A Room With a View

ByJoni Bouchard
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The view of Polar Peak from your Memorial Rock

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Dear Sweet Will,

I am writing you this letter today from a very special place. I am sitting on the concrete skirting that surrounds your memorial rock in a natural alcove that Mother Nature carved out in the forest, a short walk from the top of the Elk Chair on the mountain that you so lovingly referred to as your ski home. It is incredibly lush here; so beautiful, peaceful, and quiet. At this moment the only sound would be me crying. I am here by myself for a bit and I couldn’t contain my silent tears so the mountain you loved is hearing me cry out loud. The pain of missing you so terribly sometimes comes out this way, Will. My tears started when I woke this morning. My head was still on the pillow as I reached over to the bedside table for my Will heart necklace. I held it in my hands for a few moments staring at it as if I was looking into your blue eyes. Your ashes sealed inside the silver heart pendant that I cupped in my hands before I secured the necklace around my neck is the most treasured piece of jewelry I own. It is the first thing I put on in the morning and the last thing I take off before I crawl into bed. I have cleaned and shined it with my tears on many occasions and this morning was no different.

Elsy, Kathleen, Sarah, and Tess at your Memorial Rock
Elsy, Kathleen, Sarah, and Tess at your Memorial Rock

I am in Fernie this weekend for our second annual moms, daughters, and dogs hike to your rock. Claire, Sue, and Lisa and their “oh so pretty” daughters who I know you remember (Elsy, Sarah, and Tess) and, of course, the dogs (Sophie, Oakley, Bella, and our Finn) are sharing this special weekend with me. This year, however, your most special friend, Kathleen, and the closest girl I have to a daughter, is also here. I asked her if she’d come along as my “guest daughter” and in a while they will join me here to honour and remember you. But right now is my time with just you and as I sit here with my iPad ready to begin my letter to you I can’t help but notice the beauty that surrounds your memorial rock.

Your rock in itself is incredible but where it rests is a little piece of heaven on earth. The ground is dark brown, rich and fertile, and still moist from the morning dew. The foliage and trees in all shapes and sizes and textures form a canopy protecting your rock somewhat from the elements that are part of a mountain climate. Some of the branches are tinged with yellow now as Mother Nature begins her transition from summer to fall. The ones directly overhead remind me of eyelashes as they flutter to and fro in the sunlight keeping me cool in the shade that they provide. There are still some glittery snowflake decorations hanging in the trees; remnants of the winter day the week before Christmas when Dad and I came here to specifically hang them. As I look down at my feet I notice bits of silver glitter that has mixed with the soil around your rock and my heart, even though my tears, somehow finds a reason to smile. I smile because I remember so clearly each day I visited your rock during this past winter while skiing. Inside my ski jacket pocket was a container that I filled with glitter and sparkles and each time I visited I would sprinkle them around your rock and the snow around it. Angel dust is what I called it. But what I notice most, Will, is the breathtaking view. This room with a view, your room here, is majestic and beautiful and a reminder that we are all so small amongst these huge mountains. However, your spirit and your presence here is much larger than all of us combined. I feel the warmth of your smile and I can hear your giggle (a giggle like no other and one of my favourite sounds ever), but what I long for more than anything else is to have you standing here with me, holding my hand. If only that was possible.

What I will take with me down the mountain today are the countless memories of you at this place you loved and this view from your rock. Mother Nature was kind to bestow upon us this breathtaking view of Polar Peak. Your room with a view is beautiful, peaceful, and tranquil…. just like you.

I love you little Blue. Like a bus. And I miss you bigger than the blue sky above your favourite mountain today. Know that the words we had engraved on the back side of your rock will be there for all time and will always ring true…

You are forever a part
of us and never alone.
We love you, Will,
and we miss you.

Love Mom Dad Justin Ben XO

Momxo

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  • Shhhh…. Will is here. 

    willandme

    Me and my boy at the top of the Timber Chair in Fernie, BC.

    July 19, 2017

    Hey Will,

    The long, lazy days of summer are upon us and I enjoy the simplicity of these days so very much. Waking up when it feels right is a gift. My morning begins with a big cuppa joe as I contemplate the makings of my day and sometimes another cup to kickstart those contemplations into action. Occasionally, even with good intentions nothing gets crossed off the list and that, perhaps, might just be the very thing that I love the most. Why? Because it’s ok. Because there’s always tomorrow or the next day or the next. I haven’t always felt comfortable with this relaxed way of looking at things…. I guess I’ve mellowed over the years. And, well that’s a good thing.  

    One of the difficult things that comes with this slower, almost lackadaisical pace, has been slowing down my mind; finding comfort in that space that, since your accident, held so much fear for me. My busy mind kept the very intense, painful feelings of losing you to a constant simmer instead of the gut wrenching pain that would creep into my thoughts whenever my mind was quiet. The “chatter” so to speak became a way for me to cope without you in the physical world; it became quite literally a way to survive. Allowing my busy mind to be quiet has been one of my biggest challenges and it is why I found the practice of yoga so difficult. A sobbing mom was hardly relaxing for anyone. 

    These days quieting my mind and allowing thoughts of you to reside there have become a beautiful thing. Its taken a long time to get here and as I look back time was indeed my friend. There were days early on when it was just too painful to let my mind wander, too many times where if I allowed myself to do so my tears would takeover. Too many days where once the flood gates opened I could not stop the painful feelings and the scary, guttural cries of a mom in mourning. The fear that I would never be able to make them go away was very real. It’s been a long process, an evolution really, where time became the conduit to what I can now call a beautiful place. I’ve come to realize that you are my breath, my being, my reason to carry on and that my life story is you. I AM a mom who has lost a child and all the pain that comes with that incredibly painful loss has made me who I am now.

    For a long time I looked for you, Will. Everywhere I went I looked for signs. I uncovered rocks and searched for butterflies and rainbows and snowflakes that sparkle in a certain way. The beautiful thing is that I’ve come to trust that I needn’t look for you because you are here all the time. All the things that are you find their way to me seemingly without effort — heart-shaped rocks at my feet, little blue butterflies on my path, the chirpiest bird outside my window, the chipmunk that just won’t stop nattering, dew drops on the grass that seem to wink at me in the morning sunlight, the twinkle of a faraway star and in the winter, those Willy white perfect snowfalls. You are everywhere. All the time. 

    I wake with thoughts of you and close my eyes at the end of each day knowing that you are near. The spirit world has become one where I live more often than not… and I like it there. It is in this realm that I see you, hear you and feel your presence. I have come to trust that the spirit world lives in my mind and when I’m quiet you are all abuzz. Your love, your giggle, your warmth, your silliness, your sensitivity, your crazy boyishness; all that I miss so very much is all there. Of course, there are times when I have to make myself busy, kickstart my mind, get my list-making brain chugging along because if I didn’t, Will, nothing would ever get finished. Or started for that matter.

    But here’s the other cool thing. When I’m chugging along you’re there chuggin’ along right beside me. You are my little messenger, the one who guides me and who makes me live in the moment. You have taught me to open my eyes and to believe. You have shown me just how important it is to make memories and to cherish those that mean everything to me. You have taught me to give life the gusto it sometimes requires and to also just stop and let things be.

    I miss you here more than anything and I’d be lying if I told you I don’t cry. There are still lots and lots of tears but that’s ok, too. Tears are a part of loss and with deep love there is deep loss and lots and lots of tears. There really are no words for what losing a child feels like here on earth. Only when I quiet my mind can my heart really feel the kind of love that lifts me up. It’s a “Willy kind of love”. A big love where you and I measure big love with big busses. 

    These long, lazy days of summer are full of you and in the quiet of this morning and in my mind at this moment there is abundant beauty. It will be a good day, Will, because I’m spending it with a million thoughts of you. 

    Love you like a bus, sweet boy.  

    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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  • Returning to School as a Starfish

    Jordan, Sam, and Will
    Waiting their turn to play volleyball… Jordan, Sam, and Will
    Thursday, August 18, 2011 (89 days) Dear Willy, Today I met with Mrs. McLaren at your school and mine, too.  She kindly bought me a latte and we shared a piece of banana bread while we talked about you and all the things that made you so special to Banded Peak.  I have decided that I’d like to return to the school for a couple of days a week and so we talked about that too.  To be there everyday would be just too difficult and as I explained to Mrs. McLaren I have some work to do on me.  I have to grow that new appendage… remember the starfish story?  When a starfish loses one of it’s “arms” it grows a new one and I was telling her that when I lost you, I lost one of my “arms” and that arm will always be with you… you, being only twelve, still needed your mom and, gosh, as your mom I still needed you too.  I don’t know what my new appendage will look like but I am on a mission to grow a fabulous one because it will be for you.  One could also call it finding my new purpose here on earth; finding a reason to live out my days until I am reunited with you.   I think she understood what I was trying to say.  We discussed that I will not work in your grade grouping as that would be torturous really.  But I think being at the school in a lower grade might be good for me.  Another bittersweet, Will… and boy oh boy, my world is filled with those. I explained to Mrs. McLaren that sometimes my eyes will well up with tears while at work but that maybe my tears didn’t have to be a negative; that maybe the kids would see that being sad is part of being human — that even adults have tears sometimes and that it is ok.  Maybe my emotions would bring out their emotions and maybe, just maybe, bring down their “walls”; especially the kids that come to school and hide amongst the turmoil of anxiety, the ones that have tummy aches and tears and sadness and behavior issues, etc.  I told her how great it might be for them to see that they are helping me too and that it wouldn’t be just me helping them.  Life is a two way street and working together could help them and me all at the same time.  I know that there will be times when   it will be overwhelmingly sad and I will have to excuse myself and maybe leave for a few minutes, but she told me that would be ok and completely understandable.  I am so grateful for the school and the support I have there. You have impacted so many, Will, and I will need you to help me through this.  Help me understand that it is right and good for me to go back.  Give me the strength I will need daily and the courage to show that being human has all kinds of faces; some happy and some really sad.  Sit proudly on my left shoulder where the boy angels sit everyday I am there.  I will need you there WITH me…. because that is where you should be.  And, by the way, Willy, when I grow my new “arm”, this starfish Mom of yours will still always need you. Love you more than five arms,   Momxo

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  • The Afterglow of a Bike Ride

     
    Will's Friends Ride For Will!
    Will’s Friends Ride For Will!
    Wednesday, June 18, 2014   Dear Will,   On Saturday, your Third Annual Ride For Will was held here in the community that was (and still is) your home. It was a beautiful day sandwiched between two rainy ones and my fingers were crossed, hopeful that you’d help out by keeping the rain away…. In the back of my mind I was preparing for a ten minute down pour at some point during the event, your signature “gotcha!” way of wanting to always have the last word, and in the end I was thrilled that you waited until we were safe inside.   Three years and three rides have yielded almost $150,000 to your Foundation and I am still awestruck at what happens on this day each June that we call The Ride For Will. People, young and old, show up with smiles and pledges, with hugs and support, not only to benefit your Foundation, but to honor you and show their support for Dad and I and your brothers. It is a memorable and most beautiful bittersweet day that renews our hope that you will never be forgotten. To me, there is something timeless about a bike. The simple pleasure it provides and the freedom it symbolizes is a right of passage in our neck of the woods for each and every child that grows up in this community. I will always remember the excitement that precluded any bike ride into Bragg Creek for icecream or candy and when you and your friends could do it without an adult ride-a-long, quite frankly, you’d hit the big time. Now, Will, your friends are driving to the city in their cars instead of packing their pockets with loose change to buy candy and icecream and that alone is difficult to accept at times. The passing of time is indeed a tough pill to swallow and I am quite sure it always will be.   What is magical about your Ride is that your friends and people who didn’t have the chance to know you show up with their bikes, adorned with WillPower bands, and I Ride For Will stickers on their helmets and bikes. They ride and stop at the refreshment stations and fill up on free candy and freeze pops, pedal to the school and back passing all of the familiar landmarks that were second nature to you. When I see your buddies on their bikes they magically become twelve again and though you aren’t there, YOU ARE. I am hopeful that you will always be with them in some way.  Whenever I see a boy on a bike, I am immediately thrown back into the many memories of you ripping out of the cul-de-sac with your pant leg tucked in your sock (if you weren’t wearing shorts!) in a hurry to meet a friend or two at the bike jumps or the soccer field or at a friend’s house to play. Those were the gifts of an ordinary day growing up here and memories that I will always treasure.   The Apres Ride BBQ and Silent Auction/Raffles that follow your Ride are amazing too. The love and support that shows up at our community Redwood House in burgers and icecream, in items donated for people to bid on and the lure of a raffle item is also magical. The entire day is beyond anything that I can describe and when I think back to three years ago how a few friends suggested and asked if they could organize a family bike ride for us in your memory I am overwhelmed at how it all started and how it has evolved and how it has continued…   It is no secret that you are in my thoughts every minute of every day, Will. My days begin and end with you and on Saturday, June 14th it was evident that you were on the minds of many who were there to support and remember and celebrate your life cut short. I know you were looking down on all of us with your big Willy smile and bluer than blue eyes. Since your tragic passing, it has always been our hope that something good could be born of something so tragic. There is healing for us knowing that in your memory what began as the simple pleasure of a bike ride has grown and taken on an identity of its own. The Annual Ride For Will allows us through your Foundation to make a difference in the world and that just feels right and feels good.   Now as I bask in the afterglow of Saturday’s Ride For YOU my heart feels a little lighter and oh, so full. You, little Blue, are quite a boy.   Love you like a bus on a bike, (and only you could make sense of that!)     Momxo

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  • Mother’s Day without you

    Holding you close always and forever
    Holding you close always and forever
    Mothers Day, Sunday, May 12, 2013 (721 days) Dear Will, It’s not an easy day for me. I woke this morning and tried a couple of times to get out of bed, but I just couldn’t do it.  I took the Kleenex box back to bed with me and stayed there all morning. I am trying to find happiness in remembering all the Mothers Day’s I had with you; the breakfasts in bed, the dinners you and your brothers and Dad prepared, the handmade gifts you made at school and the most beautiful handmade cards that I loved more than anything. I have saved them all.  I considered them treasures always but now that I will never have another from you they are more precious than anything I own. As I write you this letter I am sitting on a blanket beside the rock and your tree at Heaven’s Gate; the place where we lost you forever almost two years ago.  It is both so very sad to be here but in some ways, comforting too. Memories of that day and the fun you were having here are as crystal clear as if it were yesterday and in the quiet times in between the birds chirping and a squirrel behind me in the forest chattering away I can hear your laugh and your voice. But, in the next breath as the tears trickle down my cheeks I, too, remember how it all came to an end and our world was changed forever. Before I sat down I opened a bag of wildflower seeds that I brought along with me and sprinkled it all around the rocks and the base of your tree. In a month or two from now I am hopeful that I can sit here amongst the wild flowers; this spot already beautiful but a little closer to heaven I think with a mix of wildflowers shining their faces up towards the sun during the day and bowing their heads at night as if praying for another day to keep you company. I am in no rush to leave this little place of heaven on earth. I will finish up the cup of tea that I also brought along before I pack up the blanket and my iPad and head back home.  Dad and your brothers are going to put together dinner for me this evening. We will talk about and remember the Mother’s Days when you, too, were at the table with us.  And we will all miss you so very, very much Love you, little one.  More than a bus. Momxo

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  • The Five or So People You Meet in Heaven

    Will – Grade 7 Basketball

    March 16, 2017

     

    Dear Will,

     

    As I’m sure you already know, your Grade 7 teacher (Mrs. Harford) has joined you on the other side and I wonder if you may have been one of the five or so people that met her in heaven? She was so lovely in so many ways and was a teacher that had begun to make a real difference in your learning of important life skills.

     

    She had some real “mom like” qualities and was determined to teach you that amongst the obvious academics, you needed to know the importance of good organizational and strong time management skills. Stuff that I, as your mom, tried to teach you and your brothers over and over and over… A few things that Mrs. Harford had over me were 1) she wasn’t your mom, 2) she didn’t see how well you could dig in your heels, and 3) she was so lovely all of the time.

     

    One thing you did super well was to present what you thought most important to a 12 year old boy and as I look back, YOUR grade 7 real world perspective was important. Well, most of it…

     

    Friends and sleepovers and the importance of a bike and a pair of skis… A voice that always mattered and a warm bed… Help with homework and a ride to all those early morning practices… Age appropriate freedom like biking to school and ripping down to the park on your skateboard…Eating cookie dough and choosing your own new shoes, icecream and marshmallow science (when I wasn’t home), sitting ON Dad and a before bed tuck-in.

     

    All these things were so important to you and though I didn’t buy in to candy before dinner and chocolate before bed you didn’t seem hungry when an apple or banana was the option, nor were you receptive to the word “no” even when “yes” was out of the question. (This is where Mrs. Harford didn’t see how well you could dig in your heels.) Grade 7 — a time when you were really coming into your own.

     

    On Wednesday afternoon Mrs. Fisher sat beside me on the couch in front of our big living room window and as we shared tears and talked about Mrs. Harford’s battle with cancer she exclaimed mid-sentence, “look, it’s snowing? It’s Will!” The uncanny thing about this scenario is that it was +8 C and it should have been impossible for it to snow, but it did. You have taught me that nothing is impossible in heaven and so it was at that moment we agreed that you and Mrs. Harford had just met each other on the other side. Crazy? I think not. Why? Because you have taught me so much about the other side and what it’s like there. How else can one even try to explain snowflakes on a warm, sunny, spring day?

     

    I hope that you were on your best behavior on Wednesday and that weren’t talking out of turn. Were you tidy and organized and on time? I know you may not have had matching socks or combed your hair (really, I can’t even remember a time when that actually happened down here, but you had that kind of hair!). All this aside, I do imagine that you had the biggest smile and that your bright, blue eyes and zest for fun showed her that you’d make it feel like some of the best parts of her life up there — in heaven where the skies are always blue and there is no such thing as cancer.

     

    Love you sweet Will. Like a bus carrying the five or so people that met Mrs. Harford in heaven. Stay close to her, Will. She still had so much to teach you.

     

     

    Momxo

     

     

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