Will, Murray, and Ben at Cannon Beach, Oregon (end of July 2010)
August 16, 2013 (818 days)
Dear Willy,
Dad and I and Finn didn’t make it to Cannon Beach, Oregon as we’d planned because your brother became quite ill and ended up in the hospital with viral myocarditis. The last day of our vacation in Hood River was full of telephone calls and texts from Ben and Justin keeping us abreast of what was taking place back home. When Ben ended up being admitted to hospital, Dad and I knew we needed to come home. I know you get this and I’m even thinking that you already know the whole story… as I am quite certain that in some special Willy Angel way you were watching over Ben whilst keeping us safe on our long drive home.
Once home and when we learned that Ben was going to be fine, I was trying to make sense of all that had happened and I think maybe I wasn’t yet ready to visit Cannon Beach again. All summer, I was guardedly looking forward to that part of our holiday but as the day crept closer I found myself welling up with tears at the thought of being there without you. It is a beautiful and special place as it was where you saw the ocean for the first time and seeing the ocean was something that you always wanted to see. Just thinking about it made my stomach feel shaky and my heart feel heavier than usual.
Knowing that we needed to go North back to Canada instead of West felt right as I knew that home was where I needed and wanted to be. Next summer we will try again to get back to that special place on the ocean; and maybe in another year it’ll be easier. We still take baby steps, Will, trying so hard to move forward when all we want is to go back to when you were with us here. If only we could… you know we would.
Miss you little one. More than a bus.
Momxo
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Spring has sprung and with it comes all kinds of new “hellos” from you. The season of robins and brown bunnies, budding trees and tulips, open windows and shoes without socks, raking the grass of remnants of last fall after a winter season of snow and the excitement of putting out the patio furniture… its just gotta be Spring. But, wait… It can’t be spring until I have my picnic lunch with you and Dad up at your memorial rock in Fernie. Then it will be spring.
Last weekend your favourite mountain closed for the ski season and on the Friday, Dad and I had our picnic with you under a cloudless sky on the bluest of bluebird days. It was my first visit to the rock since last summer and a day I’d been longing for for some time. Because I’m not able to ski with my hurting knees, Dad made arrangements for one of the ski patrollers to give me a lift up to your magical place on a snowmobile. I believe there’s nothing that the Resort wouldn’t do for you and us; time and time again they’ve gone above and beyond any expectation we could have ever had and we are ever grateful. A “thank you” never seems enough.
Each time I meet someone affiliated with the Resort they seem to already know you and, well, it happened again. The patroller who gave me the lift told me that when he was training as a groomer three years ago he was taken to your rock late one night while in the snow cat. It was there that he learned your story and about your passion for skiing and for Fernie. He expressed how sorry he was to hear about your tragic passing and told me that you’re like a legend, Will; a little, blue-eyed legend. It’s not every day that someone gets to be remembered like that!
Dad and I sat with you at the base of your rock and had our lunch. We shared some quiet conversation and some “remember whens” and some silence too. During our silence I ran my fingers over the face of your rock feeling the etching of every letter of every word that we so carefully chose to have engraved on it. In my silence came flashbacks of happy times with you and then sadness for what will never be. And then a reminder of why we chose a memorial rock – a rock is forever, Will, and so are you.
Our family message engraved on the back
Now it is spring and now I can focus on all the little hellos that you are sending my way; the robins and the brown bunnies, the budding trees and the tulips, open windows and shoes without socks…
I miss you, Willy, and I love you. Like a bus full of robins and brown bunnies and a big, beautiful forever rock.
Momxo
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Wednesday, June 29, 2011 (38 days)
Good morning, little sun,
Last night I was reminiscing about your favourite number. Eight. Kathleen and I had chatted on Monday about why you loved the number “8” so much and the obvious reasons, of course, where that, for one, it looked like a snowman and we all know how much you love snow. Secondly, it was Ben’s favourite number and it was no secret that whatever Ben liked, you liked too. Thirdly, Powder 8’s came to mind and one of Dad’s favourite memories is of you and him skiing fresh powder in Fernie; he crossing over the fresh turns you’d already made in the snow in front of him to make an “8”. Then, we remembered that in all of the sports you played, if there was a jersey and a choice of which number could be worn, you always chose a number that had an “8” in it.
Last night as I stood in the driveway saying goodbye to Kathleen, I turned around to walk back into the house and staring at me was our house number. Number 8! I stopped and stared, unable to move, and thought that perhaps the most beautiful reason of all, was that home was number 8. Beautiful tears filled my eyes and at that moment I thought that maybe you were telling me something; that maybe “8” was your favourite number because it was your home. Our home. Because of that, I have never loved our home more.
I love you WillBilly. Like a bus and to infinity. (Which Mrs. Fischer reminded me today is an 8 turned on its side). Another Wow.
Momxo
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All the Inner Strength and WillPower I will ever need…
Dear Will,
Hey sweet one, wanted you to know how necessary you have been to the introduction of my new knees to my old body and the healing that must take place in order for us to get along in the active life I long for and miss so much. Getting these two new knees has not been an easy road and although I knew it would be challenging there have been some days that I had to lean on you more than I thought I’d need to. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret having the surgery and am happy everyday to report that the chronic, achy, “migraine in my knees” kind of pain is gone! I have no more osteoarthritis and my legs are straight. I’m taller, Will! Not quite the Jana Hart kind of tall, but for the record — I. Am. Taller. And, the cowboy boots I wore to Dina’s special dinner looked awesome, not that you’d really care about that.
This month has been one that I’ve had to lean on you so much more than usual. I have felt you near me, have heard you whisper, “C’mon Mom. Climb on my back. I bet I can give you a piggy back?” Then my reply to you and I’ve even said it out loud, “Uh. No. Climbing on your back is not gonna happen.” “Why?” you say. “Because that would just be weird and strong and mighty as you are, Will, you don’t need me on your back.” So instead and just the way I like it, I have your hands in mine — sometimes just one, but at times both of them. Your hands are warm and a bit wiggly, but I kinda always liked that. Being still was not really one of your strong attributes. (Nor was being quiet, however, I think that’s one of the things that made you so likeable amongst your peers.)
One of the most difficult parts of this and one that I am a bit surprised has hit me as hard as it has is the depression that is common to the post-surgical healing process. Before surgery the medical team did talk about it and they stressed that there would be resources available to support me through it should I need it. I consider myself “quite” aware of depression and how it can rear itself in my body and in my mind but it goes to show that knowing about and being aware of depression doesn’t mean you don’t experience it. The reality of the weeks and months of healing and the patience and work that it requires isn’t surprising – that wouldn’t be the right word – maybe restrictive is the better way to explain it. And with restriction comes feelings of isolation that in turn affect my self-esteem… then along comes some feelings of worthlessness… and round and round it goes. The days can be too long, Will.
After my surgery, while still in hospital a social worker stopped by my room and we had a chat about how I was feeling post surgery and what kinds of thoughts and feelings could present once I went home. We talked about depression and PTSD and I shared my story of losing you and how I knew first hand what depression and PTSD was. She listened while I shared my belief that as a mother who’d lost a child there would never be anything worse in my life or nothing that I could not handle going forward. My certainty in those words is as strong as it will ever be and that is what gets me through the sometimes dark moments of depression when I wonder just for a moment where I will find the strength to overcome the feelings of “I don’t know if I can”. It felt a little like the table had been turned when it was she who shed a few tears and we even laughed for a moment about it; how it was she who’d been given a takeaway moment instead of she delivering one to me. You see, Will, she was a Mom too. “Your healing road will have bumps and hurdles,” she said, “but you’ll be just fine.” And, I’ve no double that I will be.
You, little blue, are my inner strength. It is you that pulls me up, that gives me the extra uuumph that I need to heal these knees and get on with it. Your whispers, “C’mon Mom” and your hands in mine are the ever-present reminders that my new knees and I will get to know each other and we’ll be just fine.
Love you, Will. Like a bus, of course. With brand, new wheels!
Momxo
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Will, Brent and Jordan. Friends Then, Friends Still
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Hey Will,
Well, fall is definitely in the air these days and the crisp mornings, yellow leaves and fall smells have enveloped me in what I can only describe as my favourite season. Soon the snow will fly and your favourite season will be upon us. For now, though, I will savour everything that is fall and will remember all of what September was to our family when our world was perfect.
For a few years now, September is the month Ben returns to university and Dad and I are confronted again with living alone in the house that for a long time was filled with all you boys and all the smelly stuff that is part of you guys. The best Septembers were when you were all here at home — three new school backpacks hanging in the closet, three new pairs of outdoor shoes in the vicinity of the front door and oodles of brand new socks after all the old tattered and mismatched ones with holes were silently thrown away before school started again. New socks… such a September right of passage…
Sadly, this September should have been our first empty nest, Will, but life threw us that terrible tragedy 5 ½ years ago and we were robbed of precious time. A lifetime with you would never have been enough but oh, to have had more time… I’ve spent much of this month wondering where you’d be this first September after high school, and knowing of course that you’d be at UBC in the Okanangan – Just. Like. Ben. No one would be surprised as your idolization for Ben was no secret. You do know it drove your brother crazy but raining on his parade was what you loved to do and to do that at university would have been a proud feather in your cap.
I’ve frequently thought about Kathleen too and hoped that she would be on the good side of your conscience; a reminder to you to make good choices. I have also thought a lot about your friends, Jordan and Brent, who are also at UBC in Kelowna and I just know that the three of you would be thick as thieves on that campus and that I’d be worrying myself crazy… then in the next breath wishing more than anything that it was true and that I had the chance to worry about you. Sigh. I’d give anything to have all of that. I was corresponding with Jordan mid September, wondering how he was doing, and when your name came up he, too, agreed that in a perfect world you’d be there with them. I reminded him that as an angel you were there looking out for them, keeping them safe and sharing in the fun. He replied that he knew you were. My heart smiles, Will, when I hear that your friends still keep you close. I hope that they will for all of their lives.
Next weekend is Thanksgiving and Ben will be coming home. And Kathleen. And Brent. And Jordan. Ben who has adapted to being away from home and whom we are used to coming home and then going again, but for the others coming home having just spent their first September at university will be a bit more exciting. Not just for them, but for their parents and families, too. Dinner is always better when everyone is sitting around the table and we’re blessed that Justin is able to come for dinner frequently. Having Ben at home for Thanksgiving is something I look forward to very much. I count the days. I imagine in our perfect world that once in the driveway you’d pile out of the car on his coat tails leaving everything in the back seat and make a run for the front door thinking it was a race to get their first while he’d saunter in, leaving a trail of things he was bringing with him from the back seat. Of course, there’d be hugs and then to the refrigerator you’d both go only this time it would be a race to see who’d get there first. It’s difficult still to live with the reality that you won’t be returning home too, and the pining that my heart feels tugs heavily on my heartstrings sometimes still pulling me down to my knees.
Instead, I know that you’ll be with us in spirit. That you’ll be sitting in your spot at the table. We’ll talk about you like we always do and we’ll be grateful for the times we did have together. We’ll reminisce about all of the Septembers that we did have and we’ll laugh and cry and eat turkey and mashed potatoes til our tummies are ready to explode. And then I’ll pick up all the dirty, new socks that will have littered the house whilst Ben is home…
Love you, Willy. Like a bus full of brand new socks.
Momxo
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Handmade Love from my Will
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Dear Will,
Today is Mother’s Day and my heart is heavier than usual. This is my third Mom’s Day without you and I miss you as much as the first one — it certainly doesn’t get easier. I am sitting on my bed in my own little world staring out of the window at the blue sky I’ve waited days to see, and my head is swirling with thoughts of you. Mother’s Day holds such special meaning; a day where moms are universally celebrated and appreciated for all they do for their children and families. When I think of Mothers Days past my heart smiles at the extra love that would find its way to me via breakfast in bed, crafty gifts made at school and handmade cards that oozed love in their heartfelt and sometimes misspelled words; the drawings, the “coupons” that promised jobs sometimes too big to be true, but with intent so large – all a sign of how big that love was. Those cards will always be treasures for I have kept them all and the gift of all those uneven folds of paper are so incredibly priceless now. I feel sad knowing that today, again there will be one card missing.
Mother’s Day will never be the same without you here. I am so thankful for the big box of handmade cards, the table you made for me in grade 7, and the countless memories of cold toast, cereal, watered down coffee and smoothies in bed; of clay creations, glittery picture frames, yarn weavings, tissue paper flowers…
One thing will never change, Willy — I will always be your mom and you will always be my son/sun.
Lulab and missing you so very much,
Momxo
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The blanket of Willy in our backyard
March 3, 2014
Dear Will,
February was a long month for me. It’s been too cold to do much of anything outside lately, which seems to have magnified the too many days without you. It is no secret that looking at the mounds and mounds (and mounds!) of snow makes me think of you. Your presence is huge this winter and it is incredibly beautiful to take in the sight of the blanket of Willy that covers the ground in and around our community. However, in these frigid temperatures after days of feeling imprisoned on the warm side of the window, I am anxious for the cold weather to leave. Yesterday morning as I sat in the chair in front of the window that looks out at your snow-covered garden and our WillBilly tree, a quilt on my lap and my hands cupped around my mug of hot tea, I noticed the stiff, frozen branches of your tree waver in the wind… I want to believe it was you waving at me from the cold side of the window.
As I am writing to you now, on what is yet another “too cold to do anything outside” kind of day, I can’t help but notice the brilliant blue sky and the way the sunshine makes the snow sparkle; it’s like you’re winking at me. Then there’s the untouched snow that blankets the trampoline making it look like a giant marshmallow. That snow so deep and heavy has pulled the springs towards the ground making the jumpy part stretch and curve into what looks like a giant grin. Yup, it’s you again. I don’t imagine the weight of the snow can be good for the trampoline but the giant smile it has created makes my heart smile with it. Hey, speaking of marshmallows… I am just remembering how you’d like to put one on a plate and slide it into the microwave for a minute. It would puff up multiplying in size, seemingly taking on a life of its own… another one of those edible “science projects” and the topic of another letter I’ll write to you on another day, Will. What I remember most about those microwaved marshmallows was how hard the gooey plate was to clean!
Anyways Will, as I’ve turned the calendar to March I am hopeful that the days won’t seem as long as some of the frigid February days we’ve had to endure as of late. With the daylight hours (slowly) increasing and Spring-like weather on the horizon, soon being outside will be enjoyable again and knowing that puts a little bounce in my day. I’ve lived in Alberta long enough to know that we’ve not seen the end of winter by any means but what I have come to expect once February has passed is that when we find ourselves in a cold snap, those deep freeze days don’t hang around for long. Yuk, it is true the cold spell is still upon us but the forecast is for warmer weather to come our way in the next few days. Until that happens, I will continue to look at the abundant beauty from the warm side of the window and I’ll continue to look for all the special winter Willy’s that are you.
Love you like a frozen bus with square wheels, Willy. I am missing you terribly these past few weeks. More so than usual… if that is even possible.
Momxo
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0 Comments
Hi Joni: You write so beautifully…. I am so sorry that your son was sick. You must have been really worried especially since you were so far away and had to wait a long time to see him. So glad he recovered! I hope that next year you can make it to your special beach next year. I guess this year wasn’t your time to go. Thinking of you and sending hope, strength, and big hugs…
Cheryl
It’s so nice to hear from you, Cheryl. I’ve missed our banter back and forth. My son, Ben, is ok. Doctors say he will be fine. It was scary being so far away. Moms need to be close to their babies no matter how old or how big they are. I know you get that. Next summer we will try again to get to Cannon Beach. It will happen when it’s supposed to. Thanks for your comment, Cheryl. One day I hope to meet you so we can chat face to face!
Yes, wee Ben is good. Just heard from doctor re his follow-up echocardiogram and ultrasound and all is good. No damage. Looking forward to seeing you too. Gonna be quiet in our house. …another change…
Will’s Memorial Rock – Fernie, BC
Hi Joni: You write so beautifully…. I am so sorry that your son was sick. You must have been really worried especially since you were so far away and had to wait a long time to see him. So glad he recovered! I hope that next year you can make it to your special beach next year. I guess this year wasn’t your time to go. Thinking of you and sending hope, strength, and big hugs…
Cheryl
It’s so nice to hear from you, Cheryl. I’ve missed our banter back and forth. My son, Ben, is ok. Doctors say he will be fine. It was scary being so far away. Moms need to be close to their babies no matter how old or how big they are. I know you get that. Next summer we will try again to get to Cannon Beach. It will happen when it’s supposed to. Thanks for your comment, Cheryl. One day I hope to meet you so we can chat face to face!
Hi Joni, I am so glad wee Ben is ok what a scare that must have been.
Looking forward to seeing you in a couple of weeks, love Lyn.
Yes, wee Ben is good. Just heard from doctor re his follow-up echocardiogram and ultrasound and all is good. No damage. Looking forward to seeing you too. Gonna be quiet in our house. …another change…