All Good Dogs Go To Heaven

ByJoni Bouchard
Our Finn and Old Buck
Our Finn and Old Buck

Thursday, March 28, 2013 (676 days without you)

Dear Willy,

Jess, next door, put old Buck down yesterday.  Over the last year and a bit his quality of life was diminishing quite rapidly and understandably so. At almost 15 years old (105 in doggie years) he wasn’t the same Buck you’d have remembered.  Oh, how you loved that dog and he, you. When I spoke to Jess today she told me that one of her fondest memories was when you and Ben would wander over to their house when they were just new to our cul-de-sac to ask if you could take Buck for walks.  I will always remember how cute the two of you looked with Buck as I watched your backs head down the street. It will be odd to not see old Buck out and about but my heart smiles knowing that now he has you.  He has you to take him for walks pain-free in heaven.  And you have an old pal to keep you company; to sit at your feet, to pet, and to cuddle up to. It’s no secret that you always wanted a dog… And now you have one of the best.

Take care of each other up there.   I know you will find him… you’ll see him, Will, for he is the old yellow lab with the tail that never, ever stops wagging. Miss you, Willy.

Love you like a bus full of labs,

Momxo

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  • Butterfly Love

    June 13, 2018     Dear Sweet Will,   If there was ever a day that I needed to see one of those little blue butterflies it was today. And I have to tell you that the little yellow one dancing in it’s path was the icing on the proverbial cake. You see, my sweet boy, it meant to me that maybe you have seen my friend Dina up there where the sky is always blue and no one gets cancer. She passed a week and a bit ago after a lengthy battle with cancer – so unfair at only 53 years of age. img_0743-3 On one of my last visits with her we talked about you. Actually, your name would frequently come up. For as long as I knew Dina she’d ask about you and your brothers; so genuinely interested in all of you. She was at peace with dying and was always more concerned about those she’d leave behind down here. We would talk about how she would see you and how she would make sure you were brushing your teeth and wearing clean socks. She told me she was going to look out for you.     img_0742-1I’m sure you’d remember her when you saw her and when you did you’d notice that her heart was larger than most everyone’s. She was a beautiful woman who made the world down here a better, kinder place. She was a super cool lady and I know you’ll love spending time with her. She’ll make you laugh, Will. And she’ll buy you ice cream and new shoes. She’ll want to take you to the rainbow bridge to show you her beloved dogs – Max and Sammy. She loved those doggies and I think she’ll be spending a lot of time throwing balls and sticks. Perhaps, you could help her with that.   Sticks and balls… boys and dogs… yup, it’s not rocket science. ..   Thank you for fluttering along beside me on my doggie walk today, Will. I love when you do that. And thanks for inviting Dina along with you. Through fresh tears for my friend and my never ending tears for you my heart did smile and dance a little.   Come back soon, sweet boy. You know where to find me and I’m always looking for you.   Love you, Willy. Like a bus full of little blue butterflies x a million. And the yellow ones are pretty adorable, too.   Momxo  

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  • There is always love…

    Photo from May 18, 2014-1Monday, May 19, 2014     Dear Will,   The toughest weekend of the year is in it’s final hours and as I sit here in my pajamas in the mid afternoon staring out at our WillBilly tree, I see the green ribbons from your thirteenth birthday still tied to your branches and am reminded how much your tree has grown in three years. Its another day of intermittent sun, rain, sun, rain and in many ways mirrors the ups and downs that come with the long weekend that will always be defined as the weekend that our world changed. It has been a weekend of attempts at distraction; a dinner out with friends, a movie date – just Dad and I, of quiet times and withdrawal, of bike rides with Finn and Dad, of naps and tea and a hot bath, and of many tears. It has been a weekend of intense memories, of flashbacks, and reflections of how yesterday three years ago, began so happy and ended so tragically. This long weekend is also another reminder of the passage of time and how missing you gets bigger and bigger and bigger.   As I skim the tops of the trees, searching for a break in the overcast sky for a patch of blue and for signs of you, I think about the many ways love has found its way to me over these last couple of days. Friends and family have shown their love and sent their hugs via text messages and emails and voicemails. Love also came in the form of a heartfelt letter attached to a written poem from a woman I am beginning to realize is magical. Yesterday morning, before Dad and I got out of bed, love found its way to our doorstep in the form of a loaf of freshly baked cinnamon bread. There was no note, but I knew where it had come from and I hope that this special friend knows that her simple gesture was so much bigger than that. It was love. Love came in the form of a friend offering the simple distraction of a ride to Bragg Creek in her new car. Love appeared when Justin came for dinner last night and it came in a loving text exchange with Ben as I crawled into bed last night. Love has come in the form of quiet embraces from Dad and from wet nose kisses from our big, brown dog. Part of Finn’s morning routine is to jump up on our bed and wiggle his way in between Dad and I like you used to do. He has so much of you in him, which explains why we frequently refer to him as the FinnWilly (knew you’d like that, Willly). Some of the most important people in my world are away this long weekend and yet I feel their love as if they were sitting here beside me. There is a string of texts from my most special friend that is like an invisible chain of paper hearts from her to me. Of course, it is love.   Not surprisingly, this weekend is full of a heaviness that I can’t shake off and hard as I try I think it’s just easier to succumb to it, to accept that it is just that — a weekend to be sad. Today, I gave myself permission to have a pajama day and to cry. I’m in my pajamas because there isn’t anything more comfortable and I cry because I am missing you so very much. Soon Will, I believe that a rainbow will fill the sky and I’ll know it’s you sending big love my way.   I love you from my toes up to the stars and, of course, like a bus.       Momxo

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  • So… I Did a Thing!

    Friday, June 26, 2026

    Hey Willy,

    After many gentle nudges over the years I jumped off the literary cliff and published our story in a memoir! It’s a culled collection of my letters to you that recounts our mom-son moments and memories, all the ways you relentlessly showed up for me, and how we continue our relationship still. Those early days, weeks, months and even those first two or three years after losing you were heartbreaking—it was impossible to sugar-coat how difficult that was but as I wrote all those letters to you something beautiful and hopeful emerged. Out of fierce mother-son love and a desperate need for a connection with you I found a way to survive and, little by little, grace and joy followed. 

    It is fittingly entitled LOVE YOU LIKE A BUS: Letters to Will and chronicles my journey through debilitating loss to finding joy and purpose again. I did not know how to do life after losing you… I only knew that I could never stop writing to you because it was the only way I knew how to keep you present in my thoughts. I was never ready to say good-bye… I just couldn’t, wouldn’t, and still can’t and won’t.

    Over the years I have questioned and searched and toiled over what my life purpose is. Over and over I have wondered what I am supposed to learn and accomplish in my time here on earth. Occasionally, I wished I could just succumb and be with you, but I knew that could never happen because I needed and wanted to be Ben and Justin’s mom, too. They say it is impossible to be in two places at one time… but they are wrong, Will, because you and I have found a way. 

    In many quiet moments I asked you all the questions I struggled for answers to—the “Why did you have to go?” and “When will I see you again” and “How will I survive in this world without you in it?” Your message has been steadfast. “Mom, you are a helper and a messenger and your purpose is clear. You can help others understand the pain of losing someone they cannot live without by sharing our story. We know that the distance between heaven and earth is only a heartbeat and that wherever you are, I am right there with you.”

    All your whispers and encouragement from friends and family over the years have suggested that sharing my journey might help others through their own grief and also provide them with a wonderful perspective about life and the parts of it they can and cannot control. The reminder that life is fleeting and fragile is one that bears repeating. Living and loving without regret and choosing to see and celebrate all the little things along the way matter—and when you lose someone you love they, ultimately, are what matters most. Collectively, all those gentle nudges were getting stronger to ignore and so, Willy… I did it! I published our story.

    In early fall I will officially launch LOVE YOU LIKE A BUS: Letters to Will. I will proudly stand with you on my left shoulder where the boy angels sit, and we will put it out to the world, Willy. Until then let’s quietly celebrate. I promise I will share more details come September. 

    I miss you, my sweet boy, but I see you and I hear you. And… I love you like a bus wrapped up inside the sky-blue book covers of a mom-son love story about us. 

    Momxo

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  • Hanging In Heaven With Your Papa

    Christmas Eve 2023

    Good morning, my sweet boy,

    In my world you are the brightest star in the night time sky; the one in the middle of the three stars that make up Orion’s Belt but there is another bright star in the night sky this Christmas…. we all know it as the North Star, but to me it is also my dad and your papa. I know you’ve been hanging with him since he joined you in June and I just know you have shown him your favourite parts of heaven — back and forth between the snowiest mountains to the rainbow bridge where all the dogs live. I laugh a little knowing that those dogs love having you and Papa up there. You, throwing ball after ball after ball and Papa, feeding them all of the very best treats and cereal in a bowl every morning. 

    Today is Christmas Eve and there is joy, but there is also a heaviness that time still cannot erase. When I set the table tonight, and even now as I stare at it, there is an undeniable emptiness that magnifies the empty chair more at this time of year than any other. My heart knows that the sadness, the heaviness in my chest, is the weight of the big love that you brought and continue to bring to me and Dad and your brothers. 

    I am grateful that I am in a place where I can find joy in this season but at the same time I cannot help but think of my mom and how hard it is for her to find joy when she is grieving the loss of my dad. This is the first Christmas for my mom without my dad. The first Christmas in 64 years that Nana will spend without Papa. While it is a gift to have had so many Christmases together, it is also difficult to imagine a Christmas without him. Of course, there will be a bright, beautiful candle on my sister’s table when they all gather for dinner tomorrow. That candle representing Papa (and you) and the love and light that you continue to bring to us. And, Will, wait until you see our table tonight! Instead of a candle this year, you will be a winter wonderland of snow and twinkling lights that only an earth angel would know how to assemble. And tucked in right beside you and the twinkling lights will be your papa.

    I’ve a special Christmas wish this year and one that only you can make happen. As you and Papa time travel tonight and tomorrow can you please drop Papa off at Nana’s and let him dwell there with my sweet mom for the entire holiday? Can you make sure that Nana sees him and hears him and can you make sure that her tears turn from sorrow into joy. Can you tell Papa that we love him and that we miss him and that in this whole, big, old world there is no one that misses him more than Nana. Remind Papa to tell Nana that it’s quite alright to feed the dog cereal from a bowl every morning and that up in that vast space we call heaven that he will always love and miss his one true love. Then come to our table so we can bask in all the wonder that is you. I am grateful every minute for the love that you continue to bring to us and I am happy that you are hanging in heaven with your Papa.

    I love you, Willy. Like a bus and more than Christmas and all the beauty that this season brings. Sure, there is joy, because we find it in love but, dang, that empty chair still hurts. 

    Happy Christmas, little blue.

    Momxo

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  • Those Little Gingerbread Boys

    gingerbread boys

    December 23, 2020

    My dearest Will,

    It seems rather fitting that yesterday, on the 22nd day of the month I decorated the gingerbread boys I somewhat reluctantly baked last week.  Each year since your passing the little gingerbread boys have become a tradition that I set aside time for and that I have always looked forward to. This year with COVID and how it has changed our world I stumbled, wondering at times if it would be worth it, wondering who would eat them all (other than us!), wondering if anyone would really even notice that the “boys” didn’t make it into their little holiday bags ready to be handed out to friends and family as in years past because we’re isolating and not gathering socially due to the pandemic.  And then it hit me – ultimately, it would matter to me and it would matter because of you. It would matter because it has become a tradition born from your passing and not even a world pandemic would stand in the way of those little gingerbread boys and what they mean to me.

    I realized yesterday how much I enjoy the ritual and learned that it really wasn’t any trouble at all, but rather a little labour of holiday love in honor of you. I buried myself at the kitchen table with Christmas carols and warm tea, with little gingerbread boys and piped frosting and little white candy hearts. I thought about our Christmases together and though my mind got stuck on how 12 Christmases just weren’t enough I managed to flip the bitter to sweet and remembered how much fun we packed into the Christmases we did have together.

    It is easy to complain about the busy-ness of the season but for me the days leading up to Christmas were always the best and the busier we were, it seemed the happier we were. The magic would build day by day, even when the magic of Santa became the magic of giving for all of us. After your angel date we adopted some new Christmas traditions because we knew Christmas would never be the same. To keep on as we did would magnify the empty chair, the empty stocking and the achingly absent “To Will, From Us” gifts under the tree.

    Instead we chose to make you the star, the angel, the toque on top of our tree. We made you our morning Santa with socks and pajamas from you to all of us Christmas morning. We still hang your stocking on the mantle amidst all of ours but on Christmas morning it becomes the anchor upon which our Christmas dinner centerpiece sits. We carefully place it in the middle of our dining room table where we light the sparkliest of candles. The last present under the tree is a jigsaw puzzle or a game from you to us – a promised activity that we enjoy doing together. And then there are the coveted gingerbread boys. The boys I am glad I did not leave out this year. Now that they are decorated the world feels a bit right again, even in this crazy and strange world of unknowns and uncomfortable concerns about the coronavirus. Admittedly, I didn’t bake as many this year knowing that I’d eat far too many if they were hanging around the kitchen. There is nothing right about one small family having to eat 10 or so dozen of those little boys… they are small, but…

    I enjoyed our afternoon, Will. Needless to say, I miss you more than ever — more than I did yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I am overjoyed that the little gingerbread boys prevailed and that we have them to enjoy over the holidays. Yesterday I discovered that without them it just wouldn’t feel like Christmas. The tags I included with the little boys in every holiday cookie bag over the years are printed and in the tin — an undeniable reminder that…

    “Before they can be men, they must be boys.”

    And so this is Christmas. And on this side your little light still shines as bright as ever.  I’m told some stars are like that, Willy. In my heart of hearts I know your spirit is with us today and yesterday and tomorrow and on Christmas and everyday. We carry you with us in all that we do.  Your little light is in each of those little gingerbread boys, a reminder that the little boy / the child is alive and well in all of us, if we just believe. 

    I love you, my sweet boy. More than a bus and more than all the little gingerbread boys and men and sugar cookies and milk in Santa’s big belly on Christmas eve.

    Love Momxo xo xo xo

    christmas gingerbread boy
    The handsewn gingerbread boy that Will made with his tiny hands in grade 1
    remains a Christmas treasure.

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  • Forever My Son. Forever Your Mom.

    Monday, May 11, 2026

    My sweet Will,

    As you well know, Mother’s Day holds a lot of bittersweet emotions for me. Being a mom to you and your brothers brought me the most joy and even still with Ben and Justin in their 30s, the second Sunday in May still just means so much. The nostalgia at remembering how lovely it felt to be surrounded by the three of you and celebrated on this day is something I will always treasure. It is the sweetest feeling to be called Mom and it will always be top of my list of who I am and who I still choose to be. At the end of my life if I could choose to be remembered for only one thing it would hands down be being a mom to you and your brothers. I loved being your mom, Will, and though I miss you in ways I cannot even put to words, you will forever be my son and I will forever be your mom.

     I dream of the day when you and I meet again and though that place and that day feels other worldly and so far away right now, I know it will be my life’s biggest circle moment. I dream of it often.

    I felt your warmth and your love yesterday and as the words, Happy Mother’s Day were spoken by Justin and Ben I heard your whisper in the little blue butterfly that I saw on my walk along the river path yesterday… I knew it was you.

    In a week from now, and looming over me as I write to you is the undeniable lead-up to the hardest day of every of the last fifteen long weekends of May. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of no physical you, no bursts through the front door, no phone calls or texts or warm physical hugs. I will say, however, that I do still see you and hear you and feel you, and I thank God every single day that you live within me and that my imagination is as clear and as clever as you ever were. I got you, Willy. Forever. 

    I miss you sweet one. Forever my son, forever your mom, and forever loved on our forever big bus.

    Momxo

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0 Comments

  1. I can see Will and Buck running through a beautiful meadow, Will laughing with his infectious laugh and Buck barking in sheer delight to be young and agile again! Keep your head up Joni and your heart turned toward Heaven! Love you girlfriend! Deb

    Reply

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