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, March 10, 2011

can I do it…I dunno yet…

my emotions are out of control lately, grief has washed over every part of my body and it refuses to let its grip loosen on me. I don’t know most days if I’m coming or going, if I’m helping or hindering, if I’m being a good mom to my two living sons or causing more harm then good, if I’m healing or tearing open the wound again…over and over and over. if you were to ask me when Conner passed if I could imagine such intense emotions and feelings I could never have fathomed this. never. I thought I had an idea in the beginning how this was gonna go, and play out. the pain was stabbing and sharp initially. it was all consuming and molding me into someone I never knew before. I embraced the process. I thought that it was all beginning to make sense and I was beginning to find balance. I thought, I thought, I thought…

truly…I had no idea what was to come.

while I no longer awake with a huge gaping wound, and while I no longer waking up hoping and praying that it was just a bad nightmare, though I’ve taken a step forward from all of that…man oh man I’d give anything for those emotions back again. not this. not what is the new normal. I cant hardly tell if this is normal or if I’m going insane from grief. I can’t find anyone who just gets it…to be honest with me…to tell me that infact I’m not losing my mind…because none of my friends know. they haven’t gone thru it themselves, so they’re along for the ride with me and I’m sure secretly praying that I’m ok. but I don’t feel ok.

nothing about me or this or any of it feels ok. I feel as though every nerve ending in my entire body is tingling and on the surface, even a touch sends me over the top. memories of whats transpired this past year push me far to the brink. I’m deep in despair…and I feel as though I’m a walking wounded…with my wound fully exposed to the world because I have to heal from the inside out. there is no scab. no magic bandaid. I’m fully raw and exposed. I cry. I wake up in the night with tears in my eyes. I’m tired of pity. I don’t want it, nor do I deserve it. it hinders, not helps. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for all of this. I’m sorry this is my journey…that my son had to die. that I’d have to struggle more almost a year later than I ever could have imagined 8 months ago.

everythings a countdown. its march…this sunday I’m doing a race for his hospital, our home away from home, Doernbecher Childrens hospital. we just received an invitation from Doernbecher to a special ceremony honoring those Doernbecher hero’s who lost their battles in the last year. conner still gets mail from Lego that shows up and pushes me over the edge. I find myself getting upset when I see red now…because I don’t want red. I don’t want a stupid red lego. I don’t want any of this.

I want my son.

alive.

I want the pain to end. I want the nightmare to stop. I want to wake up and have found a way to learn these lessons and to allow God to mold me into who He’s designed me to be, but…WITH MY SON STILL HERE….

I can’t handle it all. spring used to be my favorite time of year…sunshine and flowers coming out and blooming signaling that life carries on into another season…I’m sure I’ll love it all again…but my mind wanders to a year ago. we were planning Conners last birthday on this earth. we were ordering Hawaiian Leis and palm trees…plans were being made with the Fire Department to deliver him his very own birthday cake. red balloons, love from family and friends, and a few that turned out to not be friends at all…people just along for the ride…it’s been a year almost. A year ago I was preparing my speech for the annual Chefs Dinner for CF, getting ready to talk about how my son is dyeing and how badly a cure is needed…and now…it doesn’t matter anymore for us. it’s over. done.

I’m tired of seeing nothing but old pictures of Conner. never any new ones anymore….cus he’s not here to take new ones. I have lots of new pictures of B and Hunter growing and getting so much bigger than a year ago…but I’ve seen every picture of Conner…I carry them engraved in my memory and forever in my heart. but he’s not getting bigger. he’s not taking new pictures. time keeps passing…we keep moving ahead…and he’s never going to. and as a mom, guys that’s devestating. that’s more difficult then I can put into words.

registering Hunter last night for Kindergarten and trying to keep reminding him that it’s Hunters Kindergarten each time he says its Conner’s. seeing some of Conners friends and how big they are now…almost done with 2nd grade…its almost too much to put into words.

he’s gone…

can I possibly keep up with all of this emotion and still function a bit normally? I don’t know. I’m trying, but I don’t know how well it’s working.

can I run this race on Sunday for our beloved hospital and make it thru without becoming overwhelmed with emotion? can I possibly Outrun CF the next Sunday with some of my best girlfriends…can I walk for Great Strides towards a cure for the very disease that is causing me so much pain? Can I Rock and Roll my way to the finish line of a half marathon coming up in June that takes place the very day after my sons “death-a-versary?” can I ….

I just don’t know.

because anymore…I can barely make it thru a day without tears and pain. living in the full knowledge and understanding that Conner’s time was done here, but mines NOT… for whatever reasons God has planned and in store for me, I’m still here…barely breathing…but here. and all this pain has a purpose and is part of this plan. but man on days like today I just don’t know how much more I can take…

I just don’t know…

006

003

001 

chefs dinner, last year I had a reason to still smile…

020

LOVE LOVE LOVE

3 comments:

  1. My dear little Cousin Sarah - It's true, I have no idea what you must be going through - I can only imagine how I would be if I had lost one of my darling girls, and that imagining is more terrifying than anything else I could think of. Just know that you are in my thoughts, and that I love you very much, even tho we really don't know each other that well. And also know, that if there really is a heaven, that Connor is there watching you every day, telling you to "hang in there Mom, for my dad and my brothers". I know you have very strong beliefs, and those beliefs will carry you through this time, as will the love and strength of your family and friends.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Sarah-

    Have you thought about just not doing these events? What would happen if you took some time for yourself and took care of yourself, and didn't do the things that you felt like you were supposed to do? It's okay to not want to do Great Strides and have reminders around you all day. It's also okay to want to go and walk and cry and scream. Make sure you are doing these things for YOU and not because other people are telling you to. You are right - no one has any idea what you are going through and no one else gets to tell you what to do.

    Sending you lots of love.

    Julia

    ReplyDelete
  3. Several-time reader, first-time commenter. I'm a 28 year old woman with CF who is facing listing for transplant currently and terrified out of my mind. A MAJOR obsessive thought of mine is what I could do to my family if I die during/after surgery. Logically, doing surgery is saving my life but it's hard to see it that way.. but I digress..
    I'm in no place to talk about losing children and how to deal with it. But I do know what it feels like to be a CF'er, albeit an adult one, who is crushed beyond words at the prospect of tearing her parents lives to shreds for the remainder of their lives. It haunts me. Wherever Connor is now, I like to think he can watch over you. I hope this is coming off the right way from a total stranger, but I just hope that the pain levels out to a place where you can endure it, and that Connor can wait for his momma with a smile on his face instead of a tear in his eye. Lots of love to you, and thanks (on behalf of Connor) for being strong enough to raise him and love him with strength, from another CF child. xoxox

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