Dancing in the Rain

ByJoni Bouchard

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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  • The Cold Side of the Pillow

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    Tuesday, August 23, 2011 Hey Will, This morning I woke and as I lay in my bed, the first thing I did was turn over my pillow… to the cold side.  I smiled to myself remembering that this was one of your favourite things in the world…. Ahhh, the cold side of a pillow.  True, for me as well, though it was always an Read More “The Cold Side of the Pillow”

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  • Hanging In Heaven With Your Papa

    Christmas Eve 2023

    Good morning, my sweet boy,

    In my world you are the brightest star in the night time sky; the one in the middle of the three stars that make up Orion’s Belt but there is another bright star in the night sky this Christmas…. we all know it as the North Star, but to me it is also my dad and your papa. I know you’ve been hanging with him since he joined you in June and I just know you have shown him your favourite parts of heaven — back and forth between the snowiest mountains to the rainbow bridge where all the dogs live. I laugh a little knowing that those dogs love having you and Papa up there. You, throwing ball after ball after ball and Papa, feeding them all of the very best treats and cereal in a bowl every morning. 

    Today is Christmas Eve and there is joy, but there is also a heaviness that time still cannot erase. When I set the table tonight, and even now as I stare at it, there is an undeniable emptiness that magnifies the empty chair more at this time of year than any other. My heart knows that the sadness, the heaviness in my chest, is the weight of the big love that you brought and continue to bring to me and Dad and your brothers. 

    I am grateful that I am in a place where I can find joy in this season but at the same time I cannot help but think of my mom and how hard it is for her to find joy when she is grieving the loss of my dad. This is the first Christmas for my mom without my dad. The first Christmas in 64 years that Nana will spend without Papa. While it is a gift to have had so many Christmases together, it is also difficult to imagine a Christmas without him. Of course, there will be a bright, beautiful candle on my sister’s table when they all gather for dinner tomorrow. That candle representing Papa (and you) and the love and light that you continue to bring to us. And, Will, wait until you see our table tonight! Instead of a candle this year, you will be a winter wonderland of snow and twinkling lights that only an earth angel would know how to assemble. And tucked in right beside you and the twinkling lights will be your papa.

    I’ve a special Christmas wish this year and one that only you can make happen. As you and Papa time travel tonight and tomorrow can you please drop Papa off at Nana’s and let him dwell there with my sweet mom for the entire holiday? Can you make sure that Nana sees him and hears him and can you make sure that her tears turn from sorrow into joy. Can you tell Papa that we love him and that we miss him and that in this whole, big, old world there is no one that misses him more than Nana. Remind Papa to tell Nana that it’s quite alright to feed the dog cereal from a bowl every morning and that up in that vast space we call heaven that he will always love and miss his one true love. Then come to our table so we can bask in all the wonder that is you. I am grateful every minute for the love that you continue to bring to us and I am happy that you are hanging in heaven with your Papa.

    I love you, Willy. Like a bus and more than Christmas and all the beauty that this season brings. Sure, there is joy, because we find it in love but, dang, that empty chair still hurts. 

    Happy Christmas, little blue.

    Momxo

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  • Sixteen Octobers and a Little Yellow Butterfly

     

    willjordbrent.jpg
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    Dear Will,

     

    For seven days now memories of the beautiful day in October when you were born are all I think about. Each year since your tragic passing it has been the same — as soon as September turns to October your birthday consumes me. On the first day of every October you would start by announcing, “14 days till my birthday!” and in the next breath, “What are we gonna do!?” Then the countdown would begin. A week from today you would have reached a milestone birthday – you’d be 16 years old. It is difficult for me to wrap my head around this because 16 seemed so far away when we celebrated your 12th birthday and what would be your last with us here. Like your brothers and most everybody turning 16, I suppose that getting your drivers license would be the first and most important thing on your list and right about now I imagine that you’d be scouring the Alberta Drivers License booklet refreshing yourself of all the facts you’d need to know so you could pass your drivers test. “Mom, can you quiz me?” “Can you ask me some questions after dinner?” “Mom, I think I’ve got it! But please can you ask me some more questions?” “Please, pretty please…?” As October 14th approaches I wish more than anything that you were here driving me crazy with your persistent excitement at turning 16 years old. Gosh, Will, if only it were different…

     

    Instead, the memories of the twelve birthdays we celebrated together hit me like ocean waves rolling up on the beach. One memory after another conjures up endless pictures in my mind, numerous conversations and laughs we shared, and all the angel food cakes, icecream, and pizzas that were part of your special day. I remember all the places we went (bowling, gymnastics, swimming, and movies) and the times, too, when we had your birthday party at home. I think of how our kitchen table was surrounded by your friends, all with orange-dyed lips from the orange pop that you loved so much. Each time I write the word October or hear it in conversation or see it on a calendar or a piece of paper I feel sad; sad for what should be, for what you missed, and for what we missed too. It’ll never be right that you didn’t see sixteen Octobers.

     

    With you ever present in my mind and while walking Finn down by the river this afternoon, a little yellow butterfly appeared. In an instant I knew it was you and as I walked and Finn chased his ball I talked to you. It felt nice to say your name and so I said it over and over. When I’d stop to pick up the ball with the chucker the little yellow butterfly would stop too. And then start. And then stop. This went on for quite some time and while tears rolled down my cheeks I noticed I was smiling too. You have this way, Will, of showing up when I need you, of validating my belief that you really are here and that you are never far away. As I struggle with what would have been your sixteenth October I applaud that little yellow butterfly that so profoundly visited Finn and me this afternoon. Thank you for finding me.

     

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    Momxo

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  • Still…

    Heart Rock

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    Dear Will,

    It’s May. Again. The month I shy away from, still. Dread, still. The month that is hard to write down, still. The month that conjures up deep pain, still. And, the month that measures time like no other. I pinch myself wondering how one week short of 11 years can still feel like yesterday and forever, still.

    The still part feels like I’m stuck. And maybe that is what I have let May become for me? As I ponder and dread and feel all these things that seem to define the month of May, maybe being stuck doesn’t have to be a bad thing? Maybe being stuck or “still” allows me to sit with you a little longer, to honour and remember you with more intention than usual. Though sadness still creeps in, because that is, after all, the price we pay when we lose a loved one, it can also be a time to be stuck in the deep love part of loss. And, maybe, just maybe that is the gift, the silver-lining so to speak. To be stuck on you is not a bad thing at all!

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    img 2714
    img 2714

    I miss you, my sweet boy. Still.

    And I love you. Still. Like a big ‘ole bus stuck in love. By the grace of God, that love bus is plenty big for both of us. Still.

    Momxo

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  • When Its Not The Happiest Time of the Year

    IMG_1783December 23, 2014 Dear Will,
    Will's Santa Hat is our angel on the top of our tree
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    I have been thinking about you more than usual if that is even possible. This time of year so happy for others is not so happy for me. The memories of Christmases past flood my conscience and at times I feel that I am not even here, but with you instead. Yesterday, a “22” day was especially hard though today doesn’t feel much different. Dad and I and Finn are in Fernie now, awaiting the arrival of your big brothers later this afternoon. I am looking forward to having them here, as the four of us together for Christmas is all that really matters. I’ve put up the tree and decorated it just so – you are all over it as usual and your brothers too (and, well, Dad and I too in the form of our Fernie family ski passes). Your Santa hat is our angel on the top of the tree, the one that you took a sharpie to in grade 3 and wrote your name in large letters so that no one would take it. I love how you printed your name… there really was no difference from when you were a tiny tot to when you were last with us as your name is really just a simple series of sticks when you think about it. So much easier than when Justin and Ben were small and had to learn to maneuver their pencil to form curves. I guess by the third child I’d figured out that there wasn’t a simpler name to print than yours. It is all a non issue other than when you boys were learning to print your name and well, you, little blue, had it the easiest. Our tree is also adorned with some of the ornaments that you made at school that I couldn’t leave in the Christmas box. The paper cut out snowflake that you made and glued to a CD, and the brown felt gingerbread boy that you sewed and stuffed all on your own when you were in grade 2. There’s also a wooden sign that you painted and strung with a very long piece of metallic thread. I love these little masterpieces even more now than when you brought them home all those years ago. They are priceless memories of Christmases that seem now so perfect because all five of us were together. I have already told you how we’ve adopted some new family traditions since your passing and they are simple and beautiful. Our stocking exchange has become a family highlight and the greenery and baubles that lay so peacefully on your stocking Christmas morning and then grace our Christmas table hugging the snowy white candle that we light in your memory seems so perfect. We look forward to and love the last present under the tree, a neatly wrapped box from you to us that is always a family jigsaw puzzle that keeps us busy on the days and weeks following Christmas. These have become important pieces of Christmas that have allowed us to celebrate in your memory and in a way that I believe you would embrace wholeheartedly. You will always be a part of our Christmases, Willy, just as you are a part of our every day. Tonight or tomorrow morning I will ice the gingerbread boys. It’s the same recipe that I used to make when you were little but the boys are smaller now. I found a small gingerbread boy cookie cutter and in each little tin or box I enclose a little note that says, “Before they can be men, they must be boys”. I came upon these wise words two years ago and now they seem so apropos to include. Again, they make me think of you. I miss you, Will. So very much still and I now that I always will. As I sit and stare out of my big Fernie window at the incredible view of “your” ski hill I am reminded that if you were here you’d be up there skiing now. You’d have begun the day with your Dad and I imagine now you’d be hucking flips rippin’ it up with Josh and Calvin. This season isn’t the happiest time of the year for me… or for anyone that has lost someone so loved. I try to smile and though for you I do, it isn’t without a tear too. Happy Christmas up there, Will. I know you’re with us, watching me now as I wipe a tear, and find a smile. Rip it up on the ski hill for Dad and your brothers. And then join us here on Christmas morning and watch us laugh and remember and love you forever. Love you like a bus full of Christmas lights and turkey, Momxo

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  • The World Needs a Little More Willy

    Will, Kathleen, and Kale in “the big sandbox of life”

    Wednesday, March 31, 2026

    Hey my sweet boy,

    I’ve been thinking about you more than usual these days. There are so many things—daily—that conjure thoughts of you and as I sat down to write you a letter I was trying to quantify how much that really is. I know for sure that I think about you with all of my heart and believe me, Willy, the vastness of my heart and what it holds is way bigger than a bus. You not only reside there, but you are the shape of my heart because you fill every space in it. There is not a day that I am not reminded of you in some way and that I don’t say your name . . . sometimes to myself and sometimes out loud. There is not a day that I don’t smile because of you. Even when a smile might not be the first thing that comes.

    For instance, I wasn’t going to mention the seemingly incessant snow squalls that have me in a constant state of “what the heck, Willy” but I’m kind of done with the frequent white blankets of Will for now. Not only does the snow make me think of you but I can also hear you laughing your little self to pieces watching me down here struggle with the boots on/boots off stuff. And then, guess what? I smile.

    You were indeed a bundle of boy. A boy full of joy and of silliness, of wonder, of awe, of fun, of all the good stuff and all the things that mirrored the pure and simple innocence of a life not yet hardened by real-life cruelties. You didn’t know hate or bombs or death because of race or religion or skin colour or where you were born. You were a boy who proudly and openly wore love on your sleeve and who was drawn to the sandbox of life because everyone was welcome there and that is where you made friends. You didn’t know how much hate could hurt the world because hate didn’t live in your sandbox. I think about our world and how much it could sure use a little more Willy. 

    You are my little buoy in a sea of uncertainty, my calm in the storm, my little sun in a world that is holding too much darkness. You are my hope and my life preserver all rolled into one. You are my smile at the end of the day and when the days feel sadder, darker, scary and uncertain, you are my little reminder and my prayer that everything is going to be okay. You are my smile when things get crazy, Willy, even when it is just another snow squall laying down a white blanket of Will on a spring day.

    Maybe that is precisely why I am thinking about you more than usual these days. My world—the world—our world—desperately needs a little more Willy right now.

    I miss you more than ever and I love you bigger than my heart and our bus. 

    Momxo

    Will’s One Love canvas that he painted and that lives in my office.

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0 Comments

  3. I have taken my time reading your thought provoking, Love Letters to Will. You are a beautiful, talented writer, and a wonderful Mom. I am always thinking of you. Hugs to you!

    Reply

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