Returning to School as a Starfish

ByJoni Bouchard
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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  • A New Year. And, I Am Here.

    My boys. My everything.
    My boys. My everything. December 2004
    January 11, 2014 Dear Will, This is my first letter to you in 2014, and though you may be wondering why it took eleven days to finally put my words here…  well, Willy, it was just really hard for me.  I know what you’re thinking.  “Geez, Mom.  You were never at a loss for words.  Gosh, there were days when I wished it were so, but c’mon, Mom, this never happens to you!”  Truth is, I have thought about you every minute of every day; I have talked to you out loud, whispered your name, looked for you in the sky, in the snow, and in every nook and cranny of life.  Most times, Will, thankfully I found you staring right back at me.  I have taken you with me to Fernie and Montana and back, tucked you safely in my heart where you occupy an indelible space; a space every mother creates for her children when they go to heaven without their moms, no matter how old they are.  These past 11 days and the days over Christmas have been especially difficult.  I woke each day wondering if this might be the day that I could find the strength to put some happy words here… but day after day (even though I tried and tried) it just never worked.  As soon as I would open my laptop and type your name, my tears would fall and I would find myself paralyzed, staring at an empty screen. This holiday season was our third without you and though I know that grief never follows a straight line from unbearably sad to sad, to a little bit sad, to a little less sad… I somehow wanted to believe, to hope, that maybe this year it would be a little easier.  Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong.  For me, Christmas without you was again unbearably sad.  Was it because I expected/hoped it would be a bit easier?  Maybe.  But then, how could it be?  I know in my heart of hearts that it will never be easier, never be less painful, or less empty.  What we’ve been told is that it will always be sad, but that we will get better at learning to live with the pain, the loss, the emptiness of not having you here.  Oh, like that makes it better?  Of course it doesn’t. What I will focus on and remember is the wonderful things that we do in honor of you around the holidays.  How our tree is adorned with memories of you and of us spending our winters skiing in Fernie.  How your Christmas stocking, instead of being filled with gifts and goodies, sits underneath the most beautiful spray that is the centre of our Christmas dinner table.  The florist at the Farmers Market incorporated some of the blue and silver balls from the last two Christmas centrepieces into some cedar and evergreen boughs that hugged the same frosted hurricane vase with the white candle that is your light in the middle of all of us at Christmas.  Will, it was really beautiful.  (Thank you, Sandy).  How under the tree is a gift for each of us from you, our Santa now.  And how the last gift we open is a special family gift from you — always a jigsaw puzzle for us to work on together.  I’ve yet to open the box, but think I might just do that today.  Somehow seeing 1000 puzzle pieces spread out all over the dining room table and knowing that it’ll take us a month or two to complete finds me smiling. There were some extra-special gifts under our tree this year and all were in honor of you, Will.  I’d chosen two of your t-shirts, one each that held special memories for your brothers.  For Ben, your black and gold LINE t-shirt, the one you’d won the summer you both went to Windell’s.  I remember Ben always saying that you’d win everything and that he was never that lucky.  For Justin, I chose your purple Fernie Freestyle Ski Club t-shirt.  You know the one… you had a few because you’d worn out the first one.  There are many pictures of you wearing this t-shirt under your flannel shirts.  It was part of the classic “Will uniform”.  Annette kindly sewed them into pillow covers (Thanks, Annette) and now your brothers have them on their beds.
    Justin's gift to all of us. Amazing!
    Justin’s gift to all of us. Amazing!
    The other was a gift for each of us from Justin.  He insisted that his gift be the first one we opened on Christmas morning.  Inside his beautiful wrapping (he might need a little work on this?) each of us received a mug that Amy had made and the two of them had designed.  On each mug was the wolf that you’d drawn in kindergarten.  I was unaware that transposing a real image was even possible on a handmade piece of pottery and am still in awe that he would know how precious this gift would be to all of us.  They are priceless and I know I will treasure them forever. The careful thought and love that we put into our Christmases without you is a beautiful testament to you and how much we miss you and love you.  As your mom, I am so proud.  You and Dad and your brothers are my everything and I couldn’t love any of you more than I already do.  Nana and Pa shared Christmas with us this year and that was really special, too.  It was quiet and had its share of laughter and tears like every Christmas going forward undoubtedly will. New Years was again sad all over again.  Though I tried to be more social this year, I found myself alone in my bed before the stroke of midnight wishing more than anything that the pillow I was holding was you.  As midnight approached I could see the fireworks light up the darkness, hear them explode with loud bangs.  I could hear the music and the laughter and the words “happy new year” being shared from one to another outside the window.  Where I found comfort was snuggling with Dad and my pillow under the covers with my eyes closed remembering how much you loved staying up till all hours on this magical night to ring in a new year.  I’ll try again next year and maybe it will be different.  Or maybe it won’t.  It will only be what it will be.  But for now, the holiday has passed and I’ve settled once again into my routine.  I am back at school, back in my community, back amongst friends and family where I can be me; where it feels safe to shed a tear or two, even when asked one of the questions I dread most this time of year, “How was your Christmas?” So now, here I am 11 days in to 2014 and I am here.  I know you are here with me, too, Will.  There are gobs and gobs of snow outside; the biggest blanket of Willy we’ve had in a long time!  Is it a coincidence that Mr. Blue Sky has just played on the radio?  Maybe.  But I know it’s you.  And earlier this morning, I found a loonie and two quarters in the couch cushions while looking for my knitting needle.  Another coincidence?  Maybe.  But again, I know it’s you.  I think I will open that jigsaw puzzle today.  Help me, Will, I think this one’s gonna be a doozy. Love you, little blue.  Like a bus and the beauty of every single, magical snowflake. Momxo
    Thanks, Willy
    Thanks, Willy

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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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  • Can Boys Really Be Super Heroes?

    batman.jpg
    Batman Will on the trampoline

    August 22, 2017

    Hey Will,

    I cannot stop thinking about a conversation I had a couple of weeks ago with an 8 year old boy in Fernie. This boy, the youngest child of friends of ours, and whose older siblings you would remember, is an unforgettable kid. Like you, his eyes were full of wonder and at his young age he is already quite an athlete. Also like you, he has two older siblings whom he idolizes and it feels like he might be on that same mission you were on to out-do, out-wit, and out-shine them whenever you thought you had a chance. You must remember, Willy, that this didn’t always work in your favour… sometimes the pecking order did rule. Me saying, “be patient, little man” over and over seemed to feed your little fire!

    It was a beautiful, warm evening and we were at a fundraiser for Avalanche Canada up at the Resort. While chit-chatting with this boy’s mom I think he must have overheard us talking about you. He came over – a wee bit shy at first – and whilst climbing all over the chair and the railing and whatever else he could grasp onto while balancing on one leg he was at the same time hanging onto our words. His mom asked him to tell me what the name of his favourite ski run is and without hesitation he said, “Wills Run”. I looked into his full-of-life eyes and told him that you were my son; that I was the mom of the boy who Will’s Run was named after. He looked at me like you were some kind of super hero. He already knew much about you, Will, and he lit up when I told him that he reminded me of you. We talked about freestyle skiing and how the naming of your run came about. He listened with such intent, never interrupting, like he was hungry to hear more. So, of course, I told him a story or two or ten. Then he asked, “Would Will like me?” I felt my heart skip a couple of beats — his question full of so much feeling and a question that caught me off guard. I took his little hands into my own and told him that you’d have loved everything about him. He was so happy to know this. His Mom told me that he’d asked her the same question earlier in the day. It goes to show that acceptance is a huge thing no matter how old we are. And it also goes to show that no matter how old we are we seek out those who make us feel good in this world. This 8 year old boy made my day special because of what you mean to him. It was such a cool conversation we shared and I am so grateful to have had it.

    That night was yet another time where I wondered to myself then and over and over these last couple of weeks if you really get how big you are, Will. For a 12 year old boy with a slight build and big feet you seem to have this super hero aura. And I think to myself that if you can be that kind of example to another boy then I am the proudest mom in the land. I am over the moon proud of who you were and what you stood for. I am proud of how you brought out the best in people, young and old alike. The goodness you held in your heart and the kindness you showed to others was beautiful. And guess what? Perhaps the most astonishing thing of all is that you continue to do so still…even from the other side.

    My heart grew that day because that boy reminded me of you. I am glad that he knows your legacy and that he asked the questions that many are afraid to ask. And I hope that because he knows that you’d have liked him he’ll enjoy his turns down your run more than he did before. You’re quite something, Will. Something bigger than life in this little mountain town.

    I love you, little big man. Bigger than a little big bus in a little ski town in the big mountains.

    Momxo

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  • The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

    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

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  • Little Super Heroes

    My Little Superhero - Batman Will
    My Little Superhero – Batman Will
    October 3, 2015 Hey Willy, On Thursday when I turned the calendar to October my heart felt heavy. What was once one of the happiest months of the year now feels empty and hard as I try to prepare myself nothing seems to be able to take that feeling away. I’ve certainly gotten better at recognizing that my cup is half full instead of half empty but the turning of the calendar is yet another blatant sign of the passage of time; not just because it marks another month but because it’s your birthday month.   On the fourteenth (in eleven days) you’d have been 17 years old and instead of celebrating with you at our family table we will honor you in what has become our new birthday tradition for you. Like always, I will still prepare your favourite meal (ribs) and bake a birthday cake and like we’ve done on your last four birthdays after dinner we’ll gather in the backyard with our handwritten messages tied to a helium balloon and in our own time we’ll let go, sending our messages up to you in heaven. It’s not easy, Will, but it is beautiful. Instead of ruminating on the heaviness of what could have been I will live in the memories of birthdays past and remember the sometimes crazy birthday party adventures that you so loved. Your laugh, Will, and the sound of you and your friends running around like little super heroes outside will always be one of my favourite sounds. Super heroes? … Well, here’s a super hero story that I want to tell you about. This week one of the little boys that I work with at school shot a ray of sunshine through my heart like a little super hero when he asked, “Mrs. Bouchard, can you tell me about your Will?” Of course, I said yes as I love when your name comes up. You are always on my mind and when someone asks about you my hearts swells.   Though sometimes it’s through tears I can pour my heart out with stories about you. This little guy didn’t know you, Will; he’d never met you as he’d have only been 3 years old when you passed but somehow he’d heard of you and he wanted to know more about you. You were definitely on super hero status that day and after I answered his questions and shared the beautiful parts of having a boy like you he thanked me. You’d like this little guy, Will. And by the way, when he asked me if he’d meet you when he went to heaven I told him that for sure he would (because I told him you have his dog. His dog died a couple of weeks ago and you have him because you always wanted a dog). My sweet Will, you are indeed a super hero. You’ll always be a super hero to me. The missing part of you is so big and I know that if you had the special powers it took to come home for your birthday you would. Instead, I believe you have the special skiing super powers that enable you to ski from cloud to cloud and star to star. Love you like a bus with a big super hero cape. Momxo

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  • Our Christmas Memory Tree

    December 21, 2013 Dear Will, Christmas is almost here and though I am trying to focus on the good things that will be part of our Christmas this year, memories of you and our Christmases past are the only things that occupy my mind.  I go through the motions but just past my eyelids are tears that I have been trying so hard to suppress.  This morning is different.  It is quiet in the house; I’m the only one up, I’ve made myself a cup of tea, turned on the lights on the Christmas tree and now I can let my tears fall.   I sit here wanting only to spend some time with you.
    Will's Santa Hat
    Your Santa Hat
    As daylight is beginning to show its face, I stare at our tree and all the memories of you that adorn it.  Since your angel date our Christmas tree has become a Memory Tree.  Instead of the angel that we used to put on top, we have placed your Santa hat.  I smiled while putting it up there looking at the way you printed your name with a sharpie on the inside when you were in kindergarten.  The bigger the space, the bigger you printed.  Your name is really just a bunch of sticks and being the third child we chose a name that, of course, we loved and was meaningful, but at the same time was going to be easy for you to print when you were little and beginning school.  Will (not William) was perfect for so many reasons! There are tiny white twinkly lights from top to bottom and on each branch is a Fernie family ski pass; all five of us from all the years we were Fernie pass holders.  You and your brothers have been Fernie pass holders all of your lives and as I look at the photos on each pass I remember so many fun times.  The photos on these (expensive) little pieces of plastic are a chronological record of how each of you have grown and changed from year to year; from tots to big boys and Justin and Ben, now young men.  There is one of you that is all bent and I smile remembering it was the one that you didn’t remove from your ski pants before throwing them in the dryer (one of those wet snow days!) and it had begun to melt from the high heat.  When I look closely, Will, I notice you weren’t the only one that forgot… For the last two Christmases I have added three ornaments each year to signify you and your brothers.  The first year I found three white sparkly stars.  I wrote your names on each of the stars and hung them in the same order as your star on Orion’s belt in the Orion Constellation.  Sandy and Don Bietz (your kindergarten teacher and her husband) dedicated this star to you after your angel date so it made perfect sense that I put three stars on our tree.
    My Three Stars
    My Three Stars
    You, Justin, and Ben
    You are in the middle and Justin and Ben are on each side protecting you.  I have to tell you (and I’m pretty sure you’ll find this funnier than I did !*?#) that when I came home from work a couple of weeks ago, the three stars were on the ground.  The string of tree lights was askew and had been pulled across the carpet.  The cord was chewed through and a couple of the bulbs were missing (we have new lights now).  Finn!  I panicked while Finn skulked out of the living room with his head down low and his tail between his legs.  Little bugger… he knew he’d done wrong.  What I was worried about most were the three stars.  When I picked them up both of your brother’s stars were chewed on the ends but yours was perfect.  They are all back on the tree in the order I’d originally put them.  Perhaps next Christmas I’ll smile remembering that story but it’s a very small smile now.  Last year I hung three snowflakes and this year three glittery peace signs.
    Your hand-sewn Gingerbread Boy
    Your hand-sewn Gingerbread Boy
    Here and there I hung the Christmas ornaments that you made in school and up high (where Finn could not possibly reach or see) I placed amongst the branches the brown felt gingerbread boy that you had hand-sewn and stuffed when you were in grade 2.   All are Priceless handmade memories that I value more than anything. Nana and Pa will come and spend Christmas with us this year and that will be special.  That makes me smile but I wish more than anything that you were here, too; that you’d be with us in your pajamas on Christmas morning.  Like the last two Christmases, Willy, under the tree will be the last gift that we unwrap — a new jigsaw puzzle from you to us.  A gift that will give us hours and hours of family time while we remember you and how much we miss you and love you. Happy Heavenly Christmas to you up there, Will.  I know you’ll be looking down on us and that in many ways you’ll be with us on this favorite holiday of yours. Missing you so much… and love you like a bus. Momxo

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0 Comments

  1. love it Joni…your stories make me cry and every time I do I feel a little pain leaving my body. i don’t expect the pain will ever go away and maybe it is never supposed to- but you put words to the voice I have lost…God Bless, love you Kristin

    Reply

    1. Oh Kristin. Your comments are always so heartfelt. Because you know what this journey feels like, you would probably agree that crying is not optional when you lose a child. Tears become part of who we are. I remember Bob saying that it is important that you let the pain leave your body and that keeping it inside makes it worse. Do you remember him saying that? I also remember him saying that the deeper you love someone the more it hurts. Boy, if that doesn’t explain why it hurts so much I don’t know what would. I am so glad to have met you, K. I wish we didn’t have to live this nightmare… but I find it helps to just be around you. Love you back and upside down. xo

      Reply

  2. Joni, this is so beautiful…. I think of you so often… I will keep you in my heart and my prayers.
    Love,
    Lori

    Reply

    1. Thank you, Lori. So nice to hear from you and comforting to know that you think of me. It is painful to live without Will and I try hard to find the silver lining in all things. Not sure there is a silver lining in losing a child, but there are certainly ways to channel the sadness into positive things like helping other parents who are living the unimaginable. I think of you too and hope life is treating you well. Thanks for you note. It means so much. xo

      Reply

  4. You amaze me Miss Joni, I am so very proud of you good luck with school the children are so very lucky to have you in there lives. Love Lyn. XX.

    Reply

    1. Thanks Lyn. This is actually a letter that I wrote just months after Will’s accident. It turned out to be too early for mr to return as it was just too difficult to be in the school then. I did, however, return last september for the year and loved it! It was like medicine. I always appreciate your comments and love that you keep visiting my site. Thanks. Xo

      Reply

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