That day was one week ago; Tuesday, 15 July 2025. It started out a very good day. I “went” to work (I work from home, so I sat at my computer) and after about 10 minutes my oldest son came to talk with me. He didn’t need anything; just chit-chatting with dad. This was big for me because Connor and I weren’t that close when he was growing up, but over the past year or so, our differences had turned out to be not such a big deal and we were getting closer each day. Anyway, we talked for a good 4 hours, but I noticed that he was getting tired. He normally worked the graveyard shift, so being up at 1:00pm was late for him. I told him to go get in bed before he fell asleep where he stood. He asked if he could lay in my bed since mom was in his (long story). I told him sure and off he went. At about 7:30PM, I decided it was time for me to go lay down, so I went to wake him up and get out of my bed. I called his name. Nothing. Called him again. Still nothing. I didn’t think anything of it since he’s a heavy sleeper. I decided to go to the bathroom before going to lay down and when I got back, I called to him again. Again nothing. I went to give him a little shake and that’s when I noticed how cold he was. I started to panic and yell, “Connor?!?! Connor?!?! Please wake up.” My wife heard the change in my voice and came running out. I noticed his chest wasn’t moving; no breathing. We felt for a pulse in his wrist and his foot but this is when I noticed he had what looked like newly forming bruises on his arms and my wife noticed that his lips were blue. By this time, our youngest son came running because he heard the scared sounds coming from his mother and I. We had him call 911 while my wife and I tried to do anything we could. Neither one of us are medical professionals, so there wasn’t much we knew to do. Connor was a medical professional, a registered nurse, and he had told my wife about the knuckle on the chest thing, so she tried that but there was no reaction. She tried to feel for a pulse under his arm and even though she didn’t feel one, we felt a bit of promise as she said he was still warm under the arm. We had a glimmer of hope that he could still be okay. About this time, the paramedics arrived and they rushed us out of the room while they worked on him. It didn’t take long for them to realize that he had been dead for a few hours.
My wife, son and I just sat there in the kitchen while the EMT informed us that he was gone. We were in shock. This couldn’t be. He was 25. No medical issues. How could he be dead? He can’t be dead. He was my first born; he can’t be dead. Sadly, he was. To make matters worse, since he was young and didn’t have any medical issues, they wouldn’t let us go sit with him because they had to treat it as a crime scene. We sat in the kitchen for hours, literally, about 4 hours, while people came in and out of our house to investigate. At around midnight, they took his body out, gave us a rundown on what was going to happen over the next few days and left. Next few days?? Who gives a fuck about the next few days?? None of us got any sleep that night and were all up the next day. My youngest son and I fell asleep at around 10pm that night and my wife didn’t get any sleep until about 2am the next morning. This is one of the few times I was glad that I don’t dream…or at least I don’t remember my dreams because I’m sure my mind would have been filled with nightmares.
Woke up Thursday morning and for a brief second, I didn’t remember that he was gone, but, like a slap across the face, I remembered and started bawling uncontrollably. My youngest, Devlin, came into the room and gave me a big hug and this is when I realized how much he was also hurting. He is autistic, high functioning, but still autistic, and doesn’t like contact. For him to initiate a hug spoke volumes. We hugged and had a good cry for probably 5 minutes and then we decided to check on my wife. She was laying in bed, awake, but not really there. I would have hugged her, but our youngest son beat me to it. It was at that moment I realized I still had something to live for. He needed both his mom and I as much as we needed him. The rest of the day is pretty much a haze. I made some phone calls letting his work and friends know that he was no longer with us and I broke down during each phone call. I then called the medical examiner to find out what our next steps were. They told me that they didn’t have a cause of death yet, and wouldn’t until they go the toxicology report back. The lady I was speaking to told me that I could have the funeral home come pick him up any time. Funeral home? Jesus fucking Christ, just when I thought this had hit me as hard as possible, it landed another haymaker. I took some time to collect myself and then called the funeral home and made an appointment to see a funeral director the next day.
While Connor laid in my bed dying on Tuesday afternoon, I had made plans for returning back to the office for 2-3 days a week (I had been working from home for the last 3-4 years). First part of those plans was to go into the office on Friday to setup my workstation. After I notified my boss of Connor’s passing, he told me to take as much time off as I needed, but I decided that I couldn’t just sit around this house, so I got up Friday, showered, got dressed and went into work. Luckily, the office is pretty deserted on Friday’s so I didn’t have to deal with too many people coming up to me and offering their condolences. I know they were doing this out of friendship as I have been working with some of these people for 10+ years, but every time they told me how sorry they were, I had to choke back the tears. I should just not worry and let the tears flow, but I was raised in a time, place and by a father who firmly believed that men didn’t cry. I came to the conclusion that sometimes men do cry, but my father didn’t know this because he never lost a child. I had been at my current job for 21 years, so I didn’t really need to think about what I was doing, I just did it. The day went smooth because as long as I stayed busy, I didn’t think about it. This went on until 2:30pm when my phone alarm went off reminding me that I had the appointment at the funeral home.
I went there alone, not because my wife is weak or anything like that, but I just didn’t see the point in both of us going through it when they only needed one of us. I walked into the funeral parlor and told the receptionist who I was and she called the funeral director. She came out of an office and the first thing she says to me is, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” There’s that slap in the face again, but harder. I lost it, again, and this time I went down to one knee. After a couple of minutes, I was able to get up and we went into her office. It took us about 45 minutes to get all the arrangements done; probably about 30 minutes more than it should have taken, because I keep breaking down at every step of the process. In the end, she was very helpful and sent someone to go pick him up from the medical examiners office even though their workday was about to end. She did this to save us some money because (and I just learned it that second) the country charges $30 a day for storage. Storage. This is my son and the country talks about him like he was an impounded car.
I spent the rest of the week in a daze. Walking around my house, checking on my wife and youngest kid and talking with my step-son Jesse from time to time. I was just going through the motions however because I was numb. There was a lot of crying and a lot of wondering why. When Sunday night rolled around, I started getting ready to return to the office on Monday morning, but that only took my mind off of things for a few moments here and there. I’d look out our front window and see his car. The car he was so proud of. The car that he did research on for months before buying it and I would break down again. I would sit down to watch some TV, thinking that the idiot box would take my mind off of things, but it didn’t. He had a profile on every streaming service that we use, so his name just kept appearing on the screen. Not that it mattered, because I could see, hear and feel him all around the house. From the empty cup he left on the end table to the box of Uncrustables in the fridge (he may have been an adult, but he loved those things). The big reminder was when I looked in the freezer and saw the box of M&M ice cream cookie things that I bought for him that he hadn’t even touched. He loved those things too, but when I thought about it, I don’t think I told him they were there. As I got ready for bed, I realized I was wearing a shirt he got me for Father’s day one year; “Best Bucking Dad” it said. Yeah, that’s me, the dad who worked late at his computer while his son was dying 15 feet away. I can’t stop thinking that if I had “clocked out” at 5PM, I could have caught it in time and he might still be with us.
Woke up Monday morning, yesterday, and tried to bring myself to go into the office but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face 30+ people coming up to me and telling me how sorry they were for my loss. Called my boss to let him know and he was very understanding, going as far as to tell me that he thought I should take the time I needed. Part of me wanted to use all the PTO I had banked and another part of me said that I needed to rip the Band-Aid off if I wanted to start the recovery process. I don’t want to recover; I want my son. Worked from home the rest of the day and was actually able to get some work done. Noticed the clock getting closer to quitting time and realized that soon I would be going to sleep to put an end to the first week of pain and I missed him even more.
It is now Tuesday morning and you’ve been gone a week. I’m going to try to go into the office now because everything here reminds me of you. Maybe going into work will take my mind off you for a short period of time. I wish I could check out and end this pain, but that would only help me while adding more pain to your mother and brothers. I can’t do that, but I also don’t know how to live with this loss, this pain. When we get your ashes back, we’re going to plant a cherry blossom tree in the backyard with some of your ashes as well as ashes from your dog Jake. Neither you, nor he need to be alone. My plan is to sit out at that tree every evening. to be with you. Maybe I’ll come to grips with this over time, but I’ll never understand why you had to go so soon. If I’m wrong and there is a God, I hate him for taking you, no matter what His plan is.
I love and miss you big guy.
Born and raised in South Louisiana and now living in Buffalo, New York. The sole purpose of this blog is for me to bitch about shit.