My arms are empty and acheing...

I can’t believe I’m a mother without…

Life has been twisted and turned upside down. As a mother, I had both the wonderful privilege of holding my sweet son as I brought him into this world…and the horrible chore of holding him as he took his last breaths and left this world, at only 7 years old. June 24, 2010 he earned his angel wings, passing away after an inspiring but brief fight against Cystic Fibrosis. Now I live, solely focusing on living a life to get to be with him again in heaven, and to raise awareness for Cystic Fibrosis research. I am dedicated to a cure, not only for my sweet sons legacy but so that other CF families never experience the greatest loss of their lives that we are now facing. My mother’s arms are missing Connerman, yet he still inspires me daily to leave a mark of LOVE on this world…so for you my sweet prince, mommy will try!

Love Love Love

Always Always Always

Thursday, May 13, 2010

pain by any other name wouldn't be as sweet...

So enough has been enough.
i feel like i am swimming in this huge pool and can't find my way out of it....but the pools not filled with's filled with my tears. my heartache. i'm just broken. i've never been one to wear all of my emotions on my sleeves, not that i was too proud or embarrassed to but simply because I still have 3 children who come with lots of responsibilities, projects, dressing changes, diapers, groceries and house cleaning to boot. Never really had time to wallow. But well i guess i don't feel i'm wallowing. maybe thats not the right word.
I hate that word. it means so many, many things. and at so many different times as well. my grieving sometimes is laughter and smiles cherishing the moments i'm engrainging in my memory to remain there all my life with bittersweetness in those moments...and sometimes i'm just tripping on my bottom lip. i literally can't pull it up to where it should be. my smile has really faded. my heartache has nearly multiplied by a thousand. my days it seems now pass by so much quicker because Im so aware of each and every second passing by. Time is running out. but my love isn't. i feel now more than ever that i truly know what it is to love my children and to love my husband. i KNOW it now. not just that giddy feeling you get, or the instant love you feel when you first hold your precious newborn in your arms...but the deepest love you can ever imagine, but that you can never imagine until you're watching it slip away. faced with death, you really learn to love. fully. wholly. unconditionally. deeply. selflessly. painfully.
i simply haven't been able to write lately. since mothers day i've been struggeling. i'm just not me right now..only i am me. a new and different, grieving me. a me, i don't really like. and i don't blame others if they don't really like me right now either. i'm lonely. desperate. hopeful. wishful. exhausted. my mind is a wanderer lately. i hate this too. sometimes i sit in some line or in some crowd and i witness people being so rude, probably unintentionally...and sometimes i wish so much i could just scream...others have no clue what crosses you bear. if you didn't know my story, and you saw me, you'd see a somewhat put together woman, with a smile on my face and a joy and love in my heart...but you wouldn't have time to stop and see the agony in my eyes. going thru this has taught me so much. so so much. i will simply never be the same. and i hope for that in a good way. because this pain is so deeply intense, and everlasting as it may be, i know these lessons i'm learning as invaluable. and that i wouldn't have forced myself to learn them any other way. the greatest lessons from the greatest pains...makes perfect sense. cus now i get it. i just wish i could learn these lessons another way. any other way.
i've called to have the hospice team come over and give me their list of can and cannots...
that was an extremely difficult call to make.
but i think necessary.
my arms just ache to hold conner all day and all night. but i simply cant. i have come to need much time to myself. me and my ipod walking the beautiful lake here in town just allowing myself a breath of fresh air. i'm investing in my children who will be survivors. i'm trying desperately not to let the stress of all of this put a wedge in my marriage.
i'm simply doing the best that i can.
thats all we can do.
i think josh's message yesterday on whats inspiring really hit home to me. what i'm doing is not inspiring. at least not to me. but what is happening THRU my pain is inspiring....
well i'm off for now, a beautiful day here and conners calling for me to help build legos...
until next time...


  1. Sarah: still praying for you as you continue to face this difficult journey.

  2. You and Brad are great parents doing the best you can during a tumultuous time. You in particular continually remind me of my mother and that is a wonderful thing. I know their are a lot of parents learning from your grace and that is what is inspiring to me.

    Hugs and lots of love to you Joneses from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for thinking enough of my words to share them with others. Thinking of you, C-Dawg!


  3. Sarah,
    I have checked each day to see if you had posted. I was happy to see that you had. I know this time is so difficult for you. I am glad you called hospice. That must have been so hard. My mom and step-mom both had hospice care during their final days and the people involved with hospice are wonderful. I am praying for you and your family.

  4. You are right on so many levels, Sarah. But wrong on one.

    Yesterday, I was getting my haircut. Time away from the husband and kids. Usually I just sit there and enjoy the trashy magazines and quiet that is a beauty salon (so different than my crazy household). Not yesterday. I was sitting there, looking out the big picture window onto a glorious sunny Iowa day and wondering about you. Wondering about Conner. Wondering about two people I've never met in person but who are burned into my heart. The stylist was snip, snip, snipping away and I was catatonic with a lump the size of Texas in my throat. I had to close my eyes to lock the tears in - though I'm sure he just thought I was trying to keep the falling snips of hair out of my eyelashes.

    I went home and broke from our normal routine. No bathtime. No stories. We raced down to the basement, I tackled Charlie and Lola on the floor and I tickled my kids to death. Oh you should have heard them squeal. Part terror, part ecstasy. It was hysterical! They stayed up a little extra late last night, got more attention than normal and we just enjoyed each other.

    Why? Because of you. So my friend, you are wrong. You DO inspire. You Sarah, YOU, are inspiring. You inspire me to be a better mom, a better wife, a better person.


  5. Sarah,

    Sending prayers Heavenward that the Lord will gently guide you all through this time and give you His peace.


  6. I agree with the PicklePits comment above.

    Your face, your family full of five faces, pop into my head when I'm struggling with my role as a stay-at-home mom. You have shut up all of my complaining I've done about feeling useless and bored at home with my kids. Because you have shared so authentically with the world and allowed us to read of your painful journey, I now relish my moments with my kids.

    I breathe in their scents, feel for the beat of their heart when our chests are pressed together in a hug, I stare at them and tell them how they are treasures to me, and I remind myself that I may not always have them. I am reminded by you that there are no guarantees in life. I am reminded by you of what's most important when I'm driving, standing in line, or walking past a stranger. Who knows what they're going through today?

    So I have changed indefinitely because you have shared, so genuinely, your road of triumphs and tragedies.

    You have inspired me greatly. Your son has inspired me greatly. You will continue to do so NOT because of how you handle your circumstances, but because you are HONEST about it. So you don't have to be a hero or be perfect or be articulate. I am graced by your authenticity.


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