Tonight I met Mark at Genden in Shelburne so we could go to Autumn Walsh’s Wake. I brought us both a change of clothes, and as I was standing in his showroom with my boots on and flats in my hand I asked him “Do these boots look ok, or do I need my flats?” He says “Jill won’t care or notice what you have on your feet. Think about it, do you remember what anyone wore to Connor’s Wake?” He is right, the only reason I remember what I had on is there is a beautiful but heartbreaking picture taken of Mark and I that day. We are standing at The Colrain Community Church watching the balloons that had been released float away. The grief and pain on our faces is heart wrenching, but at the same time you can see the love we have for Connor underneath the pain.

As I looked at everyone in that funeral home tonight and I fount back the crocodile tears. All that kept running through my head was, these kids just went through this a year ago. They are too young to be dealing with this much tragedy and grief. So many of them had the “deer in the headlights” look in their eyes, the look of shock mixed with grief and horror.

I wanted to hug each and every one of them, tell them that it would be ok, and eventually it will be. But that eventually is a while away. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, and these wounds will be fresh, sore, bruised and bloody for quite a while.

One holiday down, albeit the easy one, but it is the one that starts the holiday season. We spent Thanksgiving with my parents in Connecticut. Yes there was a missing chair and place at the table, but there were also laughs, and memories and very few tears. My meltdown came the night before, when it hit me like the Acela train that it really was Thanksgiving without Connor, that we would be traveling to Connecticut as a group of 3 instead of 4.

That is when the tears began to flow, Mark tried to help, saying “it was just another day, and we were going to have dinner with my parents.” As much as I knew what he was trying to do, it made me mad. It wasn’t just another day that we were going to have dinner with my parents. It was fucking Thanksgiving, and we were going to have dinner with my parents minus one of my children. Nothing was going to make that any better, any easier, or soften the pain. There would be an empty place setting (not actually set), but in my heart and soul. Kyle and Connor should be arguing that they can’t sit next to each other, but which one of them got to sit next to mom. And then they would be silly in the living room, both making my dad laugh. Then both of them helping my Mom with her walker, just like it was second nature. Then Connor watching football with my dad, and picking on Kyle that he really doesn’t know much about football. Those are the things that I missed, their poking at each other, both literally figuratively.

What I learned from yesterday is that those memories will live in my heart forever, just like them always having to have Ranch Dressing on their Turkey when they were little. But things change, that is the only thing constant in this world. I wasn’t ready for this change, but we never are, I don’t think I will ever embrace this one. But someday I will learn to live with it, and make it part of my new life. Little changes and movements at a time show that I am getting there.

As I’m laying here on the couch watching The Hallmark Channel, I know it’s all sappy Christmas movies, but there is no real world drama and that is what I need now. What is running through my head is nothing but real world drama. Tomorrow is 11/17/18, the one year anniversary of the day we made the final decision, the day we turned off the machines and disconnected all the tubes that where keeping Connor alive.

I wish I could say that it was an easy decision but it wasn’t. It was the hardest decision I have ever made in my life. One of my biggest worries was how was I going to tell Jordan, the love of his life and her his, that he was never coming back. She had spent 11 days in the PICU with us, she wasn’t ready to lose him and everything they had planned. I chickened out, I let her parents tell her, I wasn’t strong enough to tell her that he was never coming back.

I second guessed it over and over in the hospital, looking for second, third and even fourth opinions. All of those opinions came back the same, that he would never be the same young man as before the accident. He was gone and now I needed to remove the medical intervention that was keeping him here.

For hours before we removed the machines I sat next to him, holding his hand and crying, crying just like I am now. I kept asking him to open his beautiful blue eyes so I could say good bye and tell him I love him. I told him all those things even when he couldn’t open his eyes for me.

I have pictures that I took of him hooked up to all those tubes, but they are for my eyes and memories only. The memories shared here will be of Connor being him, loving Jordan, playing baseball, doing all the things as a smaller child that made me both love him and want to strangle him simultaneously.

There will never be a day that I don’t miss him, at this point in time all I can hope is that I can make it through the holidays without turning into a puddle of mush, but I am not optimistic.

Yesterday was it, the day of the fateful accident. My day that forever will live in infamy. I can tell you exactly where I was, how I reacted, and how we got to Baystate in Springfield. Once we got there, it was a game of hurry up and wait. Then the “Team” came to talk to us and in less than 30 words my world imploded.

“His prognosis is grim, but we will do everything we can do”… Those words will haunt me forever, no matter what they did, my baby was too badly damaged and in the end we had to let him go. It was the right thing, the kindest thing and the thing that was best for everyone. That doesn’t mean that it hurts any less, because it doesn’t.

But what I have learned since this time last year is:

1. I have had more better days as time has gone by.

2. This time last year I was convinced that medical intervention would save him.

3. When that failed, I sunk into a hole, so deep I wasn’t sure I was ever coming out.

4. The grief and sadness overcame every part of me.

5. Tears became my constant companion, I went months without makeup because it was washed away by tears.

6. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss him, or wish he was here with me.

8. I am able to talk about Connor without breaking out in full fledged sobs on most days.

I think of all of these as positives, I still grieve and cry and at times I still howl and scream. But one year ago I never thought I could ever go on. I am strong because I didn’t think had no choice, but to be honest I did have a choice. I could have stayed in that hole, cried, stayed in bed, not gone back to work, not showered, and drank myself into oblivion. I did none of those things because they wouldn’t bring Connor back, they would make me sadder, drunker, and stinkier. But they wouldn’t fix anything.

I’ve always been a fixer, the sad truth is I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t stop the car, I couldn’t make the head injuries go away, and I couldn’t save him. But I can save myself, and that is the most important thing right now. I have to put me first, because I can’t pour from an empty cup to help anyone else.