Time Still Stands Still

Monday, 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

March 10, 2018 Hey Willy, The other day as I was driving home a song that I hadn’t heard in quite some time played on the radio and in those three or so minutes it was ALL about you. It always amazes me how you can hear a song from a long time ago, even your childhood, and somehow, seemingly out of nowhere, you remember all the words. The song was Rainbow Connection (the Kenny Loggins version) and I can say with certainty that I am a lover and a dreamer for sure. As soon as I heard the banjo in the intro I was surprised at how many of the lyrics I could recall from memory. The power of music is really quite something.

Click on link below to have a listen… Rainbow Connection

What was perhaps most beautiful was that I was transformed to a place where it was you and me and nothing else and every word of that song was so clear and believable; it moved me like it never had before. This version was not the original Kermit the Frog version but I sure do remember his skinny, little, green self sitting in the swamp singing out his little lungs in the Muppet Movie. Crazy little green frog with a larger than life personality…. hmmm… sounds a bit like you… I’ve always believed in the magic of rainbows and as a little girl I would make secret wishes and dream of finding the pot of gold at the end every time I saw one. Though I’ve outgrown the pot of gold idea what makes me love them still is the possibility that you are there. And I believe you are. The rainbow connection is alive and well in my little corner of Kermit’s swamp and I wonder, Will, if it’s as clear for you looking at us through those colourful prisms of light. I love the rainbow coloured glasses that Mother Nature gives us so we can catch a glimpse of what awaits on the other side. So, why days later am I writing to you about rainbows? Well, because I’m still humming that song. It’s stuck in my head and speaking to my heart. I think I won’t forget it ever. Sweet boy, I miss you more than any dreamer could dream. And I love you more than a bus parked at the end of a million double rainbows. The lovers, the dreamers, and me could only ever get how much that really is. Momxo

April 28, 2019

Dear Will,

Gosh, sweet boy, it’s been a bit since I’ve put my words to you in a letter… but it sure doesn’t mean that I haven’t been talking to you. Not a day goes by where I don’t find myself having some sort of conversation with you. When I think about it, it must look awkward, even weird, to those who see and hear what looks like a one sided conversation… ahhh, but what they don’t know is that they aren’t one sided at all. I see you and I hear you in all kinds of ways.

I have spent the last few months travelling between what is our new home in Fernie and the place that will always feel like home back in Redwood and area. Both places so very special because they are the two places on this earth that you loved. One you called home and the other you dreamed of calling home. Each time I drive the three hours between those two places I settle into a trip down memory lane and the nostalgia gets me every time. When the sun is shining and the roads are bare I enjoy these road trips with you very much. As I pass the countryside and the landmarks along the way I imagine you are sitting on my left shoulder where my wise friend told me the boys angels sit. I hear you whisper in my ear, “Mom, can we stop and climb on the rocks at the Frank Slide?” “Can we stop for icecream?” “Mom, I have to pee… can you pull over? I can’t wait til we get to a gas station… I gotta go!”

I fondly remember the car games we played; the Geography Game, 20 Questions, and the “When I go to Fernie I’m gonna take my – something that begins with A, then B and C and so on. When you were little we’d play “I spy with my little eye” and no one could ever see what you where spying because, one, you were the random master of detail and, two, I know you would change your mind during play when one of us guessed correctly leading us on a goose chase of confusion until one of us would say “Will, I give up!”. On one of my trips not long ago I found myself playing the Sign Game all by myself. You loved that game, too.

All these family trips back and forth are vividly etched in my heart and as I sit with them now I am grateful that it was a time when phones and iPads and digital devices weren’t as popular as they are now. It gifted us hours and hours of looking out of the window instead of down at a screen. I remember how we’d moo at cows in the fields as we passed and how we sang Christmas carols at the top of our lungs for two months before Christmas. You knew them all.

I love how you’d pack your dark blue drawstring bag with all the possessions you couldn’t live without before we headed to and from Fernie. When you were small, there were little cars and a lego man or two, sometimes a yo-yo or Pokémon cards and always, always a bag of fishy crackers and a juice box. As you got older, that same blue bag held your iPod and your earbuds, your sticker collection, a couple of ski magazines, usually some candy and, always, always fishy crackers and a juice box.

I am smiling to myself now as I reminisce over how you couldn’t stop singing. You. Never. Stopped. Singing. Outside of the car, Will, it was how I knew where you were. Like for real. When you were small it was children’s songs and jingles and lots of Dad’s and your brothers’ music choices – songs that you grew up listening to. And then when you were 10 or 11 you got an iPod and discovered your own world of music. This was a happy time for you as your little world of music and singing exploded. And so did the quiet times in the car. You’d plug in your earbuds and sing and hum and sing and hum and sing and hum… with many reminders to please stop singing out loud. You just couldn’t do it. Not surprising, Dad and I just got back from visiting Uncle Jim in Kelowna and as we meandered along highways we’d never driven we listened to one of your playlists. Years ago, I downloaded it to my iTunes so that I could have it with me always. I’m pretty sure you were with us in the truck that day singing out loud with us as we drove through the mountains. Each song took us back to you and all the countless road trips we made as a family… so many bittersweets attached to that playlist.

These frequent trips I have been making between Fernie and “the hood” are full of memories that at the time seemed uneventful and at times frustrating. After all, a backseat filled with three boys wasn’t always harmonious. But as I look back now, the family time we spent rolling down the highways was a large part of how our family lived and played. What mattered is that we were together on all those drives and my heart swells as I let my mind wander back to those days when our world was perfect.

I miss you, sweet Will. And I will always love you. More than anything and like a bus full of fishy crackers and your favourite tunes rolling down the highway with the sun shining down on us and the windows wide open as we sing at the top of our lungs.

Momxo