Source: Peek-a-Boo, I See You
Peek-a-Boo, I See You
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Source: Peek-a-Boo, I See You
Author Archives: Joni Bouchard
Peek-a-Boo, I See You
Monday, February 15, 2016
Dear Will,
There’s this photo I have. And it might be the most powerful photo I own…
I walked into a store on main street in Fernie on a summer day in 2011…. only weeks after losing you and to this day I’m not sure if I laid eyes on it first or if it laid eyes on me. It was another of those profound moments that are crystal clear in my mind and the feelings it brought forth were and still are eerily beautiful. I remember being drawn to it the moment I walked through the doors because this boy looked like you. Just. Like. You. I picked it up and in the quiet stillness that surrounded me I heard these words — “peek-a-boo, Mom”. I knew that I could not leave the store without it.
Those few weeks after losing you were numbing, confusing, foggy, terribly painful and raw with emotion. I spent all of my waking moments searching for answers, for meaning, for ways to survive, for something to believe in, for a God that would promise to take me to you at the end of my days here and that for eternity nothing could tear us apart. On that day, seeing that photo, it felt like I had the answer I wanted so desperately. You see it, too, don’t you, Will?
It’s as if this photo was taken from inside of me; from deep within my soul. This is what I see when I open my eyes. I see you as if you are super imposed into/onto everything that is real. It is yet another reminder that the veil is thin. And I like it that way. Peek-a-boo back at you, Willy. I see you.
Love you like a bus, Will… with peek-a-boo windows from my soul.
Momxo
Perfectly Ordinary
January 15, 2016
My Sweet Will,
2016. The first thing that comes to my mind is the number five. The passing of time seems always to be where my mind, without even thinking, drifts first. For fifteen days now we’re into a new year and I shake my head in disbelief knowing that it will be 5 years this May. I wonder over and over, also in disbelief, how it could even be possible that yesterday and forever can seem the same? Time is funny that way.
I read a post on Facebook this morning that spoke to me in a profound way. Instantly, I thought about the words I wrote in my tribute to you – the words that Mary read on my behalf at your Celebration of Life six days after our world changed forever. I wanted to reprint them here in your letter so you are reminded of what I miss the most about you, Will.
Here goes…
“Last Sunday I experienced every mother’s “unimaginable”. I lost my WillBilly. On that evening, a part of me was lost with Will as well; Partly, because I have this overwhelming need to be with him and also because at twelve years of age, quite frankly, he still needs his mom. Surrounding his passing are emotions beyond words.
I recently read (not once, but three times) Katrina Kenison’s book, “The Gift of an Ordinary Day” and many of the words I am sharing with you today were born from hers and some word for word as it seems Moms everywhere convey the same kind of love.
Katrina writes and it couldn’t be more true for me that “One of the hardest lessons I am learning is that the answers to the really big questions, the answers I most hunger for, don’t ever come to us from the outside; rather, they come from a quiet place within. A place we can reach only when we find within ourselves the courage to pause, to abide for a while in that place of not knowing, to be at peace even with our uncertainties, and then to listen and attend with the ear of our own hearts.”
I often find myself thinking back to when Will was really small. Days that began with cinnamon toast cut into finger size pieces and might end with made-up stories or shadow pictures on a bedroom wall. In between there were walks to the river, picnic lunches at the park, popsicles, hot wheels and miles and miles of orange track that would meander around our living room furniture. And then there was lego. Lots. And. Lots. Of. Lego. Crayola markers, playdough, puzzles, a plastic wading pool and a lawn sprinkler that could enchant a neighbourhood of kids for hours, a shallow red dish full of dish soap and glycerin, and magic wands that once waved hundreds of wobbly, irridescent bubbles into the air.
As he grew, so did his world. Sports became a part of Will and as long as he had friends (and he had many) to do them with he was having the time of his life. A trampoline, a bag of candy, a pair of park skis and powder skis, fancy goggles, snow, sleepovers, bacon, his iPod, bouncy balls, Kathleen, Kale, hoodies, hats, a flannel shirt, his constant singing, his laugh and most of all a family who loved him beyond words were all that mattered. Simple, ordinary pleasures.
It’s still hard for me to believe that all of this has vanished, that those times are truly gone for good. Thankfully, what I have now are countless, beautiful memories that scroll endlessly in my mind. Memories of his constant show of affection, as well as the countless peanut butter and banana sandwiches, bedtime stories, earaches and scraped knees, baking soda volcanoes, snowball fights, trips into Bragg Creek for icecream and how I hauled his baritone sax to and from school every week because it was too big to carry on the bus. How I harped at him to finish his homework and how I had to remind him to pick up his wet towel off the floor every morning. Yet I am grateful to have had all of those moments, for they are the ones that have turned out, in the end, to be the most precious recollections of all, even though they went unrecorded, unwritten, unremarked on at the time.
Our photo albums and computers are full of pictures of birthday cakes and holiday celebrations, vacation trips and family adventures. But the memories I find myself holding onto the tightest, the ones that I will cherish for the rest of my life are the ones that you couldn’t capture in a photograph. His giggle, his “I love you, moms”, his little boy arms around my neck and his final words every night, “Mom, can you tuck me in?” followed by, “I love you like a bus.” Quite simply, a family’s life as it is from one hour, or day, or season, to the next. The most wonderful gift we had and the gift I will cherish above all else, was the gift of all those perfectly ordinary days.
I will always carry Will with me. Everywhere I go. Forever.”
(from my Tribute to Will, May 28, 2011)
What I want you to always know, Willy, is that I couldn’t miss you more than I did back then or more than I do now. All of those perfectly ordinary moments have become what I cherish most in life. They are the movie that plays over and over and over in my heart.
And just like we ended each of our days all those days ago,
… I love you like a bus, Willy. A big, ole ordinary bus with perfectly ordinary wheels.
Momxo
Because of You
Will’s Santa Hat is our angel on the top of our tree
December 24, 2015
Dear Will,
For 24 days Christmas has been looming and try as I might to extinguish some of the hype and build-up, to downplay the shopping and wrapping, and gift giving… it still comes… like a Willy in a china shop. Why do we do it? Why, when it’s just not right that you’re not going to be sitting with us Christmas morning in your pajama pants, a t-shirt and your hair going in every direction? This question comes up over and over and over. And the answer is always the same — because you would have wanted us to celebrate Christmas. And so we do.
I have sprinkled you all around us. You are the angel on the top of our tree and the twinkle of the little lights that hang amongst the boughs. You are many of the ornaments too, as your Fernie ski passes and the special ornaments you made in school when you were little dangle proudly from the branches.
I’ve tucked you here and there and everywhere that I can – the felt gingerbread boy that you stuffed and sewed in grade 2 sits “in” the tree as do the three white fleece snowballs that I bought this year because they reminded me of how much you loved the snow. All of this and the many snowflake ornaments of all shapes, sizes and colors that glisten and glitter and sparkle are you too. You are the giver of the four pairs of soft and comfy pajama pants that are wrapped and waiting under the tree for us to open first tomorrow morning… and you are also the gift that we open last – a family jigsaw puzzle that has become part of how we do Christmas now. Your stocking still hangs in the middle spot of the row and at our Christmas dinner tomorrow evening you will be the frosted white candle that will sit in the middle amongst the greenery that will be the centerpiece on our table. We will remember Christmases past and recall memory after memory of those special Christmases when we were whole. Those, Will, we will always, always have.
As I sit here in Fernie writing to you, outside big, fluffy snowflakes are falling ever so softly putting a fresh blanket of Willy on everything. Christmas Eve snow is the magic snow they say… and today it’s a double dose of good and beautiful and magic because it’s you.
Happy Christmas in heaven, Little Blue. Thanks for gifting us with the presence of your spirit on all our yesterdays, and for today and tomorrow and everyday. As I wipe away my tears and follow them with a smile I am reminded that you are never far away, and that you are the answer to many of my questions. I would do anything for you, Will… even Christmas.
I miss you and I love you. Like a bus full of Christmas magic. And big sparkles.
Momxo
Inhale… Exhale…
Will’s Grade 7 Photo
December 6, 2015
Dear Willy,
A month has passed since I’ve put my words to you in a letter, however, that certainly doesn’t mean that you haven’t been in my thoughts… its quite the contrary as you are on my mind every minute of every day. Like my breath, I inhale thoughts of you, hold them for a moment, and then exhale wishing that things were different. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. Every breath.
It is early Sunday morning, the sun is still sleeping and there’s still a hush throughout the house and the neighbourhood. I am full to the brim of thoughts of you. So full that I couldn’t create more room without telling you how much I love you and how much I miss you. For a few weeks now there is a white blanket of Willy covering the ground and I’m thinking this blanket of Willy is here to stay for the winter. Each time you blanket us with more snow I imagine how happy you must be up there stirring up a big dump of beautiful, white crystals and how excited you must be when you dump them on us and on the mountains so that Dad and your brothers can do what they love to do and what you loved so much too. The mountains are beckoning them…. It’s early season and they are hopeful that you’re up there trying to figure out how to send more of the white stuff to the mountains.
With December comes Christmas and the hustle and bustle of the season has begun. Yesterday I spent the day shopping and it hit me numerous times how difficult it was when we had to somehow find a way to get through Christmas without you that first year. Gosh, those were sad days and I remember how hard it was to even step foot into a shopping mall. I attempted twice and both times abandoned the stores and ran out to the car to catch my breath and to cry. It makes me think that we’ve come a long way from that first Christmas without you and though it’s still difficult and still sad we’ve a whole new way of celebrating the holidays, having adopted new traditions with you in the centre of all of them.
For now, I’ve pushed my Christmas list aside and am basking in thoughts of my morning with you. Early this morning I felt you so close to me. I lay there quietly for a long time with my eyes closed, imagining myself calling your name and watching you run towards to me. A wise and beautiful friend has told me that the veil is thin between you and I and I hold ever so tightly to that belief. One day, Will, at the end of my breaths here on Earth you really will come for me and I will see you, and I’ll hear you. You’ll be running, as will I, with arms open wide and once again I will be full and not broken. Until then I’ll take these moments with you and I’ll breathe. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. And I’ll hold onto each and every beautiful memory that I have.
I miss you sweet boy and I love you so very much. Bigger than a bus times a million.
Momxo
Inside Out Wishes
November 1, 2015
Dear Will,
There is a sense of calm this morning as I visualize flipping the calendar to November. Since 2011, October has become a long and sad month and each year it continues to beat me up emotionally. We honored your birthday on the 14th in our own beautiful way and found ourselves busy both physically and mentally while we hoped and prayed for a positive outcome for Pa after he suffered a heart attack. He was airlifted to the Foothills Hospital in Calgary where he spent most of the last three weeks of October. It was a stressful time for all of us and I prayed extra hard that my Dad would make it through the open-heart surgery that was the only option to repair his heart. The unspoken and underlying possibility that Pa might join you in heaven weighed heavily on me, Will, and though there were moments where I wished I could trade places with him I was grateful and relieved when he was able to return home and begin his road to recovery and his second chance at life. October became a double whammy month of emotions and today I finally feel like I can breathe again.
After spending weeks “hoping” I’m now back to spending my days “wishing”. Wishing that the outcome of the 22nd day of May 2011 were different. I wish that you were here sitting on the couch beside me right now with a pillowcase full of Halloween candy and a mouth full of chocolate. I wish your shoes were at the front door with mismatched socks “sort of in the vicinity” and that your jacket was draped/thrown over the stair banister with the arms pulled inside out. Yes. Inside out. The inside out thing was definitely a Will thing.
When I’d do laundry I’d cuss and swear while sorting the clothes, annoyed that all of your t-shirts were inside out. And so I’d either turn them right side in before I’d toss them into the washing machine or before I folded them when they came out of the dryer… the extra time it took kind of drove me crazy. I remember the day I decided to leave them inside out and folded them that way thinking I was so clever and that giving you a taste of your own medicine would surely teach you a lesson, that it’d drive you crazy — but not only did you appear to not care even one bit I think you were completely oblivious to the whole inside out thing. That day, Will, changed the way I did laundry and to this day if there are t-shirts (or socks) that are inside out I leave them like that. Ha! I think. Ha! And like you, no one really seems to care that they are inside out. Oh my, the stuff that drives a mother crazy…
I wish you were here with us every single day. Before your passing I used to consciously think about what I’d wish for if I was given a wish and now all I wish for is you. You with your tousled hair and your big feet. Maybe with socks, maybe without. You singing out LOUD to the music on your iPod with your ear buds in and me reminding you to remove them from your ears. You, Willy, loving Halloween because of all the candy and the chance to dress up and be silly with your friends. I would be the happiest human being on earth if the one wish I wished more than anything could come true. And even though I know it’s not possible I continue to wish that it were different.
Love you, Willy. Like an inside out bus and a big wish.
Momxo
Little Super Heroes
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
Easy Like a Sunday Morning
Our Sweet Will
September 13, 2015
Dear Will,
I woke this morning to a grey sky and a steady drizzle. I stayed in bed a little longer than I usually do thinking about what I “had” to do today and realized that my to-do list was secondary and that the laundry could wait another day. It seems there is always something that needs to get done or should get done, but I decided that today would be a gift. An “easy like a Sunday morning” day instead.
As I sit in my comfy spot on the couch with a cup of tea and my MacBook I find myself content that it is raining today. It means that all the outside tasks like emptying flowerpots, trimming branches and putting away sprinklers, etc. would not beckon me outside. Instead I am thinking about how quiet it is and how lucky I am to be able to just “be in the moment”. The only thing I hear is the plunking of my keys on the keyboard and Finn’s intermittent sighs – contentment written all over his stretched out body on his dog bed beside the fireplace.
I make a mental note to enjoy this solitude, as I know it will diminish once Murray makes his way downstairs and turns on the television to watch golf and football (his to-do list also not a priority today). I look around and think about what I might “want” to do instead; a plethora of creative play stuff dancing around in my head. So many possibilities… maybe I’ll paint… or read my book, perhaps doodle in my art journal or maybe paint a rock or two or three. And then my eyes are drawn to the table in the corner where a ball of ivory yarn with a half knitted project attached to it with knitting needles is beckoning me; a project I’d abandoned before summer began as knitting seemed a world away in the summer months. Maybe I’ll figure out where I’m at in my project and settle into the repetitive, clickety clack of my knitting needles. It is a perfect day to sit and knit.
But… before I get into that knitting project I’ll reminisce about you and what you might have been doing on this rainy day if you were here. There’s no question that you’d still be sleeping as it’s still early and I remember well the days of Justin and Ben sleeping till late morning on the weekends. Like your brothers on a lazy Sunday I imagine that grazing would be a given – scouring the fridge and the pantry for a little of this and little of that – leaving a path of granola bar wrappers and almost empty bowls of cereal in your wake would take up a big part of your day. Some hanging time with your buddies or maybe a girlfriend followed by the predictable wait for our Sunday family dinner. “What are we having, Mom?” “When will it be ready?” “Did you make lots?” All the usual questions.
I wish more than anything for another Sunday like that. Like I’ve said many times before, it’s all the ordinary things that I miss the most. Today I miss your grey, ripped sweat pants that exposed your boxers and that you begged me to not throw away. I miss your holey, mismatched socks that were never fully on your feet, the red, oversized t-shirt you loved, and your “bedhead” hair sticking up and out in all directions – a sign that you had slept long and well and that you had little interest in fixing until (maybe) you may have later left the house. Your shoes (the two-toned blue vans) that you loved so much would be somewhere near the front door (probably not together but in the same vicinity) and your Rasta colored toque would be on the step or hanging on the stairway railing post. I miss your path of stuff around our house and how it used to drive me crazy. The things I didn’t think I would ever miss… I miss.
Instead I will cherish those memories and remember all of your “Will-isms”. The stuff that made you “you” and the stuff that you’d adopted from your big brothers. The stuff that you thought was just the coolest and that drove them crazy when you wanted to copy them. I’ll remember the way you’d drop your lanky little self on top of Dad when he was lying on the couch watching golf and then how you’d giggle when he’d tousle your hair and give you a noogy. Of course tears will spill from my eyes as I recall so vividly your place in our family and then I’ll remind myself how much we loved you and how much we miss you. I’ll remind myself how lucky we were to have had those times with you and think about how sad it is that there are too many kids in this world who will never know that kind of love. Today I will walk right past the pile of laundry and say thank YOU for sending the rain today. It’s given me the gift of time to stop and reflect and remember an ordinary Sunday with you.
Love you little blue — tousled hair, holey socks and all. And like a bus, of course.
Momxo
Thank God For Pockets
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Dear Will,
This summer has been full of thoughts and memories of you. Your little “signs” are abundant and when I think about them I can’t help but smile. It’s crazy how many heart shaped rocks I have found and collected this summer; my pockets bursting each time I arrive back home after a doggie walk with Finn or a bike ride to the river. On our vacation in Maui the heart shaped pieces of coral would, of course, find their way to the pockets of my beach tote and at the end of each day I’d add the coral hearts to the growing line down the middle of the table where we’d eat dinner by candlelight. Me and Dad and you. Wherever I was, it seemed I only had to look down and there were heart shaped signs of you at my feet.
Holy cow, Will, I’ve quite a collection and when I empty my bursting pockets I am reminded of the things I’d find in your pockets while sorting laundry. Oh boy, there were Little Lego people and magnets, quarters and loonies that you’d find between the couch cushions where dad would often snooze (“searching” the couch was your cash cow!). I’d find fuzz balls and bits of rolled plasticine, erasers and lint covered candy and the occasional bottle cap or a torn piece of scrap paper with a friend’s phone number written on it so you could call them for a play date. All the random little treasures that were important for you to keep at the time found a safe place in your pockets. Just like my rocks.
You, Kathleen and Kale on the beach in Montana
While in Montana I was reminded of the many trips you and Kathleen would make in the golf cart to the store for Laffy Taffy and the iced tea cans you and Kale were collecting one summer. All the sand hill adventures are etched in my mind too — when you and your friends would scurry up the sand hills, rest for a minute or 5 seconds and then run full tilt or barefoot ski back down the hill and into the lake.
Parker, You and Kale – Mud Monsters
All the fun you had with Kale and Parker covering yourselves from eyeball to toe with mud and clay, swimming, building driftwood forts and how during your last summer you’d fallen in love with playing volleyball on the beach with the big kids and adults. Some of those memories still bring me to tears. 
I’m back in Fernie now where there are memories of you all over the place. The ski hill, the ski shops that become bicycle shops in the summer, Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory where you had a preferred customer card from all the candy apples you bought (thanks to all the money you’d find in the couch?). Watching ski movies with Josh and how you loved to spend time with him and Andrea on and off your skis. I love it here, Will, because you loved this place.
Come next week I’ll return home to our Redwood home where summer memories of you will live forever . I am reluctant to look beyond next week as September 2nd would have been the beginning of your last year of high school. My heart cannot go there yet. For now I will summon and enjoy the many summer memories of you and reminisce in what was. I look forward to each and every little sign you send my way and will continue to fill my pockets with as much as I can. Thank God for pockets.
Love you, Willy. Like a bus full of pockets.
Momxo
Our Maui Vacation with You
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Aloha Will,
Today marks another month without you. The 22nd of every month is another tally mark and try as I might to not look at it this way it is impossible not to. As Dad and I go about enjoying our days here in Maui you, sweet Will, are on our minds every minute. I took you on the plane with me when we left on the 12th and as you sat on my left shoulder where I’m told the boy angels sit I thought about how I longed to make this trip to Maui with you physically. The “could haves, would haves, should haves” echo through my body still.
And then I see you. And I believe that you are indeed here with us. Sometimes you make me laugh in how you show up. This morning as I write to you this bird stops by just a few feet from where I sit and he turns his head and stares at me, fluffs his feathers, cocks his little head and let’s out a little noise that sounds like he’s choking on a popcorn kernel or something. I watched him watching me and then he turned sideways and strutted off one foot in front of the other while his head bobbed in and out sort of like a crazy dance move. Every few steps he’d stop and look back at me and then off he flew. I know that was you, Will. That crazy little bird was crazy little you saying good morning. I smiled at him and actually said good morning to you out loud.
I also see you as one of the many, many geckos that grace this beautiful home where we are staying. You scurry about, straight up and down walls, sometimes leaping from a plant pot to a leaf or a branch, sometimes ripping to the edge of the swimming pool where you’ll stop still in your tracks, look at me and then start doing what looks like little push ups. And then there’s the palm trees. When they sway back and forth in the breeze I imagine that maybe it’s you waving to us. I believe you are the sea turtles that Dad sees every time he goes windsurfing and that they are you watching out for Dad when he’s so far off shore that I lose sight of his sail. Please tell me that’s what you’re doing! And I believe that you are the heart shaped pieces of coral that I pick up on my beach walks. They are the centrepiece on our table and in the evenings while we enjoy our post sunset dinner you sit on our table… smack dab in the middle of Dad and I.
Sitting on our dinner table
Perhaps the most profound sign of you so far was the boy on the boogie board last Thursday. It was late in the afternoon and as Dad and I were soaking up the sunshine we were mesmerized by this little guy to our right. He was maybe 7 or 8 and he was using his boogie board as if it were a skim board. Over and over and over he would run full speed into the shore break clutching the board under his arm and then at just the right moment he’d lay it down, jump on it with both feet and then launch himself, arms and legs flailing, into the air where he’d tumble into the other side of the shore break. We watched him for a long time, mesmerized by how much this little guy reminded us of you. Sometimes he’d do flips off the curl of the wave just as it crashed to the shore and in the aftermath of all the churned up sand and white water shore break that would wash up the beach, there too he’d be. It was like the shore break delivered him back to where his parents sat and watched him. Each time Dad and I imagined that he’d say, “Watch this! Mom. Dad. Watch this!” And off he’d go again and again and again… I couldn’t take my eyes off of this little boy and the fun he was having. He had the same zest for life that you had, the same skinny little body and lanky arms and legs. The way he ran was like watching you run and the cool little swagger that was part of him reminded me of you too. His idea of using that boogie board as a super launcher was so “you” and in my mind I could hear your giggle. I saw that little boy two more times that week and each time my eyes were drawn to him like he was the only other person on the beach. I still can’t stop thinking of that boy. No one was having as much fun as he was. I wonder if that was you, Little Blue? It sure could have been.
These Maui days are some of the most relaxing I’ve had in a long, long time. I don’t remember feeling this peaceful, this rested, this calm in the four years and two months since your angel date. I do feel you are here with us in so many ways, that you share my heartbeat and my breath and that you are indeed a part of me.
Love you like a bus, Willy. A big bus full of super launcher boogie boards. See you on the beach today, little Blue. I’ll bring the sunscreen.
Momxo
Love Letters to Will 