This article is a re-post of a Facebook entry from Ms. Kristen Kuzmanich.  All Braves should know about this and keep this family in their prayers.

“We didn’t make it to the oncologist appointment we referenced in our last letter because before that appointment we received information that Chris’s kidney function was not improving. In fact, it was getting rapidly worse and it was worsening much faster than anyone had anticipated. We already knew that dialysis was not an option, so there was no need to go into the office to meet with our oncologist. We already knew what this meant- no more chemo. No more options. Now this is all up to God and God’s time.

“The doctors said we could come in so that they could be the ones to deliver this information to Chris. I politely declined. I didn’t want to go through the whole process of getting Chris up and out of the house, dragging I’m to Group Health, only to be given the news that we were at the end of the road in regard to actively fighting his disease. I couldn’t do that to him. Instead, I chose to tell him. So last week I came home from work and sat down at his bedside with his parents. While surrounded by photos of our family, his children, our wedding, and while holding his hand, I told Chris, my husband of (almost) 5 months, my best friend, my rock, that we had run out of options… that we were looking at days or weeks instead of months… that this was it.

“My heart ached. It still does. I hated to be the one to tell him, but I knew it was better coming from me at home than coming from a doctor in some sterile office. Some people can’t believe I chose to tell him, but I really feel this was part of the promise I made to him in our wedding vows: “to love [him] and honor [him] all the days of my life”. Part of honoring him and loving him meant being the one to tell him this news, even though it hurt me so much. But as it always has been with the two of us, these difficult situations are best managed and survived when we hold on tight to one another and stick together. Why should this be any different?

“So we have formally entered into hospice, a phase of care that focuses on managing pain while preserving Chris’s dignity, comfort, and helping him come to peace with what awaits. You have to formally choose to enter hospice, and usually that happens one of two ways: you either are tired of fighting and want to enjoy your final days/weeks/months without all the appointments, procedures, hospitalizations, etc. or, you have no other options. Chris is, by no means, ready to stop fighting. But we no longer have options. Hospice IS our only option. (And yes, we’ve gotten other opinions, we’ve double checked, asked every doctor “Are you absolutely sure?”). We are left with days or weeks, and we are already five days into this phase of care.

“Part of me honestly believed that if I paid enough attention to the details, if I asked enough questions, if I followed all the directions and documented all the meds, fluids, symptoms, etc. that I could buy him more time. If I relentlessly advocated for his care and did my research, I could get us to that six months, and maybe longer. We went from a month of improvements and great time at home, increased mobility and hopes for more time, to two very troubling hospital stays in three weeks. There was the swelling that would not subside, more blood clots, and suddenly, before either of us really realized it, we found ourselves without anymore treatment options and transitioning to hospice. I know, I know… this is in no way my fault. But I can’t help but shake the feeling that we missed a step, we missed a phase where things “got serious” and we discussed things we could do to avoid hospice so soon. But alas, here we are.

“Tonight we were able to tell E and A that we had the very limited time. Chris told the girls he only had days or weeks and we tried to explain what was happening as clearly as possible. We tried to assure them that things would be okay, even though they were going to lose their father. No amount of time or space is going to erase the pain of their faces from my memory. Seeing these two innocent girls be told they have days with their father, a father they love and adore… it just isn’t fair. These two kids have an amazing capacity to love, and I just pray that this journey with their dad pushes them to love more fully and more completely, rather than hampering their capacity to love.

“Because of all of this, I am taking time off from work to spend our remaining time together. It is a simple choice, but it is not without its challenges. I struggle to sleep at night, as I strain to hear him breathing, selfishly praying and begging that he will still be with me in the morning. I have known since August what we were facing: we would lose Chris. I just feel so caught off guard by the shortened timeline. All I can do is pray. I pray and I pray and I pray. I pray that my fear will subside. I pray for peace in my heart. I pray for Chris to find peace, that he won’t feel pain, that he won’t feel discomfort. I pray for our family, the girls especially, and for what their lives will look like once their father is gone. And I still pray for a miracle. I still pray and I still hope and I still wish and I still beg for the intercession of Blessed Mother Marie-Rose. Please. Please help us. Please heal him.

“The emotions wash over me at the most random of moments, and I vacillate between a deep sense of peace and love for Chris and this journey and what it has taught me, what it has given to me and Chris and our family, and the opposite: an incredible sense of anguish, sadness, and grief. I know that at some point, I will learn to live with the loss of the love of my life. I know that I will heal, we all will, and we will rebuild our lives. But I will never be the same. My life (and your lives) have been so blessed and enriched because of Chris. So I hold onto that simple fact, and I hold onto my faith, and I know that Chris is absolutely 100% right when he looks at me from his bed, as the tears stream down my face, and he smiles at me and he says, “It’s going to be okay. You are going to be okay. We are all going to be okay.” It is going to be okay. I am going to be okay. We are all going to be okay. Maybe not right away. But yes, some day. It will all be okay.

Blessed Mother Marie-Rose, pray for us.

Love,
Kristin and Chris Connors“