Anyone else notice the signature OC ”biting of the lower lip”??  Damn, do I miss this guy.

(All photos taken with my camera phone.  With nicer weather and more natural light around the corner, I’m really going to try to make an effort to get back to taking REAL photos.  Chris would be so sad to know how much dust my beautiful camera has collected over the last 7+ months.)

Shane is POTTY TRAINED!!!!  Finally!!!

I know this is late; he’ll be 4 in May.  But remember that this little boy lost a year of his life because his Daddy fought cancer and lost.  I’m SO proud of him.  For all he’s overcome and accomplished; considering all he’s been dealt!  And I know his Daddy is smiling down on us, too.

We spent last weekend in potty training lockdown, and aside from a few accidents (and a LOT of Lysol wipes) Shane’s been doing great!  I’m not proud.  I totally bribed him.  I promised him anything he wanted at Toys R Us.  Luckily, I got away easy.  What easily could’ve been a VERY expensive shopping trip only cost me $50 and Shane is SO happy, SO in love with his new toys and SO proud of himself!  Way to go, buddy!

*******************

I find “interesting” ways to keep myself busy.  Time on my hands is just time for me to think about our situation and be sad; so I do all I can to avoid having free time!  I’ve taken up craft projects, I’ve taught myself to sew, I’ve done some painting around the house, some furniture re-arranging, some switching up of the accessories - anything I can think of to keep my mind and hands busy.  A few weekends ago I did this:

It’s a lousy picture, I know, but I created a photo wall in the family room on the wall behind the couch.  I love photographs.  They take me back to happier times; times I often have trouble recalling on my own right now.  They bring me comfort.  Pictures of our “real life”.  Pictures before cancer.  Pictures back when life was easy and infertility was our biggest concern.  It’s not 100% finished yet, I still want to get another large canvas of Chris and Shane to hang on the part of the wall that you can’t see.   (I promise to take a real picture someday soon and post an update.)

Part of that photo wall includes these photos:

The most beautiful frame on the wall is one that my son made for me for Valentine’s Day.  With Uncle Jamie’s help (and patience!) Shane made me my very first handmade photo frame.  I love the artwork, the colors, the choice of stickers - I love that it comes from my little boy.  On a day I hadn’t been looking forward to.

And the photo above it?  A picture off my husband back in his childhood soccer days.  Chris loved the sport and I’ve heard so many stories over the years about the fun the was had, and the lifelong friendships that were formed, because of soccer.  It’s only fitting that the photo had a place on our family wall.  Thank you SO much, Aunt Mary, for mailing me the photo.  I’ll treasure it always.

********************

On an already stressful morning, on a morning where we were already running late, Shane decides he NEEDS a hashbrown from McDonald’s.  His “belly is SO hungry” after all.  So I pull into the drive-thru lane at a “playland” McDonald’s, it’s not the one we usually go to, and on the way out Shane SCREAMS from the backseat “Shane-Daddy (a.k.a. Shane AND Daddy) go down BIG slide!”  Me, being totally confused, asked him again what he said and he told me that he and Daddy went down that big slide.  He must’ve caught a glimpse of the slide in the playland through the big front window and had that memory.  And the whole thing must’ve been instantaneous.  I immediately burst into tears (I’m running on raw emotion, lots of stress and little sleep this week) SO thankful that he had a 100% pure memory of his Daddy.  Because Chris did used to take him there.  And maybe they did go down the slide (at the very least they would’ve watched the other kids).  Shane’s excitement this morning reminded me why I do this.  Why I put so much pressure and stress on myself.  I do it for Chris.  I do it so Shane will know Chris.  And, clearly, he does.  THAT is worth anything that I have to endure.

I’ve been thinking about Chris and about our cancer battle a lot lately.  How quickly it all happened.  How nothing went the way the doctor’s said it would.  How, really, we had SO little time left after we got that dreadful diagnosis.

I spent a lot of time thinking about our life in the months leading up to cancer.  Our trips to Cape Cod and Sesame Place in August (2 months before the diagnosis).  Charleen’s birthday party that we celebrated with the family in upstate NY in September (one month before the diagnosis).  Our anniversary dinner in October (one week before our first ER visit).  And it stopped me dead in my tracks.  To realize how fragile life really is.  How it all really can be taken away in the blink of an eye.  How much a cancer diagnosis can change things.

And I then I looked back at the blog.  July 2008.  A year later he would be gone.  And we had NO idea.

http://www.kristinmoconnor.com/familyblog/?m=200807

Take a look back at that month.  At the things we did.  At how healthy he looked.  How fun and upbeat our life was.  My writing was.  How colorful (and plentiful) the pictures were.  We were surrounded by friends and family.

It makes me miss that life even more.

On Monday, Shane will officially be a preschooler.

Friday will be his last day of daycare.  Monday he will go off, backpack in hand, and start his school career.

He went for a “preview” last Tuesday morning . . .
(camera phone picture)

. . . and he loved it.  And, according to his teachers, he did great.  But I still worry about what happens when the novelty of it wears off.  I still worry about Monday.

It’s a day I want to be excited about.  Proud of.  It’s a moment I want to have burned into my memory.  I want remember how it will feel to have his little hand inside of mine as I walk him into his classroom.  I want to remember how it felt to be a Mommy that day.  Shane’s mommy.  But I fear that all I will feel is sad.

This day is a day Chris and I used to talk about often.  Sending our baby off into the “real world”.   We knew I’d cry and that Chris would be the strong one.  We talked about going out for a cup of coffee afterwards and talking about how far we had come, and how far we still had to go.  But all of that is changed now.  Life is changed.  Chris is gone.  I now have to be strong WHILE crying.  And I’m afraid I’ll be so wrapped up in what’s missing that I’ll end up missing out on all the memories I want to have from that day.

I’m sad.  I don’t like change.  Never have.  I’m sad for Shane.  I’m sad he has to leave his friends at daycare; his “best buddy” Connor.  I’m sad he has to leave Robyn - a woman who has been wonderful to us and who took such great care of my baby while I was busy taking care of his Daddy.  I’m sad that he has to go to a new place, with new people.  I worry that he’ll be scared.  Or lonely.  Or sad.  I worry that he’ll be like his Mommy and not like change either.  I worry that he’ll see my fears and sadness and that he’ll take them on as his own.  But I’m also happy.  Because I know I’m carrying on with the life that my husband wanted for us.  The life we so often talked about and planned.

And I’ll be strong and I’ll hold his hand and walk him into his classroom.  And once safely back at the car, alone, I’ll cry.  And then I’ll go out for that cup of coffee.

I miss “us”.  I miss being part of a team, our team.  I miss being able to be myself.  Hell, I don’t even know who “I” am anymore.  I miss our sarcasm and our corny inside jokes.  I miss having someone who understands me.  I miss being upset and not having to find the words to describe “why”; because he already knew.  We “got” each other.  We enjoyed each other.  We encouraged each other.  He encouraged me to be me.

I miss the things that made us, us.  The things that made our amazing love what it is.

I’ll still throw out a “one liner” now and then.  I’ll still think in song lyrics.  I still see an episode of Friends and smile when I see Ross.  But these things don’t mean the same thing anymore.  They aren’t as funny, or as fun, when you don’t have your love to enjoy them with.

He encouraged me to be me.  And I spend every day trying to be “me” still.  Because when I am “me”, I can feel Chris.  I can feel us.  And “us” is perfect.

Cape Cod - August 2008 - what would become our last family vacation.

Chris I met the summer before my senior year in college.  I used to work for a temp agency when I was home on school breaks and that summer I just happened to be placed in a 2 month assignment at UniFirst.

I remember the first time he walked into the office that I shared with Theresa.  I remember thinking he was cute, in that rugged kind of way, and his sense of humor was out of this world.  I remember him dropping off his daily invoices and heading across the room to start the “log out” process.  I remember Theresa telling me she thought he was flirting with me, and I remember telling her I thought she was off her rocker.

That summer was also the summer my dad died, and the first time we really talked was when we came back from the 4th of July holiday.  I  remember telling him about my dad, and he told me about the surprise 30th “party” his family had thrown for him at his cousin’s wedding.  He was kind.  And sympathetic.  And I wanted to learn more about him.

We had a lot of “stolen moments” after that, in those first few weeks.  A lot of little talks in the stairwell when he’d just be coming back from his route.  A lot of looks and smiles when we passed in the hallways.  A lot of planned “accidental meetings” - on both of our accounts.  And eventually, finally, I took Theresa’s advice and finally said “yes” to a first date.  She had told me, numerous times, that I’d be sorry and crazy to pass up the opportunity to date this guy.  She was right, and I’m so glad I listened to her.

That September I packed up my stuff and went back to UConn for one final year.  We made an effort to be together almost every weekend that year.  I’d come home, he’d come up, it didn’t matter.  We were falling hard for one another and we just wanted to be together.

I graduated in May and had a job already lined up.  I started working the week after I got home.  It just so happened that one of his Friday stops was in the same building my office was in.  Every Friday, I’d head out for lunch and there’d be a note on my windshield from Chris.  Most were “G” rated, some were not.  Most spoke about the need to pick up some “Red Star” (OC speak for Heineken) for that night and what our plans would be.  We lived for the weekends.

Had I known then that our weekends were going to be numbered I would’ve found a way to make them last longer.  I would’ve found a way to spend even more time in his arms.  I miss those early days.  They were easy.  Just the two of us.  Stealing time to be together.  I wish that was possible now . . .

Hard to imagine, isn’t it?  That SEVEN months have now gone by.  Seven.  Crazy.  I’d love nothing more than to say that life is getting better.  Easier.  I’d love to say that each morning that I wake up hurts a little bit less.  I’d like to scream from the rooftops that I now know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I CAN do this.  That I can walk this path and live OUR life alone.  But I’m just not there.  Maybe I never will be.

Things have changed lately.  Things are different now than they were a month ago.  Reality is setting in and I’m truly beginning to understand just how “gone” you are.  These last few weeks have been a game changer for me.  EVERYTHING is more real, and that includes the pain.  I’m starting to understand the only way through is simply just to go through it.  I’m learning that when people don’t know what to say, they simply chose to say nothing.  I’ve learned that you can live with a broken heart. And I’ve learned that a heart can continue to break long after you think it’s already completely shattered.

I still spend my days pushing back thoughts of you.  Thoughts that I know will only lead me to tears.  I deal with the emotions in the safety of our dark bedroom at night, when I’m alone and when the only sounds in the house are sounds of sleep coming over the monitor.

It’s this month in which I have caught glimpses of our future.  MY new future.  A future that doesn’t include you.  And the future looks lonely.  I’ve realized lately how alone death leaves a widow.  I could be surrounded by people and could still be completely alone.  It’s such an odd reality to feel loved and to feel love for someone, yet not have anyone TO love.  Sometimes I think my pain is unique.  That it’s different.  Because what we had was unique.  I believe, with everything I am, that everyone does have a soulmate.  I believe that we all have someone on this Earth that was put here just for us.  I believe that you were that person for me.  I believe you put here to be my husband and that we were to raise a family.  One day, you and I will be together again and our journey will continue, but that thought doesn’t ease the pain of today.

Your absence is still felt every second of every day.  I still yearn to be surrounded by family.  By friends.  I still ask “why”?  I still try to make sense out of something that will never make sense.  When I close my eyes I can still hear your voice.  I can hear it as if you were really standing right there behind me.  Those moments bring instant tears.  And even more acceptance.

I’ve begining to understand that the journey doesn’t get any easier.  It changes.  And the changes are confusing and painful and terrifying.  Being forced to acknowledge that a world without you could exist is the most difficult thing of all.  I just don’t know how to continue our life without you, without feeling like I’ve left you behind.

You are my heart.  My husband.  My love.  Always.

For weekends away from it all, for dear friends with an open door policy and for moments like this . . .

Shane & Lily (taken with my camera phone)

This one was shot a few weeks ago, on our way home from daycare.

CLICK HERE for video of Shane

**I love how he starts off saying “I wanna see Shaner” - he knows he can see videos of himself on the FLIP, so now, whenever he sees it, he tells me he wants to watch himself.  This kid is SO his father’s son!  Chris could’ve spent all day watching home movies of himself!

***Notice too how our kid eats a donut.  His ONLY interest is in the frosting on the top.

The conversation Shane and I had on the way to daycare this morning went something like this:

(After passing the kids at the bus stop waiting for the school bus)

S: “When I get growed up I want to go on that bus”

M: “You want to ride the bus to school when you get bigger?”

S: “Yes.  When I grow up be a man”

M: “A MAN!?!?!” (the tears have started for me now!)

S: “Yes.  A SUPERman.  Like my Daddy”

M: “Your daddy was a superman, wasn’t he Shane?”

S: “Yes.  My daddy drive the bus”

M: “Daddy didn’t drive a bus, buddy.  He used to ride on a bus though.  Did you know that Daddy used to drive a truck though?”

S: “My daddy drive a truck?”

M: “Yup!  Daddy used to drive a BIG truck and bring people things that they needed for work.  That’s where Mommy met Daddy”

S: “Daddy take me to see mix trucks”

M: “Yes he did!  When you were little you only went to Robyn’s after lunch.  You and Daddy used to do lots of fun things in the morning.  Daddy would take you to watch the construction sites (hence the “mix truck” - aka cement mixer) and he used to take you to see the fire trucks and talk to the firemen and he took you to the train station so you could see the trains”

S: “My daddy say “choo choo”!”

M: “I bet he did, buddy.  Daddy also used to take you to the bookstore or to Target and when it was nice outside he would take you the beach, do you remember that?”

S: “Yes!  Dig in the sand!  I go to the beach with my Daddy now?”

M: “Hunny, Daddy’s not here anymore, remember?  Daddy died and he’s up in heaven now.  We can’t see Daddy anymore.”

S: “Daddy up in heaven in the clouds?”

M: “Yes, Shane.  Up in the clouds.  Daddy tried SO hard to get better so that he could stay here and be with you.  Daddy didn’t want to leave”

S: “Daddy try not be sick anymore.  No more boo boos”

M: “Yeah, buddy, he did.  But Daddy was SOOOOOOO sick.  Daddy loves you very much though.  So does Mommy.”

S: “Mommy?”

M: “Yeah, buddy?”

S: “We fly up SO high to the clouds to see Daddy?”

M: “I wish we could, buddy.  I wish we could”

Yet one more milestone to have gotten through -

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

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

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

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

And it’s only Wednesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(all pictures taken with my cell phone)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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