Stung Again

ByJoni Bouchard
Will with Jamie and Lauren, at the precious age of 12
Will at twelve, with Jamie and Lauren

Friday, November 22, 2013 (2 ½ years)

Hey Will,

It’s late and I can’t sleep.  The clock on my bedside table marks the last few minutes of another 22nd day of the month and it stings like all the others.  I felt it when I woke this morning.  There was a sluggishness about getting out of bed, about having to go through the motions of this day; another day where it would take a little more effort to put one foot in front of the other. And so after a few minutes of staring out of the window at the sun just beginning to give light to the day I got up and dawdled to the shower. It’s always so easy to cry there; the tears run to the tips of my toes not just down my cheeks to be wiped away with a tissue or my sleeve. Today these tears were as necessary and natural as washing my face and brushing my teeth; tears that have become a routine part of the 22nd day of every month.

When I pulled into the parking lot at school this morning I whispered your name and asked you to help me hold it together today and it worked, Will!  I worked through my day with a smile, but it did sting a little each time I saw the date written on a student’s paper, each time I saw it on a computer screen, each time I saw it written on the whiteboard in every classroom I walked into today, but I’ve come to expect it and so its a little easier when I know its going to sting instead of being taken aback or surprised. That feels more like a punch to the stomach and though that still happens from time to time it is a little less now.  Sadly, to me that can only mean that more time has passed and that I’ve gotten used to what it feels like to be punched in the stomach.  I was working with a grade seven boy who was celebrating his twelfth birthday today and that stung too.  Looking at him took me back to your grade seven year and to you being twelve and how it stopped there.  “Twelve” is yet another word that stings.

The next 22nd day of the month will be 3 days before Christmas and that one will sting more; more like one of those punches to the stomach.  As Christmas approaches the tears will multiply and getting out bed will become more difficult. This I know now and there is no stopping the wave of sadness that lasts throughout the holiday season.  It’ll never be right, never be ok that you’re not physically here with us.  It just is what it is and sadly nothing can change it.  I do feel your presence with us spiritually but oh how I miss seeing you, touching you, smelling you.

Thanks for helping me get through the day, Will.  And thanks for letting me know that you are with me on this new day, the 23rd day of November.  I woke this morning and the first thing I did before getting out of bed was reach for my iPad on the bedside table to re-read my letter. I opened the Songza app and the first song that played was “Mr. Blue Sky”.  I’ll take that as a sign that you are here with me and it made me smile.  It’s no secret that you are my little Mr. Blue Sky; you always will be.

Love you like a bus,

Momxo

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  • A Special Boy and His Special Dog

    Our big brown dog, Finn, and our best dog friend

    Wednesday, May 15, 2024

    Dear Will,

    In an already heartbreaking month for us, yesterday was a heartbreaking day.

    Out of nowhere, Finn’s health had been rapidly declining over the last few weeks and after a handful of visits to the vet clinic, late last week, we learned that our vet believed he had brain cancer. Through collaboration with the other vets at the clinic, they pieced together his rapidly changing symptoms and everything pointed to a tumour in his brain that was causing a domino effect of pain and complications. She told us he would not get better and that his condition was degenerative. What she couldn’t tell us was how much time he had left. In the most compassionate way, she prepared us for what was to come and we decided that keeping him comfortable while giving him all the love we could, was paramount and what we wanted.

    On Monday, Finn began trembling and had fallen a couple of times. That night, while pawing my knee and wanting my hand, he stood before me and stared at me through his tired and ailing eyes. He wouldn’t take his gaze off my own eyes, supplicating my full attention… literally, it was like he bore a hole through my soul and, honest to God, Will, in that moment he asked me to help him go to you. He conveyed that it was his time and his message could not have been more clear. And, he did the very same to Dad. Already missing him, I could not stop crying.

    That night, Dad and I made the heart-wrenching decision that it was time to say goodbye to our best dog friend. With the help of our amazing vet, Finn crossed the rainbow bridge and into your arms yesterday afternoon. Through uncontrollable tears, and the biggest bittersweet moment, I imagined you finding each other and how happy you both were. Finn gets to be with you now and you get the best dog you could have ever asked for. He will give you love beyond what you could imagine, Willy. I have read that dogs only live as long as they do because of how much love they give and that if we, as human beings, had the same capacity to love, we’d only live as long as a dog.

    There is no question that he loved us unconditionally and in return, we loved him right back. He was the perfect dog for us and he came to us at the perfect time. I would even go so far as to say that after losing you, he saved us. He anchored and held us in our loss and through our grief. Suffice it to say, I will always miss my anchor and my best dog friend.

    Nothing was easy about yesterday. The only good thing was that after twelve and a bit years, you got Finn and he got you. Endless sticks and balls and walks with you and endless treats from Pa. No pain, perfect eyesight, no cancer. Just immense love between a special boy and his special dog.

    Enjoy your new best friend, Willy, and as I sit in a puddle of tears, know that I am happy for you and for our Finn and that one day we will all be together again.

    I love you, and Finn, like a bus and more than all the love he shared with us. And, there’s more, Willy. That love is also bigger than a bus and more than all the love shared between a special boy and his special big, brown dog.

    Momxo xo

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  • It feels like May…

    Celebrating a beautiful life
    May 2, 2021

    My dear sweet boy,

    May is heavy. The heaviest of all the months for me. It is weighted with undeniable sadness, with silent tears, with the unendurable pain of losing you and with the loss of our own lives as we knew it almost 10 years ago. 10 years on May 22nd. Wait… sometimes it still feels like yesterday.  And yet in the deepest part of my heart I know you are still with us. I still see and hear you – though in different realms. And Willy, I continue to feel your presence every day because it is just impossible not to.

    Every May I place the book I compiled of your Celebration of Life on our coffee table in our living room and after re-reading every word over and over, year after year I think I almost have them memorized. To this day I am deeply grateful for the heartfelt messages and stories captured on that day and if I didn’t fully comprehend what a treasure it would be to be able to re-read them year after year I surely know now. As part of my lifelong healing, in those first few months I assembled every word spoken, every lyric sung and every memory shared into a book so that I would have it in one place, in something I could hold in my hands and revisit on a whim and, of course, every May.  I am ever grateful for the blessings and tributes written and shared by cherished friends and family and appreciate the support and the heartfelt love that we continue to receive even still.

    As I was re-reading “your book” this morning I wanted to share one of the tributes with you. I know you heard every word that John spoke at your celebration all those years ago but they made my heart smile this morning and they capture your essence in a way that was/is so “you”.

    Here’s John’s words…

    John Griffin Tribute

    THE LITTLE BIG MAN

    I have been asked to speak today on behalf of all the friends of the Bouchard family. Considering how many of us here today share a close friendship with Murray, Joni, Justin, Ben & Will, it is hard to know where to begin. I can safely say though that we all share memories of happy times, that will last forever. Much of what I can say speaks of our family’s countless memories that we have shared with such a wonderful family.

    Our family has known the Bouchard’s since they moved to Redwood Meadows in 1996, a couple of years before Will arrived. It seems as if we’ve known them forever. However, many of their friends here today share memories with Murray & Joni that go far beyond that.

    I know all of us are at a loss for words right now. How can you not be? But when you really take the time to celebrate Will’s life today, the countless memories we have are comforting, and even heart warming. I know that the Bouchard family would love nothing more than to know that we all focus our thoughts today on the memories of a playmate, a ski buddy, a classmate, a brother, and a son who made the world and the lives he touched a better place. Memories can never be taken away. Let me share a few.

    I’m not sure how many of you have done the “kid exchange” thing with another family, but it’s a great system….one couple gets away by themselves, while all the kids get to hang out in the same house together for a few days. And then you repeat the event a couple of months later. Everybody wins!! My wife Nancy & I shared this arrangement on many occasions with the Bouchards.

    I will never forget when Will stayed with us for a few days when he was just a little guy. He refused to wear anything but his Spiderman underwear. The problem was, Nancy & I didn’t know the rules of how he wore them, and it resulted in many tears for little Will. You see, he wanted the underwear on inside out, with the Spiderman picture pointing in so when he lifted out the waist band, he could look down and see Spiderman’s face. He was not a happy camper.

    It is so appropriate that Murray & Joni chose the name Will. Not only was it a great name, there were so many nicknames that could come as a result of it, “Willbilly” being one. As a little guy, Will was an explorer, hence the nickname “Willy the Wanderer”. Will decided one day when he was about 2, that he needed to go on a walkabout. After a frantic search by many, Will was found on the banks of the Elbow River by a dog and his walker.

    Many of us in Redwood Meadows remember the commotion during one of our local ball tournaments. “Willy the Wanderer” decided to climb into the family van which was parked by the ball diamond, with the keys in it, and proceeded to lock the door. I can’t quite remember how we eventually got him out, but I do know that the process lasted a couple of hours, and Will had spent every tear he had in him. On that day, he was known as “Free Willy”.

    You may think that Will was always an adventure seeking child, living life on the edge. Well, I would like to dispel that myth. Of the countless memories we have sharing happy times with the Bouchard family, at the top of the list are the houseboat trips we took together on Shuswap Lake over 3 consecutive summers, from 2002 through 2004. They were, without a doubt, the best of times.

    For the first 2 trips, when Will was 3 & 4, he did not let the waters of Shuswap Lake touch his feet. This had nothing to do with a dislike of water, but had everything to do with the creatures that lurked under the surface, otherwise known as fish. He spent most of his days in the hot tub, getting out occasionally to drop his drawers to his ankles and pee between the bars on the upper deck.

    Unfortunately for poor Will, there were a couple of incidents that didn’t help his courage. On one of our trips we decided to explore the recently discovered cave of the infamous “Bushman of the Shuswap”. Will of course did not join us on that venture, but just the thought of the Bushman ensured that he had nightmares for the rest of the trip.

    Just as he was beginning to overcome his fear of those fish creatures in the lake, didn’t the other kids happen to catch one. Will was actually quite fascinated by the sight of it, and stood by the counter as I prepared our catch for dinner. With his eyes at about level with the counter, I proceeded to chop the head off as Will stared in disbelief. I think it prolonged his fear of water for yet another year, and to this day he never ate fish.

    I’m sure anyone who has been on a houseboat trip has had some misadventures, and tales to tell. Over 3 trips, we certainly had many. But the one that tops them all is the time that Nancy & Murray actually lost the houseboat. Will, known as “Wilson” at the time, ended up stranded on a deserted beach with a few other castaways. Fortunately for “Wilson”, who then became “Willigan”, Joni & I executed a successful rescue & recovery of all involved, including the houseboat.

    The name that I will forever remember Will by though is the “Little Big Man”. It fit perfectly for Will. He was a smaller than average boy, growing up in a family with brothers 5 and 10 years older who he adored and looked up to. He tried so hard at times to be bigger than he was, and keep up with the older boys, and at times he pulled it off. Deep down though, he was a softie, who would gladly switch from being the “Little Big Man” to cuddling with his Mom. He was famous for his hugs and affection, and loved painting rocks with Joni.

    Our daughter Kathleen and Will shared a very close friendship, and never tired of each other’s company. They preferred not to call each other friends, but would rather be referred to as brother & sister. Kathleen would willingly take part in full on wrestling, while Will would gladly succumb to Kathleen’s world of imagination. As so-called siblings, they shared their fair share of disagreements. When Kathleen reached her limit, you commonly heard the “Will, Will” scream, followed by shouts of “What the Heck Kathaleen” in that distinctive Will voice.

    Many of Will’s summers began at Whispering Pines campground on Mara Lake with several families that are here today. I have seen many photos from these trips, and have heard many stories of those happy times. Some of his closest pals were part of those vacations, and they will miss the close friendship they shared with Will.

    And then there’s Fernie. The “big man” that Will looked up to more than anyone else was his Dad. Fortunately for Will, he had more opportunities to share in Murray’s passion for skiing than most get to experience in a lifetime. I know there are many here today that will find it hard to replace the companionship of their ski buddy. If you are one of those powder pals of Will’s, and you look ahead to the ski seasons yet to come, remember to take some time on an epic Fernie day, and think of Will. Take him down that run with you, and give him the ride of his life. He will be smiling with you all the way.

    Murray, Joni, Justin & Ben. On behalf of all of your friends, we are heartbroken, and can’t imagine how difficult this must be for all of you. There are so few words that we can say that can help make sense of this. I truly believe that Will’s spirit lives on. You have provided him with a wonderful life in a loving home and raised him in an incredible community. I do believe he is still smiling that sweet smile, still laughing, and spending his days in a paradise that is beyond the one that he shared with us. Forever young.

    We all want to thank you, Murray & Joni, for accepting our love and support. Your community of friends has been drawn together through a love for Will. You need to know that we will continue to be there for you in the days, and years ahead. You have so many dear friends that want to help you on your journey, and I know you know that. I can think of so many times when it was you reaching out to help others. Now it’s our turn to reach out to help you.

    Oh, how special you are, my sweet boy. No wonder I miss you so much. I hope you never underestimate how “big” your life was to us down here.  Please continue to shine your little, big light down on those of us who continue to celebrate every day of the 12 1/2 years we had with you.

    I love you beyond words, WillBilly. Like that big bus we always spoke of. And then some more.

    Momxo


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  • Dancing in the Rain

    IMG_0284Saturday, July 23, 2011 (8 weeks, 6 days) Hey little sun, After a night of hearing the steady, hypnotic pitter patter of rain through my open bedroom window, I woke this morning to the sun trying to push the clouds out of its path on what appeared to be a mission to make the day a sunny one rather than another day of clouds and intermittent rain.   The raindrops still hung in the trees and time seemed to stand still; the only thing moving was my chest rising up and down with each breath and a raindrop here and there falling from the trees to the ground below.   As I lay in my bed staring out of my window at the treetops as I do most mornings, a branch way up high was sparkling like crazy.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of it and so, I played a game (oh, you’d like this, Will, another game!) where I would close my eyes for five seconds and then re-open them to see if I could find the sparkle again.   The sparkle always caught my eye.  Though I knew it was a raindrop playing with the rays of the sun, I imagined that it was you way up high in the tree, saying, “Hey mom, look at me, look at me!  I’m up here and I see you”.  Each time I closed my eyes or looked away the sparkle again would draw me to that branch.  As that sparkle danced in the sunshine I watched and watched, and I was drawn into this little dance with you.  You are a sparkle, Will.  Always were and always will be. Keep dancin’ little sun — for me and for all who knew and loved you and will forever. Love you like a sparkly bus, Momxo  

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  • Rolling Down the Highway

    Will and I

    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

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  • Stuck in the Snow With Nowhere To Go

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    Monday, December 2, 2013 Hey Will, Well, true to the weatherman’s forecast last night I woke this morning to a blustery, heavy snowfall… what he’d referred to as an imminent blizzard and what you’d refer to as “one of the best days ever!”  I am grateful that I don’t work Mondays and that I didn’t have to get out of bed to an alarm this morning and make my way to school.  I lay in my bed for a while with the warm, feathery duvet tucked in all around me wondering if this is what it would feel like to be floating on a cloud?  Outside, the snow swirled in the intermittent wind, big flakes interrupted from their usual flight pattern and what we normally see here in Redwood.  Because we are nestled amongst the trees we usually see the snowflakes fall like on a Christmas card, but NOT today.  For a few minutes I thought about how horrible the road conditions must be, how terrible the visibility would be on the highways, how the wind would bite my cheeks when I would eventually have to go outside to shovel the driveway… and then in the next breath I thought about what you’d be thinking if you were here.  How you’d jump out of bed on this scheduled day off of school (probably before the alarm on a school day).  How you’d be planning how quickly you could get dressed, eat breakfast and find a friend or two to come over and start the process of building a ski jump and mini rail park in the backyard.  I chuckled to myself, thinking how brilliant Dad and I would have been in winters past to have encouraged you and your brothers to build your winter playground in the front yard (instead of the backyard) adjacent to the driveway…. how you guys would have shoveled the driveway so you’d have more snow to build with (without even thinking of it as shoveling the driveway which would have been a win/win for all of us).  You wouldn’t feel the wind, or the biting cold but instead would be vibrating with excitement thinking only about being outside in the snow.  Hours would pass before you’d burst through the back door shedding all of your outside winter clothing (boots and all) into a big heap hoping that I’d already thought about plugging in the kettle to make hot chocolate.  I smile now remembering how rosy your cheeks would be, how your hair would look like it was home to a pack of mice after you removed your toque, how you’d say your hands and feet were frozen but not complain.  I know I’d be shaking my head, wondering how kids just don’t feel the cold like grown-ups.  And then, here it comes, Will… the words that would roll off my tongue, “Will, please hang up your coat, put your mitts on the heat register.  Your toque won’t dry laying under your boots (oh, there’d probably be more) and then you can have a cup of hot chocolate.”  Because you’d really only come inside for a cup of hot chocolate and a chance to warm up your fingers and toes you’d comply without me having to ask you again to clean up the “heap” at the back door.  As soon as your belly was warm, and your fingers and toes too, out you’d go and the process would begin again.  Outside, inside, outside, inside… Tonight when I’d tuck you into your bed, you’d be hoping and praying for the heavy snowfall to continue.  The icing on the cake would be a phone call from Rockyview Schools early tomorrow morning saying that school was cancelled due to the weather so you could repeat today; a true blue snow day and no school was the very best kind. So instead of thinking of today as a terrible winter blizzard, I am going to think of it as you’d have.  I’ve nowhere that I have to be today, so I’m happy to be “stuck here” at home.  Each time I look out the window, Will, I will imagine you out there in all your glory… loving every minute of the heavy snowfall and all the winter playground possibilities that it would bring.   This afternoon, I’ll plug in the kettle and make some hot chocolate; I’ll make two cups, Will… one for you with extra marshmallows and one for me.  I’ll give yours to Dad since he’s working from home today and we’ll smile through our tears wishing you were here. Missing you so much today.  Love you like a yellow school bus stuck in the snow with nowhere to go. Momxo

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0 Comments

  1. Joni, I so feel all the longing and pain in your words. Once again you write so beautifully about the things you need to say to Will. The theme is so painful every time, but you do have a way of writing that is different from anyone’s I have ever read. I never realized that when parents lose a child that there are so many reminders, especially dates (and numbers) that will forever be that “sting” you talk about. My family and my friend are forever reminded by those dates, days, numbers, etc. because they are tied into the loss of something precious. I am so sorry that this happens over and over again; it’s not fair; plain and simple. I remember my cousin telling me that they would never forget the day my oldest son was born….because it was they day they lost their brother, my cousin. I have to admit it caught me and I actually felt some guilt that my son’s birth would forever remind them of a day someone they loved, died. I’m sure that Will is always with you on those awful days that test you more than usual. He’s there, Joni….I wish it were a physical presence too…
    What a great, loving picture of Will and the girls. I know Lauren as she goes to school with my kids. I also remember how hard it was for her when Will passed away…sigh.
    I also am so sorry that Christmas is an “extra’ hard time for people who have lost family. Everything about Christmas is geared toward this image of joy, family, good will, togetherness, sharing…. everything that is no within your grasp. And as a mother, I can only imagine that you have an even harder time as you undoubtedly feel responsible for making everyone else’s Christmas a great one. Even though you are trying to hold it all together for everyone else, I know you are missing a big piece of your heart at Christmas and every other special occasion. I have no words of comfort or wisdom, Joni. I can only send you good thoughts, hope for some peace, hugs, and offer my prayers.
    And please don’t be worried that because that “punch in the stomach” isn’t as brutally painful as it first was, that it somehow means that it “doesn’t mater” as much. It just means that you are finally getting a tiny bit of relief from that relentless pain you feel and carry every moment of every day. Please don’t feel guilty about that…
    Hugs,

    Cheryl

    Reply

    1. Thank you, Cheryl. Your words are beautiful and mean so, so much. You have made my heart sigh but in a happy way this morning. Your comment will be one I will read over and over again. We must find time for a coffee sometime.

      Reply

  3. The 14th used to do the same for me. Firtst losing my dad, then Herman and my mom. All but one of my childrens grandparents. Littlr do I know know how hard that was did years later I was faced with losing a son. Hugs Joni….
    When Murray phoned Tony and it came up that we weren’t renting til the middle of Jan. since we planned a Disney and cruise including Tamara. Murray excitedly said the whole family Curtis, Kris everybody.. Tony said no Curtis cant make it and they laughed…. So nice to know we can except the unexceptable and cope the best we can.
    It marks ten years next fall and it makes me anxious to know I need to do something extra special cause we should. Today I am quilting (yes after all these years) fabric that Curtis picked out for a quilt a table runner with a pattern I am designing with flying geese, I am looking at snow man and thinking yes they should go on this as well. In the center with be an embroidered light for their light will always be burning. I can use this one in the winter months since his birthday is in Jan. again still miss him so much…. always part of the family as Murray so easily slipped lol. xoxo

    Reply

    1. Hi Carol! I know you get all that I write to Will about because you walk in the same shoes as me. Family losing family. I love that you are working on a quilt to honor Curtis! You will cherish it always and it will be such a nice reminder of him. Glad that you have picked up your quilting again. You are so good at it! I didn’t know of Murray’s blip in mentioning the whole family incl Curtis but was happy that Tony could laugh at it. That takes time. But true that he will be with you as he is everyday. Love you, Carol.

      Reply

  5. Hi Joni, my heart breaks every time I read your love letters your words are so powerful and a Mom aching to hold her son again. You are always in my thoughts love Lyn.Xx.

    Reply

    1. Thanks, Lyn. I dream of the day that I will hold my Will again. Makes me think of the expression we sometimes use… “I would die to see him” or “I am dying to hold him again.” There is much truth to those words. Thanks for keeping me in your thoughts. I can feel it. Xoxo

      Reply

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