365 Days Without You…
May 22, 2012 (… one year)
My dear little Will,
One year ago today and it feels like minutes and forever all at once. Flashbacks, tears, trembling, it all comes back to these moments and the impact of the two little words… “I’m sorry”. Those two words reverberate over and over in my head. The two words every mom and dad and brother never, ever want to hear, nor should they. The natural order of things is that it just should never happen this way; you Will, the youngest were supposed to outlive us all. If only that were true. As soon as those words left the mouth of the paramedic, there were unfamiliar sounds that came from deep within me, guttural really, and then panic, shock, disbelief and tears that I would not, could not stop and still cannot a year later. At that moment, all of those emotions hung in the air while I realized that the world as I knew it only moments before was forever changed and forever gone. I immediately began to miss you more than anything. All the hope that I was clinging to while the two teams of EMS workers and the STARS ambulance doctors worked on you were replaced by sadness, devastation, emptiness, and a pain deep within my very being; feelings that I cannot even fully describe. Oh Willy, when I heard the STARS helicopter in the distance, it’s whir coming closer and closer until it was above us and then landed, I thought, “OK. Now it’ll be good. STARS is here now. They’ll take you and dad and me to the Children’s Hospital and it’ll all be good.” Oh, my dear little boy, I cannot describe how that hope turned to the worst feelings of sadness that I could ever imagine and then questions and numbness. Unbelievable numbness. And a hole in my heart that I suddenly realized was never going to mend. Losing you meant a part of me was lost too. My life here will never be the same without you. My heart still so broken. The pain still so real. I love you, Willy, more than one could ever imagine, more than a million buses.
Help me get through this, little blue. Keep watching over me and Dad and your brothers. Send us signs and smiles, and know that we will never forget you. Always remember this, Will; you are forever a part of us and never alone. We love you and we miss you; from the bottom of our hearts and to the very tips of our toes and then like a bus.
Momxo
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August 23, 2016
Hey Willy,
Yesterday was a 2-2 day. Another mark on the “when our world was perfect” scale and like all the days that mark the 22nd day of each month this day just always gets me. The 2-2 days seem to be a little more difficult than all the other days. I’m certain that even without a calendar my body has come to know when it is the dawn of a 2-2 day because as soon as I wake the rhythm of that day changes. It stops. I stop. I spend much of that day preoccupied with thoughts of you. I time travel back to the days and years when our world was perfect because you were in it. We didn’t know it then but we sure know it now.
December 22, 2018
Dear sweet boy,
In these final, few days before Christmas I am stopping to pause; to give myself permission to escape this busy bubble of hustle and bustle so I can spend a day uninterrupted with you. As the busy season unfolds I struggle more with losing you than I normally do. Every December feels like this. Perhaps it is because there is such a strong focus on family and for us, well, it is out of order and interrupted. We carry on as best as we can because we know you’d want us to spend Christmas doing and being and loving as we always did. And so we do. For you. And because of you.
Last night was a restless one for me. I tossed and turned, waking frequently with thoughts of you and Christmases past. Memories that would shake me awake followed by a sense of urgency to want to close my eyes and try to lull myself back to those very precious times. It was a bittersweet dance and after hours of going back and forth I decided that writing a letter to you while I sat in the early morning darkness amidst the lights on our Christmas tree would be time well spent. I always do feel better after a conversation with you.
As I sipped my hot tea I thought about the magic of Christmas and how you, being the youngest of the three boys, were the one who kept the Santa magic alive for all of us for many years. I laughed recalling some of the tactics Justin and Ben would use to keep you believing that without a doubt there really was a white bearded, chubby guy in a red suit that made and brought presents, but only if you were on the good kid list. They had explanations for every question and played along not wanting to ruin it for you (… probably because I threatened them and I’m quite sure the thought of no Santa gifts was a pretty strong deterrent). I did hear recently of a funny albeit brilliant story of a mom who told her two boys that the smoke alarms in the house were Santa cams and that when the green light was on (which, of course, is always on) it meant that Santa was watching. Everyday. All year long. I wonder how long that worked? Your brothers weren’t quite that menacing.
Mostly, Will, I remembered how much fun we had every Christmas and how important it was for all of us to be together. Never did I ever imagine that we’d have a Christmas without you and that “never” actually meant forever. The pain of losing a child is unimaginable and I believe wholeheartedly that the human spirit can only go to that kind of pain if it has no choice but to. Seven years into our grief journey I feel like we have come to a place now that we can find moments of joy again but it is because we have surrounded our Christmas with memories of you. You are our Santa and the angel atop of our tree. The last gift under the tree is always a jigsaw puzzle to us from you. You are the candle light on our Christmas table and as we toast the season and each other we toast you as well. I do feel your presence and know with my whole heart that you are with us and that you always will be.
This summer I photographed some of your journal writings from your grade 7 school year. Indubitably what we didn’t know then was that Christmas 2010 was your last Christmas with us on earth. I scrolled through my photos and found what you’d written about Christmas that year.
I’ve read and re-read your words not only for what you said but loving how your writing looked and how I remembered it to be. Your message reflects the true essence of Christmas. Simple and thoughtful. It really is not so much about the receiving part and so much more about the giving. Just like you wrote. That you felt like that at 12 years old makes me a proud mom.
Our tree this year is full of our ski passes as usual and new this year I filled it with fuzzy, soft snowballs. They remind me so much of you. And your brothers, too. I hope it makes you smile as you look down on it. Yup, your Santa hat is still at the top as our angel.
As the morning dawns I think about my list… all the things I need to do… the last minute shopping, the wrapping, the cleaning. And then I looked at your face on your last Fernie ski pass and decided to go make myself another cup of tea. I grabbed a blanket and returned to where I last sat in front of our tree. There is no rush. It will all get done. It always does. More important, today is about you and me.
I miss you so much, sweet Will. More than words can describe.
And, I love you. Like a bus. Full of Christmas love, snowballs, candlelight, childhood memories and everything that is you at Christmas. Sigh…
Momxo
This was a tough one…. Tears are running freely. I may read another at another time. So true of the emotions that happen. Thanks for sharing. Same emotions so raw in the beginning and then for a long time. Faith, Love and Time… XOX
Oh Carol. Life (as you know)so full of bittersweets when you lose a child. It is only through tears that the heart can smile. A quote we got from The Children’s Hospital says it so beautifully; “it takes both the rain and the sun to make a rainbow”. Oh so true. YOU give me hope, Carol. Xo