Mother’s Day without you

ByJoni Bouchard
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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  • My Blue Crayon

    bluecrayon

    December 5, 2019

    My Sweet Will,

    Blue.

    My favourite color for as long as I can remember.

    The color of your eyes and yes, the color of the sky on a beautiful sun-kissed day.

    You are undeniably our little Mr Blue Sky but sometimes blue is used to describe feelings of sadness and these December days are quite blue for me, Willy. It’s not surprising at this time of year to harbour these feelings — we know this well, for every book on grief, every counsellor we spoke to and every parent walking with us on this journey will attest that that is true. Of course, it is. Missing a loved one over the holidays can certainly conjure up a dark blue cloud of sad that can sometimes, for some, make December unbearable.

    For me, December feels like a magnifying glass pointed at the empty chair. Your absence is palpable, Will … sometimes it screams at me and try as I do to search for the silver lining sometimes there are days when I just have to succumb to these blue feelings and I retreat to a place within. I go quietly to that sacred place in my heart where the very best memories live, where you live and where I feel closest to you. I pray to God to help me through the darkness and ask him to watch over me as I sit there for a bit. Long enough to get lost in all those perfectly ordinary days that we shared but not too long that I would forget how to pull myself up. You know this place well, Willy… it’s where we learned to dance between what was and what is. My heart reminds me that grief and sadness are the price of love and that I am feeling blue because I love you and I miss you.

    Sure, the hustle and bustle of December is here and…

    I’ve yet to pull out the Christmas boxes, but I will.

    I’ve yet to put up the tree, but I will.

    I’ll bake little gingerbread boys, like I always do.

    I’ll play Christmas music and sing out loud, like I always do.

    I’ve yet to make my shopping list and venture out to the shops, but I will.

    I’ll wrap gifts and plan our Christmas dinner, like I always do.

    And, all the while I will miss you every second of every minute. Like I always do.

    But, for today and maybe even tomorrow I will dance with you and not worry about the list. When it feels right I’ll be ready to return to the hustle and bustle of December feeling recharged and ready to go. You will urge me to go, reminding me that it is what you’d want me to do. With your gentle nudge I will get busy and “bring on” Christmas like we always do. I will trust that everything will get done to the best of my ability and that what will be this December, will be exactly what it should be. I will be present for those that are my world — Dad and Ben and Justin and Amy and Finn — knowing that together is the best place to be and knowing also that you’ll be smack dab in the middle of all of it. My beautiful family and my friends that feel like family will be close in my thoughts and I will let them all know how grateful I am for their love, their continued support and for their friendship. They really are the best gifts.

    You are my blue crayon, Will, and I love you more than a blue sky day and a bus full of blue crayons.

    Momxo

    Bluewill

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  • C’mon Mom

    willpower.jpg
    All the Inner Strength and WillPower I will ever need…

    Dear Will,

     

    Hey sweet one, wanted you to know how necessary you have been to the introduction of my new knees to my old body and the healing that must take place in order for us to get along in the active life I long for and miss so much. Getting these two new knees has not been an easy road and although I knew it would be challenging there have been some days that I had to lean on you more than I thought I’d need to.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret having the surgery and am happy everyday to report that the chronic, achy, “migraine in my knees” kind of pain is gone!  I have no more osteoarthritis and my legs are straight. I’m taller, Will!  Not quite the Jana Hart kind of tall, but for the record — I. Am. Taller.  And, the cowboy boots I wore to Dina’s special dinner looked awesome, not that you’d really care about that.

     

    This month has been one that I’ve had to lean on you so much more than usual. I have felt you near me, have heard you whisper, “C’mon Mom. Climb on my back. I bet I can give you a piggy back?”  Then my reply to you and I’ve even said it out loud, “Uh. No. Climbing on your back is not gonna happen.”  “Why?” you say. “Because that would just be weird and strong and mighty as you are, Will, you don’t need me on your back.”  So instead and just the way I like it, I have your hands in mine — sometimes just one, but at times both of them.  Your hands are warm and a bit wiggly, but I kinda always liked that.  Being still was not really one of your strong attributes. (Nor was being quiet, however, I think that’s one of the things that made you so likeable amongst your peers.)

     

    One of the most difficult parts of this and one that I am a bit surprised has hit me as hard as it has is the depression that is common to the post-surgical healing process. Before surgery the medical team did talk about it and they stressed that there would be resources available to support me through it should I need it. I consider myself “quite” aware of depression and how it can rear itself in my body and in my mind but it goes to show that knowing about and being aware of depression doesn’t mean you don’t experience it. The reality of the weeks and months of healing and the patience and work that it requires isn’t surprising – that wouldn’t be the right word – maybe restrictive is the better way to explain it. And with restriction comes feelings of isolation that in turn affect my self-esteem… then along comes some feelings of worthlessness… and round and round it goes. The days can be too long, Will.

     

    After my surgery, while still in hospital a social worker stopped by my room and we had a chat about how I was feeling post surgery and what kinds of thoughts and feelings could present once I went home. We talked about depression and PTSD and I shared my story of losing you and how I knew first hand what depression and PTSD was. She listened while I shared my belief that as a mother who’d lost a child there would never be anything worse in my life or nothing that I could not handle going forward. My certainty in those words is as strong as it will ever be and that is what gets me through the sometimes dark moments of depression when I wonder just for a moment where I will find the strength to overcome the feelings of “I don’t know if I can”. It felt a little like the table had been turned when it was she who shed a few tears and we even laughed for a moment about it; how it was she who’d been given a takeaway moment instead of she delivering one to me. You see, Will, she was a Mom too. “Your healing road will have bumps and hurdles,” she said, “but you’ll be just fine.” And, I’ve no double that I will be.

     

    You, little blue, are my inner strength. It is you that pulls me up, that gives me the extra uuumph that I need to heal these knees and get on with it. Your whispers, “C’mon Mom” and your hands in mine are the ever-present reminders that my new knees and I will get to know each other and we’ll be just fine.

     

    Love you, Will. Like a bus, of course. With brand, new wheels!

     

     

     

    Momxo

     

     

     

     

     

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  • You Are The Boss After All

    snow front.jpg
    The snow was gone… and then this happened.

    April 14, 2021

    Dear Will,

    Amidst this crazy world I am desperately trying to say goodbye to winter and in true Willy fashion you keep mixing up snow and sending it down! These past three weeks have not gone without a considerable snowfall and then just to mess with my mind you pull out a blue sky with a sun so warm and bright that tiny green shoots poke through the snow to then throw in an hour or two of more of the dreaded flakes. Not the kind that melt on contact with the ground but at times the kind that blow sideways with the wind and feel like ball bearings are coming from the sky. Each time (and it’s been daily this week) I look up to the sky and mutter your name… at first it was with a smile, then the next time with an eye roll and a smile, the next time with a shake of my head and maybe not a smile… Each time my reaction building on itself and now I’m at the stern mother plea of “enough now”.

    So, what do I hear in return?  You giggling. (How I miss that sound). Your contagious giggle followed by the phrase you (and your brothers) were famous for when you were 4 and 5 years old.  “You’re not the boss of me”.  That phrase on many occasions was part of your power struggle when you just didn’t want to succumb to my requests. Oh boy, I remember it well. We did have to pick our battles and, quite frankly, sometimes it wasn’t worth the struggle.  Here’s some I remember…

    Me: “Will, no cookies before dinner. Even the ones in your pocket should go back in the jar.”

    You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

    (I think most times, I won this one.)

    Me: “Please get in the car, Willy. We haven’t time to ride your bike to the dentist. And, we’re gonna be late.”

    You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

    (I definitely won this one. The dentist was in another town.)

    Me: “It would be a good idea for you to put your brother’s skateboard back where you got it. Before he notices that it is missing.”

    You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

    (You won this one. Once.)

    Me: “How about we put those rubber boots away (after wearing them for three months everyday). Your flip flops just might be more comfortable with your shorts?”

    You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

    (You won this one and wore your rubber boots until you outgrew them in the fall.)

    Me: “Do you think we could leave the Batman cape in the car while we go into the grocery store?”

    You: “You’re not the boss of me.”

    (You won this one too.  On many occasions.)
    batman.jpg
    Ya, that cape. The one with the mask built in.

    So each time you poke me with more snow when I just want to see the grass turn green I am reminded that maybe now, you are the boss and that you must be lovin’ this. Knowing it drives me crazy and relishing in getting the coveted last word. Really, what could be better? Being the youngest of three boys meant it wasn’t often that you got the last word though it sure wasn’t for lack of trying. Up there, sweet boy, it appears you really are the boss. Throwing down the snow mixed with moments of blue sky and sunshine, watching me go from a winter coat and boots to a sweater and my Birkenstock’s, from wearing mittens to enjoying a cup of tea on my deck, from turning on the fireplace to opening the patio doors… what the heck, Will! As I think of what this must look like from your vantage point up there no wonder you’re giggling. Of course, you hold the boss card. Admittedly, the lesson is that it is only April and we are only onto our 4th snowstorm of Spring and I’m not holding my breath on you throwing down some more. You are the boss after all.

    A snowstorm and the sun in the same day

    As for winter and saying good riddance, I know you’re happier than a clown up there never having to say goodbye to winter.  I imagine the snow is up to your eyeballs and that your skis are close by. And the sky is bluer than blue and it’s snowing at the same time. How do you do that?  Dumb question. I guess only a boss would know.

    Doing what you loved.

    Green grass, sigh…. soon, I hope…

    But, my winter boots are still at the front door.

    I miss you, my sweet boy. More than you could ever know because there’s not a word down here that is big enough to describe that.

    And, I love you, little boss. More than a bus parked on a patch of green grass with snow up to the roof under a bluer than blue sky.

    Momxo

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  • Bounce Bounce Bounce

    beautifulwill.jpg
    My sweet Will.

    November 12, 2017

     Dear Will,

     

    In the still of this Sunday morning I wake to the beauty of this day – it is quiet as I lie here in my bed… the sun is shining, Finn is sleeping at the foot of the bed and my mind is busy making a list of all the stuff that I have intentions of tackling today. And yet, all this aside, my heart yearns for the little voice that is you saying “Mom, please get up. I’ve got people to see and places to go. And bacon would be so awesome this morning!”

     

    I wish I could reply, “Hold on, sweet guy. Relax. It’s 7:20 am and we’ve plenty of time.” I remind myself that whatever I do (or don’t do) today that you are with me every step of the way, every minute of every day. Instead of rushing to get up and get going with my list I succumb to days gone by and I get lost in memories of Sunday mornings when you were at my bedside bugging me to get up. When the tears become too much and I feel like I’m on the slippery slope to not getting out of bed at all, I decide to get up and make myself a big cup of tea. Minutes later, I’m at the kitchen table writing you this letter.

     

    There is a bird in the tree outside my big kitchen window and he seems intent on garnering my attention. A little guy, probably a chickadee, who is bouncing from branch to branch… and I just know it’s you. I stare at him for a few moments until he flitters away. A few minutes later he returns. More bounce bounce bounce.   He stops and looks at me. I imagine he is saying, “I saw you crying in your bed, Mom. Think about the good days and all the happy times. Remember me when I made you smile and we laughed together. If you believe that I am truly with you in this moment, I know I can make you smile.” What happens next? I’m smiling at that bouncing little bird.

     

    He flies away again… and a few minutes later he returns. Bounce bounce bounce. It seems he has more to say. “Just look at me out here on this tree. I’m free as a bird and never far away. I will always be here and when you need me just call my name. I promise I will hear you because I miss you too, Mom.” Ok, I’m still smiling, but I can feel the tears coming again. He continues, “Our journey together will never end, Mom, because we’re a forever thing. I visit you often because I miss you, too, but this jumping from branch to branch thing is a whole lot of fun and you’d have never allowed me to climb this high.” He’s right. The only way he’d have climbed that high is if I wasn’t home.

     

    Gosh, I needed that little bird today. More than all the tea in China. Thanks, sweet Will, for your visit and for your message. It means the world to me.

     

    Love you, sweet boy. More than a bus, little bouncing chickadees and all the tea in China.

     

    Momxo

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  • Those Little, Blue Butterflies Get Me Every Time

    The Little Blue Butterfly May 18, 2015     Dear Will,   While walking Finn down by the river this afternoon I noticed the little, blue butterflies were visiting again. I’ve missed seeing these little beauties, as these were the first I’ve seen since last summer. First there was one, then two… then three, all fluttering about in the sunshine, stopping here and there, up and down and all around — going nowhere it seemed, or certainly not in a hurry if they were. I smiled wondering if they were you… and in the same breath, of course, they were you. I slowed my pace and began to talk to them, extending my hand and then stopping to just take it all in. I asked them, “is that you, Willy? Is it you? Is it?” They continued to flutter about always coming back to where I could almost reach out and touch them. They stayed close, stopping and starting in unison as if I was leading some sort of dance.   For quite some time I was oblivious to anything else. Their delicate, little, blue wings so perfect and the way they’d stop and rest on a dandelion or a leaf or a blade of grass while their little wings moved as if that is how they breathed. Little ins and little outs. And then off they’d go, their wings moving so effortlessly and so quietly amongst us.   I needed to see those little, blue butterflies today, Will. A sign from you that you are here, that you see us and hear us and love us still. These past few days have weighed heavily on my heart and to see the weightlessness of love in the wings of a little blue butterfly instantly picked me up. I hadn’t realized until that moment just how fragile I was feeling today. For a few days, I didn’t want to open my eyes and instead closed them tight for fear that the river of tears inside of me would spill. I’d been walking with my head down instead of up, not seeing the beauty in little things…until I saw the little, blue butterflies this afternoon.   For the rest of my walk I longed to touch you, to see your face, to hear your voice and in the quiet of my afternoon walk I did try, but the only sight and sound was in my memory. I sighed. But I will never give up on my belief that you are here. Just a blink away. Somewhere over the rainbow. On the other side of the veil. I’ll be out again tomorrow Will, on the same river path as today. And I’ll look for you again… because those little, blue butterflies get me every time.   Love you, little blue. Like a bus full of those little flutterbies.   Momxo  

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  • Mother’s Day and Handmade Love

    Handmade Love from my Will
    Handmade Love from my Will
    Sunday, May 11, 2014     Dear Will,   Today is Mother’s Day and my heart is heavier than usual. This is my third Mom’s Day without you and I miss you as much as the first one — it certainly doesn’t get easier. I am sitting on my bed in my own little world staring out of the window at the blue sky I’ve waited days to see, and my head is swirling with thoughts of you. Mother’s Day holds such special meaning; a day where moms are universally celebrated and appreciated for all they do for their children and families. When I think of Mothers Days past my heart smiles at the extra love that would find its way to me via breakfast in bed, crafty gifts made at school and handmade cards that oozed love in their heartfelt and sometimes misspelled words; the drawings, the “coupons” that promised jobs sometimes too big to be true, but with intent so large – all a sign of how big that love was. Those cards will always be treasures for I have kept them all and the gift of all those uneven folds of paper are so incredibly priceless now. I feel sad knowing that today, again there will be one card missing.   Mother’s Day will never be the same without you here. I am so thankful for the big box of handmade cards, the table you made for me in grade 7, and the countless memories of cold toast, cereal, watered down coffee and smoothies in bed; of clay creations, glittery picture frames, yarn weavings, tissue paper flowers…   One thing will never change, Willy — I will always be your mom and you will always be my son/sun.   Lulab and missing you so very much,       Momxo

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0 Comments

  1. Beautiful you are sweet sister of mine and we are thinking of you …and Will… as this is a special day and you must remember you are always the greatest mom in our eyes as well as your sons’ eyes! Love you like a sandwich with a lil dillwilly on the side as well xoxo
    One World…Lotsa Love!

    Reply

  2. ‘Don’t be ashamed to weep; ’tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees and fruit can not grow without water.’ Happy Mothers Day Joni. Sending you love and hugs tonight. xoxo

    Reply

    1. Kaylie, those words… those words so beautiful and so true. I really needed to hear them. Thank you. And, Happy Mom’s Day to you, too. Hug your precious three boys tight and then hug them again for me. Thanks for your love. And your hugs, too.

      Reply

  4. Dear Joni:
    You write so beautifully. It’s probably because you are really “talking” to Will that it is so full that unmistakable “mom talk” to her son. I certainly did think of you on Mother’s Day knowing that you would be hurting and longing for the Mother’s Days when Will was still here. You are and always will be his mom; that part never changes. That mothering shaped him and made him the awesome boy he was. Wishing you peace and hugs Joni. Take care💜💜

    Reply

  5. Just thinking of what a wonderful mom you were/are… If I were your son looking down(which I know he is) I would bring sunshine to that patch of seeds and my sun would have a great big smile… Just think of the joy of being a mom has fulfilled your life. Fast forward I am sure you will be the kind of grandma a child would love to call nana or gama or what ever… I know this might not help now but I am proud of my grandson being proud of his mom for being a bed maker. Thank God we our other kids and family to help us though our days of grief. Thinking of you lots. LYLAS (love you like a sister) Carol

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