Missing Conner

Conner, it feels as though I've cried enough tears to fill an ocean, and the pain in my chest is as immense today as it was the day you left us.

Last week, you would have turned 26, and tears again stream down my face at the thought of what you might be doing today.

Would you still be working at UT Center for Space Research? It was the most amazing job for a predominately self-taught programmer (without a four-year-degree) to have landed. They realized what an outstanding person you were.

Would you be engaged? Married? Have a baby or two. What a wonderful husband and father you would have been. So kind, sensitive, funny, understanding, caring, and dedicated.

Would you still be playing your guitar as much? Writing in music? Pontificating and philosophizing in your journals?

Wherever you might have been today, you'd no doubt be making someone laugh and asking someone else if you could do anything for them, while making plans to see your sisters and me for a bite to eat and a stroll down South Congress Avenue.

I'm selfishly sad that I can't hug you or hear you laugh, or call you when I'm having computer troubles, or tell you an inappropriate joke (knowing your response would be, "Mom, that's inappropriate," in your trademark dry, inscrutable tone).

What makes me even more sad, is that your sisters share in an inordinate amount of pain from the loss of their "widdle bro," and their kids (your two nieces and your nephew) won't have the chance to know you, learn from you, and embrace life's joy with you.

It's tragically heartbreaking and some days I do wish an ocean could just swallow me up.

Conner, I hope you realize how much of an impact you had on so many lives and how very much you are loved, remembered and missed.

I am forever proud to be your mama, and I miss you like crazy.

Love ya. 'Nuff said.