our life; while still sometimes happy; is hard.  It’s very, very hard.  It’s not our happily ever after.  And it never will be again.

My car is ALWAYS freezing cold in the morning.

Back in my real life, my husband would always get up about 10 minutes before I had to leave for work, bundle himself up in some warm clothes, back my car out of the garage and crank the heat all the way up so that the car was nice and warm by the time I had to get into it.  He took such fantastic care of me (and then “us”, once Shane came along) - it was his way.  It’s just what he did.  We were priceless to him; and him to us.

I miss having a warm car to get into in the morning.  I miss having a warm body (that doesn’t have a tail and 4 paws) to sleep next to at night.  I miss our real life and I miss my husband.

February 2008

My mom and I took Shane to his very first movie on New Year’s Eve.  We saw Princess & the Frog at the cinema in town.  I wasn’t sure how he’d act, or if he’d even like it.  I was concerned about him thinking it was too loud, or too dark, and I wondered if he’d even sit still for the entire thing, but we went for it anyway.

He LOVED it!  We sat in the very last row (his choice) he enjoyed some popcorn and a soda and he totally LOVED the movie!

This morning he asked for a hashbrown from McDonald’s on the way to daycare; because he had been so good this morning, I was more than happy to honor his request.  The McDonalds is in the same plaza as the movie theater and when I pulled in this little voice from the back seat says “Nanny, Mommy & Shane saw Princess & the Frog - that was SOOOOOOOOOOO fun, Mommy!  I like to do that again”

How can that not totally melt a mother’s heart?!  If only his daddy was here to go to the next movie with us. . .

“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. LOVE NEVER ENDS.”

Not even by death.  That’s one of the confusingly painful things about grief.  Everything I’ve felt, thought and loved about Chris is still there.  My love for him grows deeper every day, just as it did when he was alive.  I still hurt for him when I think of all he had to endure.  I still look for him when I have a story to tell.  I still look up to him and I still admire him.  I still see him as an incredibly funny, kind, strong, loving and gentle guy.  I still have a husband.  I still feel like a wife.  My feelings have only changed by growing stronger.  The only thing different is that he is gone.

Love NEVER ends.  I suppose that’s why grief will never end either.

I’ve been feeling a bit lost this last week.  I haven’t really known how to put into words what I’ve been feeling.  The holidays were difficult, but I expected them to be.  The lack of a schedule also proved to be difficult, that was surprising.  Being home with Shane was the best medicine, but these last few days, with just the two of us in the house, Chris’ absence has been painfully obvious.

I’m feeling like I’m full of fresh wounds again.  Not that my original ones were healed, I don’t think they ever could be.  But it’s like I’ve had all kinds of NEW thoughts, emotions, feelings and understandings about what his loss really entails.  All these new wounds that I have to contend with now.  Grief is a tricky thing.  It’s a monster of a journey and there is no guidebook on how to get from one point to another.  It’s a freefall and you just flap your arms as fast as you can and hope you don’t really hit the bottom as quickly, or as hard, as you feel like you’re going to.

Life has been painfully non-stop since Thanksgiving.  With Christmas, my birthday and New Year’s shortly after (and our anniversary shortly before), it’s been a difficult time for me.  I’m ready for a break from it all.  But that’s just the thing - there is no break.  You can’t call a time out from grief.  It’s a leech that’s attached to your heart and just sucks you dry 24-7.  I busy myself with household projects and crafts to keep my mind occupied, but physically, I’m drained, too.  And my husband, the one I’m supposed to turn to when I need a break, is the very person I’m busying myself from thinking of.

I’m just so painfully tired of being sad.  And scared.  I’m tired of feeling like no one understands what this is like.  How long of a process this really is.  How our life will never be the same again.  How I will never be the same again.  How this has changed the very makeup of me.  My DNA.  When you experience a loss like this, you carry it with you for the rest of your life.  Every choice you make, every decision you’re faced with, this even will effect all of that.  There is never any pretending like it didn’t happen.  There is no “do over”.  There is no happily ever after.  Ignorance is no longer bliss.  When you lose a spouse, especially under our circumstances, you lose a large piece of yourself too.  You lose your future.  You lose your dreams.  You lose half of what was keeping you alive.  Which makes the desire to continue living all the more difficult.  I thank God for Shane every. single. day.  He is what keeps me going.  I see so much of my husband in my son - it actually makes my heart want to sing, while at the same time making it want to break because Chris isn’t here to witness any of it.  Chris would SO love the little boy that Shane is becoming.  He is turning into exactly who we wanted him to be.  I know how proud that would’ve made him.

I realize this post is all over the place; but that’s where my head and heart have been lately, too.  It’s been almost 6 months since he died and this grief thing is just getting more and more complicated.  There’s so many avenues that you’re forced to explore and so many dead ends to endure.  It’s a painful, painful journey.

Such a long long time to be gone and a short time to be there . . .

It’s finally over.  2009.  The worst year of our lives.  A year I will never be able to forget no matter how hard I try.  And while I’m glad to see a new year on the calendar, I do have mixed feelings about leaving 2009 behind. 

As awful as the year was, it was also the last year we got to spend with Chris.  Watching 2009 go out, and trying to welcome 2010, was a bit more of a challenge than I had anticipated.  It’s tough to welcome in a new year that Chris will never get to be a part of.  2009 may have taken him from us, but there were also 6+ months of that year that I got to spend sitting next to him holding his hand.  That simple pleasure isn’t a possibility in 2010 - and that is heartbreaking.

So, it’s with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to a year that I never thought I’d see.  A year where we battled cancer and lost.  A year when I lost my husband and Shane lost his daddy.  A year where parents lost a son and a sister lost her brother.  A year when far too many friends find themselves with an open slot on their speed dial.  A year of heartache.  Sadness.  And far too many tears.  But it was also a year of love.  And of determination.  A year of courage.  Of bravery.  A year of fight.  A year of amazing support and strength. A year of family.

It’s difficult for me to be excited about the new year that lies ahead.  The idea of facing it alone is daunting.  The knowledge of never again celebrating a new year with Chris being far too prevalent.  I don’t know that I’m ready to welcome a year that doesn’t include Chris, but I do know we have no choice.  So I’ll open the door to 2010, grab Shane by the hand, and together we’ll step inside.  I’d like to think it can’t be as bad as the year we’re leaving behind.

And to my husband, wherever you are, Happy New Year, baby.  We’re loving and missing you every second of every day.  And we will continue to do so for the rest of our lives.