As the years went on, he allowed me to coach him in just about everything. When he was 9 he played basketball, however this was the one sport he wasn’t an instant success in so he had a lot of time sitting on the bench. He would look around the gym, staring off into space. He couldn’t understand why the coach wouldn’t put him in the game. I told him that part of playing is simply being on the team, and that includes sitting on the bench. So if you want to play and be a good teammate, you will cheer your teammates on even though you are on the bench. You are still in the game even when you aren’t on the court. I said, “You have to play with heart Connor. In all things, put your heart into it and you will never fail because you know you’ve given it your best shot even if you don’t play. That’s what is most important.” He said “How will I know when I’m playing with heart?” I replied, “When you are on the bench and you look up at me in the stands, I will put my fist over my heart to show you that I see you putting your all into the game, and when I do that you can do it back to me so we both know you are playing with heart”.
Over the next few games that were left in the season, we did just that. He would solemnly look up in the stands and find me, our eyes locking in a knowing glance and both of us would put our fists up to our hearts at the same time. It was such a powerful moment between mother and son. And that’s how we were, developing this bond through coaching him how to be in the game of life.
Connor went on to play water polo and formed his best friendships in the pool. Although my coaching him in sports didn’t continue directly, we had formed a connection when he was younger that enabled us to communicate at a high level. I was so blessed to have had this rapport with my son. As gifted as he was in sports, he was even more so in terms of communication. The two of us had an unbreakable tie, even during the hard times of being a teenager. Even though I was coaching Connor, I do think I was also learning from him.
Not long before he passed, told me after water polo practice one day he had gone to get a smoothie. It was just after a long day of hell week, and he was really hungry. Just as he was about to rip into the smoothie he looked over and saw a homeless woman in a wheelchair struggling along down the street. He looked at the smoothie, looked at her and said to himself – I should give this to her. Not only did he give her the smoothie, but he sat down next to her and spoke to this woman about her life and how she came to live on the streets for 40 minutes. He said he learned something about compassion that day – and I said to him, no my darling, I just learned something from you.
Every time he walked into the room he was a rock star to his twin brothers, the connection between those 3 kids was unbreakable. When the twins were babies, his kindergarten teacher asked me if I knew he had been wearing their baby socks to school. He wanted to be so close to them that he would squeeze his chubby 4 year old feet into these tiny baby socks so he could feel them close by even when he was at preschool. I know how he felt, I do the same now with his favorite sweater wearing it around the house as I grieve into the long hours of the morning.
The night he was born the hospital staff had cleaned him up and brought him to me (all 10.8lbs of him), I said to him “Oh there you are, I’ve been waiting for you my whole life”. We stayed up late that night, getting to know each other. Me talking mostly, him talking back with his baby eyes as babies do. And on the last night of his life we did the same. We stayed up until 3 am talking about life, love and trying to figure out the wisdom of the world. I got the rundown on everyone in his life, what he wanted to do after high school, his dreams and aspirations. We laughed about funny things in our memories together and cried about others. The miracle of these two nights, his first and his last, have helped me in processing the loss of losing him the very next day.
He
was a
Rockstar
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