A Christmas Message To Those I've Lost

 

As the Christmas season approaches, I am putting aside my usual snarky and often quirky writing style to bring you something meaning and heartfelt. Hey, I’m allowed to be poignant and weepy once a year, right? Christmas always makes me think about how a lot of those I love aren’t with me anymore and how I would like to have one more conversation with each of them. To tell them one more thing that I may not have said while they were still here to listen. And so I give you, in no particular order of importance, a Christmas message to some of those I have lost.

Barb and Dick, my former in-laws. I’m sorry for the way our relationship ended. We were so close at one time but we let issues and circumstances come between us. It should not have been that way because of our deep feelings for each other but more importantly, because of the beautiful angels we shared. We had such wonderful holidays together; Christmas Eve with midnight mass and opening gifts in front of the fireplace, spiced wine and cookie baking. I wish we could do it again. Thinking of those times this season and wishing things had been different in the end.

My daddy. As I watched you get older and more ill, I saw your frustration trying to accomplish things you couldn’t do anymore and I ached for you. But even with all of your medical issues, you never lost the joy you had in your grandchildren and they all adored you. There’s another great-grandchild coming for you in the spring and I’m sure you would fall in love with her as soon as you saw her, just like you did with all of the others. Christmas was a beautiful time with you because you had so much spirit in your giving. All of the grandkids share that love of giving gifts and of themselves. I will think of you much this year as I watch my own grandson open his prizes on Christmas morning and smile as I remember you doing the same. PS I’m still working too hard and too much. Maybe I’ll slack off next year.

Me mummy. As you lay in bed year after year, your body was wasting away but your faith and gentleness remained. I thank you for the lessons you taught me and how you led by example. Most evident of these lessons was Christmas, where you showed that while giving gifts was important, it was reason we did it that was of highest value. I was grateful for our last holiday together because although you couldn’t speak to me, you could give me that special mom-hug that always warmed my heart. I’ll miss you this year as always.

Connor Lee, my son and my best bud. I truly believe you were only supposed to be here for a short time but I so wish it could have been longer. I wonder often what you would be like at nineteen and if we would still be as close as we were when you left me at four. Our last Christmas together was a banner one. Michael Jordan everything and your squeals of joy. Giggles and tickles. A happy day from beginning to end and it’s on video for me to watch when I someday get the courage to do so. I would like to have one last hug and kiss but I’ll settle for the memories of the happy little boy that you were. I will think of you especially on Christmas morning, of the way you enjoyed it with your whole being.

Baby boy. I don’t know whether you were a boy or a girl but I have my suspicions. Instinct tells me you were a son. I didn’t get to meet you but I know I will some day. Daddy and I would have loved to have held you at least once but we didn’t get that privilege. Christmas would have been even more joyous that year if you could have joined us. I would have watched you and your sister opening gifts, laughing with giddiness, but it was not to be. I will think of you this year and wonder.

Jessica, my niece. You learned some hard lessons in your short life and I know the burden of those was a heavy load to carry. Mostly I really wish I would have known you better. Not the tough person you allowed the world to see but the beautiful girl you kept hidden inside. When you left us, you should know that the best gift you gave was the little girl you left behind for us to enjoy. She is spunky, intelligent and tireless. A wonderful remembrance of the child that you were before life showed you the rougher side of things. I will think of that child this Christmas and your daughter who still embraces all that is good in this world.

The losing is difficult, all but one within the last twelve years, but the remembrance makes the grief easier to bear. In this season of giving, it is very easy to get lost in the commercial side of things but in allowing myself to think of them, I keep the real meaning of Christmas close to me. Much as those mentioned above are close in my heart with the memories they have left me and being able to share them in this message. Merry Christmas, readers. And thank you.

Moving & Grooving

If you have young children, you know the names Rich, Scott, Dave and Smitty. And if you don’t, you should. Yes, I’m talking about the Imagination Movers, the kid’s rock band from New Orleans that has taken the world by storm, aided in part (but only in part) by their brief but very popular run on Disney. Right off the bat, I want to tell you that this is not another article promoting the group. Not that I wouldn’t promote them, because I do…I am a proud member of Imagination Mover’s Street Teams in PA, FL/GA and LA/TX, doing my best to spread the love. But that isn’t the meaning behind my blog. This is a story that documents our personal induction in to what is aptly called Mover Nation. In a world where most news you hear is bad and terrible influences are everywhere for those of us raising children, I want to share something that is positive. No negativity allowed in this post. To begin…

Our family began watching the Imagination Movers when my grandson, Elijah, was eight months old. I was surfing through the TV channels one morning trying to find anything that wasn’t a mindless, annoying cartoon to calm my feverish little guy during a bout with whatever illness it was that caused nasty fluids to come out both ends of his body and landed on a show I now know so well. Four gentlemen about my age running around in blue coveralls, waving giant toothbrushes and singing about how everyone needs to brush their teeth. Apparently their rodent friend didn’t brush his and now had a cavity. I rolled my eyes and prepared to flip the channel yet again when I noticed, hey, these guys are kinda cute. And, hey, this music is really good. Then, more importantly, I saw that Elijah had stopped crying and was watching intently. Bonus! Thus, the Mover frenzy in our home had begun.

That band (and their awesome show) from New Orleans became a staple in Elijah’s life in record time. Amazingly enough, the grown-ups enjoyed it just as much as he did, with great rock music and awesome annoyance avoidance (I just made that up). We DVR’d episodes for emergencies (i.e. belly aches, missed/interrupted naps, Momma working overtime). We bought their CD’s and DVD’s for peaceful road trips. Elijah’s love affair with all things Mover had been established. He had a Mover Dave gadget hat (which he now eats pizza out of), a Mover Smitty hat, Mover Scott’s wobble goggles and drum sticks like Mover Rich. Oh, and also a stuffed replica of the rodent, who I have since learned is Warehouse Mouse, basically the show’s mascot. If it’s for sale on their website, he has it. When we heard the Mover’s were touring the US in 2011, we bought tickets to their Pittsburgh show. Third row, center. We couldn’t wait to see his reaction to seeing his hero’s live and in person.

So, the concert…Elijah, now two, danced and laughed at Choo Choo Soul, who provided the opening act. He was also familiar with them since they are Disney related. But once the Mover’s came on stage, he barely blinked, eyes never leaving the stage. He was awestruck. The only change in his demeanor was when Mover Rich hopped down and made his way to stand on the seat in front of us. Elijah smiled for the first time since the show began and almost reverently touched Rich’s leg. A pat on his head from Rich brought an almost hysterical giggle.

Of course we sprung for the Mini Mover Package, which gives you not only the great seats we enjoyed but also a chance to mingle with the Mover dudes backstage in their “think tank”. We had a blast there as well. Elijah got a hug from Genevive and DC from Choo Choo Soul. He was able to pull Mover Scott’s beard and get his picture with all of his idols. Getting him out of the room was a different story. But after we warned him that none of the band would like it if he misbehaved, we were able to make our exit peacefully.

Fast forward to 2012. My daughter purchased tickets for the Mover’s Rock-O-Matic concert in Houston Texas, originally scheduled for early March then delayed until the end of September. Ironically, we were now living in the Mover’s home state of Louisiana but they weren’t performing in our area so we hopped a plane to Houston (if the mountain won’t come to Mohammad…). Elijah, now the grand old age of three and a self-proclaimed #1 Mover Smitty fan, was so excited that all he could talk about was being able to sit down with the Mover’s and have a nice long chat. Um, you and about fifty thousand other fans, sweet baby.

We had originally had front row seats but due to a scheduling issue, our 5 p.m. show was combined with the earlier one on that day. As a consolation prize, our boys in blue invited those affected by the change to the sound check prior to the big event. In we went with the others, Elijah lugging a sign as big as himself declaring his hero-worship of Mover Smitty. I wasn’t sure what to expect at this point but I should have known. All four of those wonderful men and their crew came down off the stage to meet the group. To make a long story short (yeah, like when have I ever done that, you ask?)…We learned about a sound check (thank you, Scott). As for Elijah? He got a Mover guitar pick (thank you, Rich). His sign (shown below) was placed on stage for the concert (thank you, Smitty). And Dave tried on his Mover Dave hat (he wants his pizza back, Dave).

The concert was fabulous. Of course. And, once again, we had purchased the Mini Mover Package. We heard more music, played with balloons and got our pictures taken with the Mover’s. We had to wait to get Elijah’s hat autographed until after all the families got their pictures taken. When told this, I initially thought “uh oh, this should be fun” since Elijah waits for things about as well as he eats his vegetables (which is not). But my little boy, that mostly inexhaustible ball of energy, stood by the gate without moving for over an hour watching as family after family posed and chatted. When I asked him if he wanted to sit down beside me, he replied “No. I’m waiting to talk to the Mover’s.” He was not disappointed. Because the Mover’s rarely, if ever, disappoint and only then when it’s beyond their control.

After the last photo was taken, he snagged Mover Dave as he moved toward the fans (Dave, he was asking if you really ate things that came out of your hat and telling you that he actually did too. We can vouch for him. Unfortunately he does.). We moved on to Mover Scott…thank you for the Twitter recognition, by the way…and Scott was uber patient while hearing all about his toy dog, Big Bad Barry (affectionately named after that famous dog from the Walkaway Walkie episode), who had attended the show with us. Mover Smitty was next and the photo op was so exciting for Elijah that he had trouble speaking (I can relate, little buddy. I felt the same when I met Drew Brees.). But he was asking you if you liked having his sign on stage with you, El Smitto. We grabbed Mover Rich on our way toward the door and got a great picture of the two of them comparing muscles and mean roars.

And to the door we went. Not a cry, not a fuss. Because he got what he came for. He was able to see the Imagination Movers on stage, dance to their music and have fun. Most importantly, he was able to visit a little with four guys who bring such joy to so many children (and to their parents). A class act from beginning to end, never forgetting their fans or the importance of a little one-on-one time. My little guy had the time of his life. And for that, Rich, Scott, Dave and Smitty, this Yaya thanks you from the bottom of her heart. See ya next year!

Going Generic

When I moved last year, I not only left my home, I left my job as well. And while it wasn’t a position where I was an up-and-comer going places, it paid good. Really good. Add that to my husband’s salary, we made pretty decent money. I’m not bragging about it. I tell you this to bring you to the point I’m hopefully going to make. For years I haven’t had to worry about how much the groceries cost, within reason of course. If I wanted to buy a new pair of shoes, I bought them. A new outfit (or several)? No problem. I hit the clearance racks because I always wanted to see how much I could get for a little but it was a game to me. Now it’s a necessity.

Life on a single income. I haven’t done it in so long that I’d forgotten what a struggle it can be. And how does it work? Read on. No, this is not a shopper’s blog to teach you how to keep your finances in order or how to get $600 worth of groceries for a mere ten cents. It is my comeuppance. My sojourn into the real world where most people struggle with the high cost of just barely living.

I begin at our first step. We have learned to love blue and white. Not clothes or shoes. Food packages. In other words, we buy generic. If it has the same ingredients as the name brand, we buy it. Even if it only saves us a quarter. It’s been hit or miss but we’ve discovered in the last year which no names work and which don’t. Most are extremely comparable but you have the ones that obviously aren’t do-overs. Store brand deodorant? Only if you live alone, work alone and never come into contact with another human being in the course of your day. Feminine protection? May as well use newspaper. The only plus to those babies is that there are no instructions on the wrappers saying which way is up. Yes, I’m serious (not even gonna ask who came up with that idea). Ketchup, mustard and most other condiments? No brainer. They are about the same. And toilet paper? Sorry, Charmin, but GV Ultra Strong is exactly the same and costs half as much.

Step two? You’ve guessed it, coupons! Where internet surfing was once an enjoyable thing, it’s now a desperate mission to find $1 offs. It is a personal victory to find something bigger. A challenge of utmost proportions. We have arguments, my daughter and I, about who gets to look at the Sunday paper first, who gets the prime coupons. Not that it matters since we live in the same place and shop for groceries together. It’s the thrill of the hunt. Store ads are another thing we compare religiously. If Store A is within two miles of Sam Walton’s world and has fruit on sale, we go there.

I have to admit that some coupon websites are confusing to me. To get a coupon for this product, you have to go to a site to sign up for that one, then go to still another site. After donating a pint of blood, selling fifty lottery tickets for two great causes and dancing the hula, you get to…sigh…another site? Forget it. By the time I’ve finished jumping through their hoops, I’ve forgotten what product the coupon was for anyway.

And I absolutely refuse to go on the website belonging to a certain coupon lady just on principle. Her commercials make me want to bury my face in a pillow and scream until my head explodes. Just something about her obsessive perkiness irritates the crap out of me. I would mention her clothes (which, by the way, went out of style in the ‘70’s) but that would be catty and totally beneath me. In all fairness, I’ll admit she has done a great thing for shoppers everywhere. She’s just not for me.

Step three? We have discovered that juice tastes better in big, gallon jugs as opposed to the cute little boxes. At least that’s what we tell the little guy. Do you realize how much those things with pictures of your favorite Disney characters on them cost? I do. At least I do now. Yogurt? Did you know they sell it in big tubs that are easily divided into small, snack-size portions? Who knew? And leftovers make a great day-after lunch at work! This is especially good since the only place for takeout around my office is the golden arches. Artery clogging, butt exploding fast food. Definitely not my idea of a decent lunch. Did you know that prepared foods are full of fat and chemicals? Yeah, I knew it too but they are so easy. But now I realize that not only are the majority of them unhealthy, they can be recreated for half the price in most cases. I read ingredient in the store, buy them and create those tasty delights all by myself at a fraction of the cost (damn, I should write a cookbook)!

We’ve had to make some sacrifices. Frequent dinners out? A thing of the past but this ritual has been replaced by our monthly church dinners. Prepared by women who really (and I do mean really) know how to cook. Pizza delivery? Not when you can get it for less than half the price from your local grocer. Haven’t you seen the commercials? “It’s not delivery, it’s….” Otherwise non-events in our already full-to-the-brim lives. There are more meaningful ways to find enrichment and still pay the rent.

So this is the Kellye family secret to survival of the fittest. If you are in a similar situation, I hope this makes you feel better knowing there are others going through it. If you are financially blessed, I hope it makes you realize how fortunate you are. If my blog makes you want to send me money, that’s cool. Ok, not really.

Random Thoughts of Idiocy

I haven’t written a blog in a while so a lot of really annoying thoughts have been rolling around in my head clamoring for release. They make it very hard to sleep so I thought perhaps someone else should be on the receiving end of all of this mayhem and then I can purge my mind. Thus, I reach deep into my pit of pithyness to bring them to you. I apologize in advance for any pain this may inflict.

The preacher man came to see us recently, always an enjoyable time. He’s a large, boisterous, thoroughly likable man (typical Southern Baptist) and we had a nice, long visit. I always love to spend time with the man, even though he has dubbed me the Pennsylvania Princess. Hey, there’s nothing wrong with living in the wrong state as long as you eventually get to the right one. But I digress (a nasty habit of mine). After chatting for a while, he looked around my place and asked me why I was living in an apartment. Uh, because they gave me a key and my furniture doesn’t fit in my car? But don’t you want a house, he asks. Let’s see, I said, pondering the concept. Mow my own grass (which I actually do not mind), do my own repairs (I do a lot of these anyway) and pay twice as much (this is a definite no)? I don’t think so. Besides, I already own a house. In Pennsylvania. Now if I could only get my ex-husband to move out of it.

I have neighbors (yes, I do), who live in a three bedroom apartment like mine. Mom, Dad and six (yes, six) children. In a three bedroom apartment. Apparently they are very generous people because last winter they invited a friend to live them. A single mom with three kids. Ok, 8 + 4 = 12. Three bedroom apartment. I guess they were feeling overwhelming generous last month as they invited another friend to stay. With her two kids. So that’s 8 + 4 + 3 = 15. Yes, in a three bedroom apartment. Oh, and did I mention that all the children are under the age of twelve? And that, between the four adults, they only have one car? So Monday through Friday, they pile all the wee ones in the car and take them to school. Pick a lap. Then they repeat the process in reverse in the afternoon. Now if I did that, I’d most assuredly get pulled over and arrested. But that’s just my luck.

I have discovered recently that Walmart’s website sells over seven hundred types of toilet seats. Y’all are probably wondering how I know that and no, I don’t view websites for toilet seats as a rule. I was actually looking for something else but had to weed through all the these to get to it. Enlongated seats (for those with extra long legs). Cushy seats, the kind that make the sighing sound when you sit (kind of like they’re saying “OMG, lose weight, fatty.”) Seats that close themselves (um…for those too lazy to do the deed?). Seat tattoos (oh, yes they do). Anti microbial seats for added sanitation. And for those who love that extra fresh, just showered feeling after you tinkle, they have seats with adjustable rear and front washes. You can add an adjustable warmth dryer to those for a mere $150. Anyway, after learning all there is to know about every possible type of toilet seat, I get to the section that has what I wanted to look at in the first place. A replacement tank cover for one of our toilets. Broken, I might add, by a certain overactive three-year-old (slamming it made a really cool sound). What I learned from the Walmart website, other than the fact that there are over seven hundred types of seats, was that tank covers are an extremely rare, overpriced breed. Does anyone have an unused toilet I can swipe the cover from? Because I’m definitely not paying over $50 for a plain white piece of porcelain that just sits there getting dusty.

All this talk about toilets brings me to my next random thought. A strange one but would you expect anything else from me? When a person has to go pee in the middle of the night (yes, I’m going there), why does one lay in bed in obvious discomfort and think the urge is going to go away? I don’t personally do this but I’ve heard stories…ok, so I do. It would be so much simpler to get up out of bed, do my business and return to blissful dreaminess but I lay there trying to go back to sleep knowing full well that it just ain’t gonna happen. Is it that difficult to move? For me, the answer is yes.

Another item that just came to me as I sit staring out the window trying to collect my thoughts…what do you imagine a bird sitting on a wire is thinking about? Did you ever really think about it? I am because there’s one outside my window right now. There it is, looking around, not moving much. Just a ruffle of his feathers once in a while. Is he (or she) wondering where the humans are going in such a hurry? Is it deciding which car (or head) to poop on next time he gets the urge? Wondering what possessed the person in the Mini Cooper to strap down what looks to be a king-sized mattress and box springs to the top of his car (it just drove by, true story)? Or is this bird merely waiting on the next unsuspecting bug to fly by so he can swoop him up for lunch? Most likely this is the answer but you never know what goes through the mind of a bird. And why do I care? I don’t. Just wool gathering.

And I’m gathering wool because my computer (thankfully the one at work, not home) is being doctored by my helpful IT person. I have a Trojan virus (no doubt named after the popular condom brand whose failure helped to create my second child) that came from only the person who created the virus knows where. Which brings me to my point…yes, I do have one. Who are the people who get their jollies from creating viruses? Why do they do it? Are they evil people or are they just bored? Or are they perhaps manufacturers of computer hardware trying to increase business by destroying our hard drives? My theory, and I’m not being paranoid or jaded about this, is that all the viruses come from those who create and sell virus protection software. Because if you think about it, without viruses we wouldn’t need their programs and how would they make their millions if we didn’t? In addition to that theory comes the thought that, if they didn’t create the problem in the first place, how do they know how to fix it? My theory brings a sarcastic snort from my ever-so-talented IT guy. Eh, what does he know?

Well, the pit is empty. The well is dry. For the moment. At least until I try to go to sleep tonight. And just an afterthought, this blog sounded funnier in my head than it does when I’m reading it. Too bad. I’m posting it anyway. And I’m glad I apologized in advance.

Dear Daddy

Dear Daddy,

In the two years since you’ve been gone, I realize that there were a few things I never told you and, since it’s Father’s Day, I wanted to let you know what they were.

1. Thank you for getting us the camp site in Ohio with one of the better trees. I realize that this was a long time ago but I wanted to say thanks anyway. By the way, thanks as well for taking us on all of those awesome vacation trips when we were kids. I know that they were expensive but you always made sure we had a great time.
2. Remember the commercial about the older couple who wanted life insurance so they wouldn’t be a burden to their kids? You always wanted to be a burden when you got older but you never were. I’m sorry for that. But thanks for always making us laugh when the commercial came on by saying you wanted to be one.
3. Thank you for making me leave my hot dog from Lisa’s bonfire on the tree stump at the end of the lane and for smacking me on the butt for running away to be there. I knew I was disobeying but I did it anyway. Your discipline showed me you loved me (although I didn’t believe it at the time) and helped me realize how important your rules were.
4. Thanks for not yelling at my girls when they planted the bean seeds in your corn patch when they were little. And for letting the beans grow instead of pulling them up even though your corn crop wasn’t quite so good that year. Most of all, thank you for teaching them about gardening and giving them the love of watching things grow.
5. Thank you so much for being there when I lost Connor even though you were busy taking care of Mom. You told me that sometimes bad things happen but that God would take care of my little boy. You knew how to comfort me when no one else could.
6. Thank you for letting me get to know you even better when you came to live with us. I know that you were missing your farm and all of the things that you weren’t able to do anymore because of your health but you made the best of it. The stories you told us about when you were growing up meant the world to me. I loved having you there.
7. Thank you for being my Daddy. You weren’t always patient. You weren’t always loving. But I knew that you loved me and wanted the best for me. I knew that you would do anything for me.

I miss you, Daddy, but I know that you are in a better place now. You have no more pain, no more suffering. I will see you again some day, but until then, I will miss you. Happy Father's Day.

I love you,

Soozie

Elijah Takes Ochsner

I thought it was going to be a nice, calm day. I got out of bed at 5:00 a.m., fixed my coffee and laid out my clothes for work. I had to be there at 7:00 but only had to work until noon. A short day, out of the heat before it got too bad or made the customers too cranky. The rest of my day would be free to write, clean my house and create some type of spectacular epicurean delight for dinner. I should have known better. I live with a three-year-old where nothing ever goes as planned.

When I got out of the shower and noticed my bedroom door open, my first thought was “uh oh”. Elijah has broken into my room again. As I’ve mentioned in other blogs, the child safety knob is no match for my boy. And when he gets in, there’s always something misplaced, mishandled or downright broken. After a quick scan, I found him hiding under my blankets. Then I noticed the little cup I use for my vitamins was knocked over. Out of five pills that I had put in the cup, four remained and the one that was missing was my blood pressure medicine. I don’t usually get them out until I’m ready to take them but I was tired and didn’t want to forget, never expecting him to wake up so early. Ok, fast forward to panic.

I yelled for his mother who was, of course, still sleeping, threw on some clothes and we were out the door in five minutes. Fortunately for us, the emergency room is only a few miles away. And we already know the way there since this is our third trip since moving to Louisiana in November. First the spilled hot tea and then the infamous pasta in the ear incident. The staff in the hospital are getting to know us well. Not exactly a good thing I’m thinking. So we roar into the parking lot, I push my daughter out of the car with him and find my parking spot with shaking hands. As I run to the door, I’m half expecting to find my little angel in a coma or having seizures.

No, not my boy. He’s entertaining the admissions nurse with tales of whale sharks and unicorns. He’s picking out which examination room he wants and asking questions about the equipment in the one he’s finally placed in. When the doctor comes in, he plays with the stethoscope, rubber gloves and whatever else he can get his many hands on (I know he only has two but there always seem to be more). After the doctor calls poison control (why didn’t we think of that?) and assures us that there will be no side effects to his indulgence (if they don’t affect a three-year-old, why the hell do I take them?), we emerge to the office area where our boy makes phone calls to the same nurse and takes a pleasant ride in a wheel chair. All the while, another nurse is advising my daughter that if this is the way he normally acts, she should abstain from having more children. I agree. He’s one of the reasons I take those pills in the first place.

So they pretty much kick us out of the place before he can cause too much destruction and, after a much calmer me drives home, Elijah plops himself down on the couch and orders breakfast (oh, yes he did). When I collapse beside him, he puts his arms around my neck and says, ever so sweetly, “Yaya, let’s have some coffee and watch the Mover’s. You’ll feel better then.” No, Elijah, I’ll feel better when you are twenty-five and we’ve successfully gotten through the toddler years…and all the years in between.

Connor's Gift

Once upon a time I was given a wonderful gift. I received this gift when I thought I’d never get another. His name was Connor. I didn’t know at the time, but Connor was a temporary prize. Sent to teach a lesson but not to keep. Today is not an anniversary or a birthday. It is just a day I choose to reflect on what I had and what I lost. And what I learned.

A beautiful baby who grew to be a handsome toddler. Dark, glossy hair and big, blue eyes. A smile that denied words. When I think back, I always remember those three things most of all. But there was so much more. At times I worry that if I don’t write these things down, I will somehow forget how special he was and lose the tiny details that made him that way. So occasionally I reminisce and put pen to paper, as it were. And every once in a while I go back and read what I have written. Most often what I write doesn’t do him justice but that’s my lack, not his. I don’t usually share what I write but I felt compelled to today for some reason. Today is the day I am remembering a few things from the last six months of the four and a half years he was granted.

My favorite memory involves his love for basketball. Michael Jordan was his idol. Honestly, you would think he was a pro player when you watched his little hands dribble the ball. On the day I am thinking, he was playing with his Uncle Steve, my sister’s husband. Uncle Steve is a large man, standing at least 6’2”, with a deep, booming voice. You’d think that the kids would be afraid of him but they gather around him like bees on clover.  And he loves to torment the little ones (in a good way) with his strange sense of humor. The torment today…holding the ball out of Connor’s reach. Well, Connor put up with it for a little while, giggling and dancing around his adored uncle. Finally, he could take no more. He went behind Steve and bit him on the butt. Hard. If Steve had been wearing jeans, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but, this day he was wearing sweat pants.  Ouch! Intending to scold my little biter, I could only laugh until my sides hurt. Thanks for the laughter, little guy.

I also remember one day Connor came into the house from playing because he was hungry. I sat him down at the table with a bowl of cereal and as he ate, I asked him where his siblings were. “Still outside,” he said. “What are they doing outside?” I asked. Without even slowing the movement of spoon to mouth, he responded, “They’re painting the fence.” My husband and I looked at each other incredulously, before rushing outside to interrupt the moment of creativity before it got too far out of hand. It occurred to us afterward that Connor had thrown his sibs under the bus without even stopping to breathe. I guess it was payback for the evening before when they all put their lima beans on his plate so they wouldn’t have to eat them. Good move, buddy. Proud of you for that one.

There is so much more that I remember. He learned to ride his bike without training wheels the weekend before he died. Wow, he was proud. I have that on video.  I remember the special hugs we always shared. I am blessed in that regard as I can feel them now when I hug his nephew, Elijah Connor. I have pictures; the last one taken several months before his death sits on my dresser. And I have my memories that I write down. Oh, I close my eyes and see that impish grin, hear that little voice. I always wonder what he’d be like if he were still here with us today. And without saying why, I constantly tell parents “love your children fiercely and hold them tight”. Because you never know. We didn’t know.