1,400 Miles

This weekend I met some ladies in person that I have only ever talked to on Facebook. I have been on-line friends with these ladies for almost 3 years. 2 of them drove 1,400 miles, just to road trip and see Salem, MA, in that respect they are crazier or braver than me. That amount of time and miles in a car would make me nuts.

We chat on-line all the time. They were there for me when Connor died. They have pulled me up my bra straps and made me face the world at times that I just wanted to hide in bed. Conversely they have also allowed me to cry and howl and whine about how unfair life is.

To actually meet, hug and laugh with these ladies was beyond magical. It felt like I had known them for years, although I was meeting them for the first time. There were no awkward lapses in conversation nothing that we couldn’t talk about.

Anything and everything was a topic of conversation, and nothing was off the table. From relationships, to jobs, to pets and everything in between. Not to mention the great food and drink that we had at Wahlburgers in Lynnfield.

I have had people tell me that “In-Real-Life Friends are much more important than On-Line ones. I tend to disagree, I know in the world we live in there is so much fraud out there. So many people “Catfishing” others, but I am happy to say that I was never concerned about that with this group of ladies. I am so glad they felt the need to come get scared in Salem. Love ya Mamas๐Ÿ’œ๐Ÿ’œ

Always Prepared

This weekend Mark and I did something that we used to do quite often when the boys were little. We made a fall visit to the beach, we walked along the sand, watching the waves rush in, smelling the salt air and seeing the fog envelop everything. This trip walking at Salisbury State Reservation was almost impossible, to put it mildly..the ocean was angry. Sub-Tropical Storm Melissa was off the New England Coast and she was stirring up the waves in a crazy frenzy.

There was a little boy running in the sand, chasing through the dirty foam that the ocean had left behind. His mom trailing after him, fruitlessly trying to put his jacket back on him. He was laughing and giggling as he was tossing handfuls of foam in the air, and her patience was wearing thinner by the second. He was wet up to his waist from letting the waves soak him as they ran farther and farther up the shore each time they broke.

My memory instantly returned to Kyle, he would be in the ocean regardless of how cold it was, I learned to bring him multiple changes of clothes for these off season trips. Telling him he couldn’t go in, just wasn’t an option. Connor would stay far enough up on shore that he didn’t get wet, or only the edges of his sneakers got wet. Kyle would ditch his clothes and head full fledged towards that freezing cold water. If we had been there on a weekend like that, with those angry waves, it would have taken all my strength to keep him on the shore so he didn’t drown!

They each had their own fears, and their own hesitations. Kyle loved water, and waves from the time he was born. They were never Connor’s friends. He was much happier building sandcastles, or playing ball on the beach.

If it had a motor or wheels, it was right up Kyle’s alley… I swear his first words were “vroom, vroom go!!.” Connor was all about balls, sports, girls and speed. Baseball, football girls(from day 1) and the faster he could ski the happier he was.

I never could understand how 2 children raised in the same house, by the same parents, could be so vastly different. But that is what made them my boys, they were different, yet as they got older they shared things and knew how to respect each others differences without it tearing them apart.

I had always vowed I wouldn’t have an only child, my children would have each other. To grow up with, to learn from and with. But somehow that thought didn’t follow through. I will always be a mother of 2, Connor will always be in my heart. But Kyle won’t have the younger brother to joke with and hang around with and continue to be with…..Sometimes the best laid plans just don’t come to fruition, no matter how hard you try.

His Baby and Mine

That car was his baby and he was mine. In the blink of an eye it all blew apart. He lost his baby, and I lost mine.

He loved that car from the minute he laid eyes on it, he didn’t even know how to drive a standard but he wanted it. He was insistent that he would learn so he could have that car. That sporty little black car. He painted the grill black, put new rims on it, and he was ready to roll. The thing sat so low to the ground I nearly had to roll out of it when I rode with him.

He turned the bass up so high, as well as the music, hooked his phone up so he could play Pandora. And I swore the windows shook. But he might have gotten that from me, I like my music loud, always have and I don’t see that changing any time soon.

He learned to drive the stick shift up on Thompson Road, and Ed Clark before he even had his license. Practicing with just his permit, so that when he got his license we could register and insure that little black Mazda and let him go. I bought him this bumper sticker for it.

We both laughed about it. But deep down I was terrified, he was my baby, and now he was driving, independent and I could see every horror around each corner.

Both he and Kyle kept telling me that I was just a worry wort. He rear ended a young lady on the boulevard coming out of the tech school, so I figured we were good. He had his one mulligan out of the way, all was good.

Until that fateful phone call. Until my world turned upside down, sideways and spun in ways that I didn’t know possible.


Summer is my happy time, we spend weekends at our campground surrounded by our friends. People who have made us feel loved, safe and included right from the first day we arrived. It is easy when we are there, no stress, no bickering, very little worries from the outside world.

But that time is winding down, there are bound to be less beautiful hot pool days. Less nights in the hot tub or around the fire toasting marshmallows and roasting hot dogs on sticks.

As this summertime winds down fall looms closer. November rushes fast on the horizon like a train I don’t want to see. Tomorrow, September 17th will be 22 months. 22 months that Connor has been gone. Some days the pain is just an ache. Kind of like my shoulder from playing nerf football in the pool yesterday. And some days it is a full on knife twist. Today it is a full on knife twist, and I am prepared that tomorrow won’t be much better. The memory of telling that team of doctors to do everything that they could, and it still wasn’t enough is burned into my brain. Missing you comes in waves and today the waves are 15 feet tall, the space between them is short. This whole process sucks. What I wouldn’t give for one more day…

Bucket Loader Full of Dirt and Rocks

I swear just when I think I have crawled out of the hole of grief, someone dumps a bucket loader of dirt and rocks back on me. Today was one of those days, in spades. It started out as a normal day, just like any other. I got ready for work, headed out the door and glanced at the calendar, and that’s when the first pile of rocks started to fall. It is that week, the week that contains the 17th of the month. The day that Connor formally left this world 21 months ago on Friday of this week. Although in 3 months he will be gone 2 years, 24 whole months, it still seems surreal to me. As if he could walk through the door at any moment.

That I could hear the distinctive sound that his semi-tied Chips made as he came through the front door. Of course after I heard the thumping of the bass that his stereo made as his beloved car came up the road. Those are sounds that I still hear in the recesses of my brain, almost as if I continue to hear them, he will somehow magically reappear.

Unfortunately my day went from bad to worse. I went to go get our company T-Shirts, with the new Connor Strong Logo on the sleeve. There it was in full color. The reminder that my guys will carry with them all year long, the full color reminder that he isn’t coming back.

No matter how hard I tried to turn off my brain, it just wouldn’t stop today. My father in laws house has been sold, Kyle is still trying to sell his powder blue mini van. In my yard sits 2 rally cars that are reminders of PBR-Powers Brothers Racing, and all the times they spent together. Racing and working on those cars together. Competing against each other to see who had the best times, they were always so close.

Then there is the constant reminder that I don’t want, the headstone that sits in Calvary Cemetery, the black granite stone with his name and his beloved baseballs on it. The stone with the short dash that marks the 17 years that he was on this earth. But that dash doesn’t represent how much he lived, loved and was loved. How much fun he had, how strong he was, how smart and ambitious he was. And most of all, how much he is missed.

Crossed Off๐Ÿฆœ๐ŸŽค๐ŸŽธ

I crossed one off my Bucket List last weekend!! I went to see Jimmy Buffett and The Coral Reefers in concert. The concert was amazing from “License to Chill” to “Tin cup Chalice” and everything in between, I was a parrot head, and loving every moment of it. Tailgating in The parking lot before hand was almost as good as the concert, just relaxing in my chair, drinks good food and everyone is your friend. I learned things I didn’t know:

  • Following Jimmy is like the Zydeco version of the Dead.
  • Some people never go into the venue to watch the concert
  • They didn’t buy a ticket, they just came to tailgate in the parking lot.๐Ÿ˜ฑ
  • Xfinity needs way more Porta-Potty’s in their parking lot.
  • I can hula hoop for a pudding shot
  • Looking super relaxed will net you Jell-O Shots from complete strangers
  • There are still good people in this world
  • The guy who tripped n spilled his beer all over us. Then bought us: beer, wine and popcorn. Is one of themโค๏ธ
  • U have to hand wash a Vera Bradley wristlet when they smell like stale beer.

Most importantly I learned that Connor would have been in his glory. He would have been dancing in the parking lot, with one of those crazy fin hats on. Legal drinking age or not he wud have been trashed while tailgating and Jordan would have had her hands full trying to keep up with him.

She would have constantly been making him eat, and the two of them would have been laughing hysterically ๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ๐Ÿคฃ. He would have been dancing, and singing, and me relaxing would have not happened!! I thought of him a lot Saturday night, when the beer ran down the blanket directly towards me, anytime he spilled something as s kid, it always rolled towards me. There were butterflies in the air, they always remind me of him. There were beach balls being tossed everywhere , if it was a ball he could hit!! He was all about it. In my mind, he was there with me, with a License to Chill.๐Ÿ„โ€โ™€๏ธ๐Ÿนโ›ฑ๐Ÿ–


Yesterday was a tough one. August 1st. It seems now that my life is ruled by dates. Connor’s accident date- the 5th of every month, the day he died, the 17th of every month. His birthday is March 15th, and for the last 2 years we have spent that day away!! I don’t see that changing any time soon, it is just too hard for me to be home, and not have my baby here to celebrate with. Going to see this on his birthday just doesn’t cut it!! Although I always go before we leave and wish him Happy Birthday!!!

But yesterday’s date was August 1st, the date that Sharon Smithwick Koneazny should have turned 52. The date that I should have sent her a smart ass text wishing her Happy Birthday, and then posted something just as crazy on her FacebookWall. The second one I was able to accomplish as well as to leave a meme that was tagged as a #sharonism. A silly, puny or sarcastic, maybe roll your eyes kind of funny thing.

She would post them every day on her wall and I miss seeing them, she made my world a happier place, often on days that all I could see was grey. So now when I’m having those grey days I go back through her wall and find the #sharonism that will make me smile and lift the clouds.

I remember when Sharon and Nancy and I went for drinks one night she hugged me and said. “It just isn’t fair that you didn’t get that second chance with Connor, that it just wasn’t something they could fix Tammie”. I feel the same way, now it isn’t fair that she didn’t get the second chance, that they couldn’t fix it. What I do know is that I will miss you forever. Your laugh, your love, your friendship. Those are things that can never be duplicated. I will hold on to the memories, because they are the life raft that keep me sane in this ocean of insanity of grief.

Sandbox Friends

Salisbury Central 4th Grade

A good friend is a connection to life-a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world.

I have some amazing friends, some that I have had so long that we aren’t really sure when the friendship started. It’s safe to say “from the sandbox on.” When one of those friends suddenly dies it makes you question everything.

There is so much I will miss about Sharon, so many memories that I have locked up in my head.

  • The French Class at Salisbury Central. We all “murdered” that poor language. And the poor teacher was so frustrated with all of us, because we spent more time laughing and giggling than actually learning.
  • 7th & 8th Grade Softball with Mr. O’Leary. She was an outstanding player, but a true cut-up on the field. I’m sensing a pattern here๐Ÿ˜‚
  • St. Mary’s Confirmation Class with Father Forte. How he taught any of us without losing his mind is beyond me? We couldn’t be quiet, we laughed, we poked at each other. We wanted to be outside. And when he let us be outside, we played ball and someone got a softball to the face!!๐ŸฅŽ
  • Skiing at Catamount when she didn’t want to ski the bunny hill so we took her to the top of the mountain. Left her there and she skied down. Met us at the bottom and said “Can we go again?”
  • Playing HVRHS Field Hockey with her. She was deadly with that stick!
  • She did my wedding invitations (When she owned TK Enterprises ) Most of the invitation set up was done over the phone/ email while she was on the way to Mississippi/New Orleans. They were absolutely gorgeous ๐Ÿ’๐ŸŒท๐ŸŒธ
  • The HVRHS 30th Reunion, at the Canaan Country Club. The laughs, the drinks, the dancing. It was like no time had passed.
  • She always had a hysterical FB post, she should have done stand up.
  • When Connor died she and Nancy came to the wake. 2.5 hours from The Northwest Corner, because that is what “Sandbox Friends” do!!
  • In the past 20 months when I go home to Lime Rock the 3 of us get together, have drinks and just catch up.

It has been said that “They always throw the biggest party that they know you can’t attend”, meaning the get together after the funeral. If that is the case this will be one hell of a party because she deserves it!!! Heaven will be a much funnier place now that they have you, and we have lost the funniest, generous, most loving person and amazing friend.

Salisbury Crew at the 30th Reunion

Ugly Cry

Yesterday I received a beautiful message. It’s intent was to make me smile. But it caused me to ugly cry instead. This message came from the mother of one of Connor’s best friends. It was part of a paper he had written, talking about Connor, and how they became friends. How baseball brought them together, but then their friendship evolved beyond that. How Connor’s dream (before it was to be an electrician) was to play 2nd base for The Boston Red Sox. How “Sweet Caroline”, was one of his favorite summer songs.

How Connor’s death rocked Adam’s world and made him realize how short and fragile life really is. That he didn’t get to see him play his Senior Baseball Game, or even just say goodbye.

I often think that I am floating on this grief island all alone. That just because he was my son, no one can miss him as much as me. That no one can be as devastated and hurt as I am. When I read things like what was sent to me I remember that isn’t true.

Connor touched so many lives, not just the over 400 people that filed through his wake, and the equally as many that came to the Funeral Service. He touches lives with every blog post I write, with every ball that was thrown at North River Park, and every time those lights are flipped on at the FCTS Football Field. Every time Brad and Jarred pull horses Connor’s memory is there, hitching evener, last time I watched them pull I swore I saw him out of the corner of my eye.

He may have been my son, but he didn’t live or die in a vacuum. He was loved, cherished and missed by all that he encountered.

Beautifully Broken

A simple Facebook interaction between Grieving Moms has brought me to this realization. We are all “Beautifully Broken”. We are all learning how to navigate this new world that we live in.

Some of us use therapy to navigate, some of us cry until it feels like our eyelashes will fall out, there may be screaming, drinking and even some smoking involved. Anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds (Valium, Xanax, etc) are often on board for when it feels like “the walls are caving in”.

But when it comes right down to it, we rely on ourselves, our family and the group of friends that we surround ourselves with. Our tribe, the people we know we can run to when times are tough, they don’t care if our mascara runs when we cry, we talk about our lost child endlessly, or just wanna talk about mundane things so maybe we don’t cry this time.

We are the Beautifully Broken Souls of Franklin County, and most specifically the Hill Towns. We have found each other with this common loss, living in an area so small it may feel like we live in each others pockets. At times that can be a bit claustrophobic, but in times like this, that closeness forges a bond that can’t be found anywhere else. A bond forged by the loss we never wanted, or expected, but it turned us into The Beautifully Broken Sisters of Franklin County๐Ÿ’”๐Ÿ’”โค๏ธ๐Ÿ’™