I never believed that psychological issues could show up as physical issues. I always thought that was a load of horseshit. On the same plane as Herbal Medicine, meditation, and vitamins solving everything. But I am coming to the realization that my Frozen Shoulder is the stress and grief settled in my right shoulder. Every Dr that I had gone to told me to take anti inflammatory meds (Aleve, Motrin, etc) and it would be fine. 7 months later I finally found an orthopedist who realizes that the pain is real and that Aleve isn’t controlling it. New meds, a cortisone shot, Physical Therapy and the discussion of Manipulation under Anesthesia if things don’t get better. There is hope that I will be able to reach the top shelf again.

Once Connor died my world turned on its head, and I think someone shook it in the process as well. I began to rethink everything. Eastern Medicine wasn’t so crazy if it could help, it helped generations of people long before Big Pharma got involved in our health care. Meditation isn’t something that I have ever been good at. I can’t be still for more than 30 seconds, never mind 30 minutes. I am not quiet, my mouth goes a mile a minute, along with my brain, but tragedy changes that.

It forces you to think, about yourself, about what happened, why it happened, and why it happened to you and your family? Will you ever be OK again? How long will it take to be OK again? Will your friends wait for you, or will they get tired of the tears and the grief, long before you are done grieving? All of these questions run through your brain like a thousand mile an hour freight train. The way to quiet the constant chattering brain is to meditate. I learned how to do it, (the 21st century way) via an app on my iPhone. It worked, it quieted my brain, but it didn’t turn the grief off.

Nothing turns the grief off, time doesn’t heal this wound. It makes it easier to deal with but it doesn’t heal it. This year of firsts has sucked. And now as we approach the holiday season and the first year anniversary of his death the pain is fresh and at times unbearable. Last year for the holidays I was numb, this year the numbness is gone, so I feel everything, the good, bad and the ugly.

I know that I will never be the same person again, and I am ok with that. I hate this new normal, but this new person I have become is pretty damn good. I have learned to laugh when things are funny, cry when I am sad, and give in to both the physical and emotional pain. Give in and ask for help, spend time with my friends, and share my feelings with them. No woman is an island, and trying to be one is a lonely feeling. I don’t want to be alone in my pain, it is too deep to handle on my own, but shared it can be dealt with.

100 Foot Waves Every 5 Seconds

I read a story online this morning from an elderly gentleman describing grief. That the deeper you love, the deeper the grief, and that someday the grief won’t feel like 100 feet waves every 5 seconds, with no time to breathe in between. I long for that day, the days when I can think about Connor without tears running down my cheeks. The days when the Facebook memories don’t cause a full blown meltdown before I even get out of bed.

Currently the waves are 10 feet tall with 5 seconds in between to breathe. I am treading water so I don’t drown. It is exhausting and painful, it makes every part of my body hurt, physical as well as emotional, and there are no way to separate the two.

My dear friend Erin has never lost a child, but wasn’t very old when she lost her husband and was left on her own with a small child. She assured me “that someday the 17th of the month will pass me by without a flood of tears, that someday I will be able to breath on that day without a hitch, and the fear that I will see, hear or smell something that sends me back into the depths of grief.” It has been 20 years for her, and in the last 3 she is finally able to breath on the 4th of every month.

I have hope, hope that I will be able to crawl out from under this heavy weight, hope that someday I will smile first instead of cry. Hope that someday Jordan will find some peace as well. The fruition of these hopes and dreams will come with time, and hard work. Time just ticks by, with the clock, and the hard work comes from the time I spend in therapy, the time I spend with my dear friends, and the time I spend writing and thinking.

This pain will never go away, because like any good mom, I loved Connor with every beat of my heart and to the depths of my south. What it will do is become manageable with time, and that is all I can hope and dream for.

Canโ€™t Have Both

It is no secret that as much as I love being a Boy Mom. I yearned for a daughter. Girl baby clothes are just so much cuter and I craved the mother daughter experience. From pre-school in Connor brought a string of girls home that I “adopted” into my life, Krystal, Mackenzie, a few fleeting ones at Mohawk, Hailey and then Jordan. He protected Jordan like she was made of crystal.

First we weren’t allowed to talk to her when she called. He would sprint to the phone yelling “I got it, it’s Jordan, she doesn’t want to talk to you anyway”, then if by some miracle we picked up the phone first he would immediately say “hang up she doesn’t want to talk to you, she’s my girlfriend.”

It was obvious he had found his love, his other half and the girl that complimented his soul. He learned about horses, and he taught her about SCCA Rally Racing. They loved the beach, and Connor was learning all about horse pulling from Jordan’s dad. Connor became a part of their family and Jordan became a part of ours. He brought me a daughter, one that is beautiful and kind and sweet. One who adored Connor, with all his craziness, his romantic side. He would bring her flowers just because and loved to spoil her with iced tea, candy and pop tarts.

In return Jordan treated him like a king, sending him notes, watching him play baseball and getting that darn goat with him. They truly were a matched set, made for each other. He spent more time at her house than he spent home, it seemed. But he was comfortable there, he felt like family, with the girl he loved.

Although they were only teenagers I envisioned them together forever, and so did he, I saw grandchildren (far in my future) and them living their lives together. That dream and vision was shattered for all of us last November. I have Jordan, and I will cherish her as long as she will remain in our lives. She is the daughter that Connor sent me, I just don’t understand why I can’t have them both at the same time, but I will hold onto what I have.๐Ÿ˜ข


These last almost 11 months have been a delicate balancing act. Between enjoying the memories and pictures that I have encountered within these 11 months, and being bombarded with the waves of grief that those memories bring. Knowing that I will never be able to hug him again, or have a 2 sided conversation with him, hear that infectious laugh of his, or see those gorgeous blue eyes in person, watch him break into that spontaneous smile just because. That grief brings me to my knees, with big gut wrenching sobs, makeup running down my face and unable to catch my breath.

When I was pregnant with Connor all I wanted was a girl, one of each. I knew from the first ultrasound that wasn’t happening. Once he was born, he was “My Connor”, my baby, my mama’s boy and I wouldn’t have traded any of that. He was equal amounts of daredevil and snuggles. Playing sports, splashing in puddles, covered in mud, but wanting to sit on my lap and snuggle and have story time.

I fought him growing up, every step of the way, knowing once he was grown my baby time was gone. But keeping them little is fruitless, like trying to stop a moving train, or a rolling boulder. It just doesn’t work.

What I do know is I cherish every memory, whether they pop up on my Facebook Timeline, come up in a conversation, or are relayed to me by a friend. Those memories are my lifeline to him. My baby boy, the young man he became. My Connor in all his forms.


I can’t express how done I am. The pain in my right shoulder has become excruciating, doing simple things, like pulling my pants up, putting on a sweater, or reaching for something sends shooting and burning pain down my arm.

I have been playing phone tag with my PCP and an Ortho Group in Northampton. Today, while at the end of my rope, I called the Ortho group to find out what the hold up was on making an appointment. I refused to get off the phone until I got an answer, the answer I got was that their practice couldn’t help me, but at least it was an answer. Within a half an hour I had an appointment with another ortho group for tomorrow.

I tried the PCP office to get some pain relief, finally a call back yielded a prescription called into my pharmacy. But when I went to pick it up, they couldn’t fill it. Due to my insurance, they now require a prior authorization for a medication I have had before. I tried to call my insurance company, but due to the holiday (Columbus Day). Their phone lines are shut off.

After all of that, I sat in the car, with the music on loud and cried, big ugly tears running down my face, taking all my makeup with it. I cried for many reasons:

1. I will have to suffer through this pain for at least another night.

2. I am so frustrated with our Health Care System. We have gone from over medicating and causing this opioid issue, to not medicating at all, which solves nothing.

3. Health insurance companies making decisions doctors should make!!!

4. The pain in my heart, has now moved to my body parts and everything hurts.

I don’t want everything in my life to revolve around the loss of Connor, but as I get closer to the year anniversary. Everything is a trigger, the pain in my shoulder, the fact I can’t find an ingredient to go in my breakfast smoothie. The littlest thing sends me into huge racking sobs.

I hope that as time goes on it won’t always be like this, but all I can do it wade through the grief and take it one day, hour and minute at a time. Knowing that I will have to learn to live without him. I will never forget him, you never forget the ones you love, and you never forget your children. I just want to learn to live without the terrible pain, and replace it with all the love I have for him instead.