For You. And For Dad.

ByJoni Bouchard
Murray and Will
Will and Murray

June 17, 2017

Dear Will,

Today I write to you with beautiful memories of you and Dad. Tomorrow is Father’s Day and I am remembering all of the Dad’s Days that you celebrated with us down here. I also write to you in honour of Dad as tomorrow is one of those extra difficult days. Dad hurts; his heart still so broken and in every breath he will feel you and be thinking about you. As tomorrow dawns he will miss you more than usual — if that’s even possible.

All the precious, handmade cards and gifts you made with your hands and your heart are in the memory boxes that are bursting with treasures of you and your brothers. When we bring those boxes out and go through all the cards from happy days past we are brought to tears and smiles. The sad tears are mixed with gratitude as we often pause and comment on the magnitude of the gifts these boxes behold. Every piece of paper, every printed letter and written word, every stick man and simple illustration and every “I love you” are priceless gifts from you and your brothers. If there’s one thing I know for certain in this world it is that those bittersweet memory boxes are ones Dad and I will hold onto until the end of our days. Wherever we call home they will be with us… reminders of the most cherished parts of us. I still save every handmade card that we make for each other and wish more than anything that there were more from you. The “if onlys” that echo when we lift the lids of those boxes make us painfully aware of what could have been and what should have been. Sigh… if only…

This Father’s Day we will also be missing Ben as he is up north in a remote area of the Yukon at a summer job he has taken in his field of study. Watching and sharing in his graduation from UBC Okanagan last week brought Dad and I much joy and as we celebrated Ben’s convocation on the campus we talked about you constantly. We knew you were there too (you’d have not missed this!) and we were convinced that had we not lost you you’d be at that same university. We imagined you’d have finished your first year there as Ben finished his final year and we laughed thinking about the times you’d have been a thorn in his side wanting so much to be a part of his world there. Your Willy shenanigans aside, we know that if things were different, as your big brother, he’d have looked out for you there. Again… if only.

I am thankful Justin and Amy are here to join us for dinner tomorrow as we celebrate Dad. In a week from now Justin and Amy will take possession of and move into their first home. There is much excitement around this milestone as Dad and I remember our first home and sharing in their excitement will help make the day brighter for us. Even though there will be less chairs around the dinner table and through the underlying devastating sadness of losing you that is always present I know that Dad will enjoy our handmade cards and dinner in his honour. As we always do, we will reminisce and remember the happiest of all the very best Father’s Days when you were with us. When our world was perfect.

Please shine your little light especially on Dad tomorrow and on our Amy, too, as she endures her first Father’s Day without her wonderful Dad. Find her dad up there amongst the clouds, Will, and let him know that she’ll always have us to comfort her and carry her in her loss.

I know the day will be full of little blue butterflies and that in the silent parts of the day we’ll hear your giggle and your words, “Hey, Dad, watch this!” Of course, there will be tears because we miss you so very much but we also know that our hearts will be full of you — Bursting like all those precious memory boxes.

Love you, Little Blue. More than words and more than anything. Like a bus in a “bigger than the world” box of cherished memories and handmade cards.

Momxo

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  • And a New Chapter Begins…

    WagonRocks
    Our wagon of rocks has a new home
    Tuesday, August 28, 2018 Dear Will, It’s been a while since I’ve put pen to paper (or as one would say nowadays, fingers to QWERTY keyboard). It is not for lack of thinking of you or talking to you, in fact, it wouldn’t surprise me to hear you say, “you sure do talk a lot, Mom.” Duh, no surprise there. I’ve tried all summer to find the right time to just sit with you instead of nattering to you endlessly while I purged and packed, sold and donated, dumped and repurposed, unpacked and nested, arranged and rearranged…. and I’m still doing it. Summer has been full of all of that and lots of road trips back and forth from Redwood to Fernie. And now, the next chapter has officially begun. This chapter begins with downsizing from our five bedroom home to two (and a bunkie). How novel for the Bouchard’s to own one home instead of maintaining two for so many years. We said goodbye to our home in Redwood on August 6th and though we knew our farewell to 22 years in Redwood Meadows would be difficult, let me just tell you that I created my own little river of tears as I said goodbye to every room in our home. The only thing that kept me sane was knowing that we were relocating to the mountain town where we have played as a family for 28 years. You always said you wanted to move here and well, here we are, Willy! What makes this easier is knowing that you are very much here with us. Not surprising, part of you and us will live in the trees and on the paths beside the river in Redwood Meadows. The indelible memories of having lived the very best of life raising you and your brothers in such a safe and magical place is inseparable. It’s a kind of “you can take the mom out of Redwood but you can’t take Redwood out of the mom” kind of feeling. I do wholeheartedly believe that one cannot ever really leave Redwood. Kind of like the Eagles’ Hotel California in some ways.
    JustinBenWill
    Raising our boys in Redwood Meadows… the very best of life
    It is important to note that living in our mountain play place full time is a transition and will take some time as Dad is still very much working in Calgary. Retirement is not in the short term picture yet but owning one home sure has its advantages. Dad and Ben are renting a condo in Calgary… two peas in a pod living very much in a pod. My frequent trips to Calgary will include visits to the condo, visits with Justin and Amy at their home and visits with my forever friends in Redwood and Bragg Creek. I look forward to all of this as it would have been impossibly difficult to move “cold turkey”. Having you with me, Will, is the constant in this life that makes everything possible. There is peace knowing that it matters not where we are, but who we take with us in our hearts that is most important. This time, my sweet boy, it was I who took your hand and lead you down hwy 22 and then a right onto hwy 3 instead of you taking mine while we danced in the clouds. And now that I’m here my hand is back in yours ready to dance once again in the heavenly skies. I love you, Willy. More than all the happy times in Redwood packed into a bus beside the Elbow River where the little blue butterflies flutter and the most magical of snowflakes fall (sometimes too frequently… like in the late spring… grrrr). That is big love, my sweet boy. Big. Bus. Love. Momxo
    FernieWillPower
    Will’s Mountain Bike Trail at Fernie Alpine Resort
     

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  • C’mon Mom

    willpower.jpg
    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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  • A Room With a View

    20130917-182702.jpg
    The view of Polar Peak from your Memorial Rock
    Sunday, September 15, 2013 Dear Sweet Will, I am writing you this letter today from a very special place. I am sitting on the concrete skirting that surrounds your memorial rock in a natural alcove that Mother Nature carved out in the forest, a short walk from the top of the Elk Chair on the mountain that you so lovingly referred to as your ski home. It is incredibly lush here; so beautiful, peaceful, and quiet. At this moment the only sound would be me crying. I am here by myself for a bit and I couldn’t contain my silent tears so the mountain you loved is hearing me cry out loud. The pain of missing you so terribly sometimes comes out this way, Will. My tears started when I woke this morning. My head was still on the pillow as I reached over to the bedside table for my Will heart necklace. I held it in my hands for a few moments staring at it as if I was looking into your blue eyes. Your ashes sealed inside the silver heart pendant that I cupped in my hands before I secured the necklace around my neck is the most treasured piece of jewelry I own. It is the first thing I put on in the morning and the last thing I take off before I crawl into bed. I have cleaned and shined it with my tears on many occasions and this morning was no different.
    Elsy, Kathleen, Sarah, and Tess at your Memorial Rock
    Elsy, Kathleen, Sarah, and Tess at your Memorial Rock
    I am in Fernie this weekend for our second annual moms, daughters, and dogs hike to your rock. Claire, Sue, and Lisa and their “oh so pretty” daughters who I know you remember (Elsy, Sarah, and Tess) and, of course, the dogs (Sophie, Oakley, Bella, and our Finn) are sharing this special weekend with me. This year, however, your most special friend, Kathleen, and the closest girl I have to a daughter, is also here. I asked her if she’d come along as my “guest daughter” and in a while they will join me here to honour and remember you. But right now is my time with just you and as I sit here with my iPad ready to begin my letter to you I can’t help but notice the beauty that surrounds your memorial rock. Your rock in itself is incredible but where it rests is a little piece of heaven on earth. The ground is dark brown, rich and fertile, and still moist from the morning dew. The foliage and trees in all shapes and sizes and textures form a canopy protecting your rock somewhat from the elements that are part of a mountain climate. Some of the branches are tinged with yellow now as Mother Nature begins her transition from summer to fall. The ones directly overhead remind me of eyelashes as they flutter to and fro in the sunlight keeping me cool in the shade that they provide. There are still some glittery snowflake decorations hanging in the trees; remnants of the winter day the week before Christmas when Dad and I came here to specifically hang them. As I look down at my feet I notice bits of silver glitter that has mixed with the soil around your rock and my heart, even though my tears, somehow finds a reason to smile. I smile because I remember so clearly each day I visited your rock during this past winter while skiing. Inside my ski jacket pocket was a container that I filled with glitter and sparkles and each time I visited I would sprinkle them around your rock and the snow around it. Angel dust is what I called it. But what I notice most, Will, is the breathtaking view. This room with a view, your room here, is majestic and beautiful and a reminder that we are all so small amongst these huge mountains. However, your spirit and your presence here is much larger than all of us combined. I feel the warmth of your smile and I can hear your giggle (a giggle like no other and one of my favourite sounds ever), but what I long for more than anything else is to have you standing here with me, holding my hand. If only that was possible. What I will take with me down the mountain today are the countless memories of you at this place you loved and this view from your rock. Mother Nature was kind to bestow upon us this breathtaking view of Polar Peak. Your room with a view is beautiful, peaceful, and tranquil…. just like you. I love you little Blue. Like a bus. And I miss you bigger than the blue sky above your favourite mountain today. Know that the words we had engraved on the back side of your rock will be there for all time and will always ring true…
    You are forever a part of us and never alone. We love you, Will, and we miss you. Love Mom Dad Justin Ben XO
    Momxo

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  • Signs and Big, Big Love

    Fernie Alpine Resort photo credit: Fernie Alpine Resort
    Fernie Alpine Resort
    photo credit: Fernie Alpine Resort
    Saturday, January 24, 2015 Dear Willy, It’s a beautiful, bluebird morning in Fernie and I am in my pajamas with a cup of tea watching the sunshine awaken the mountain that beckons you. You, Will, are all I am thinking of.   I feel drawn to this place, a gentle unwavering pull that is you. It seems to me that so many adults struggle with where they want to retire, where they see themselves wanting to spend the next chapter of their lives when their kids are grown and have finished university to embark on “the school of real life”. The decision to spend more time in Fernie and make this the place where we will retire became crystal clear when we sadly and tragically lost you in May 2011. Life and me so defined by that day – like a line in the sand. I subconsciously categorize all that happens in my world as before losing you and after losing you.
    Will skiing in Fernie - the place he wanted to someday call home.
    Will skiing in Fernie – the place he wanted to someday call home.
    The before is full of so many wonderful memories; days full of laughs and giggles, of hugs and I love yous (oh, there were some “I’m mad at yous” too), of brothers pushing buttons to provoke deliberate annoyance, of driving here and there and everywhere, and of constant negotiations around, well, everything. Life was good then, it was full and the way it was supposed to be, the norm so to speak… all of them days that I would give anything to have back. Life after losing you has been a struggle to say the least. Days where there is no choice but to find a way to live, days where I must go on without the physicality of you. Even though I see signs of you everywhere and know in my heart that you are all around me spiritually, the physical part is what I miss so very much. The reality that I cannot see you grow, that I can’t tousle your hair and feel your hugs or hear what your teenage voice would sound like are still too hard to bear. What keeps me going, Will, is my belief that I will see you again and that when I do we will be together for eternity. Believing that you strategically send signs that confirm your presence continue to put the warm and fuzzy in my living days.
    Our FinnWilly
    Our FinnWilly
    I will forever believe that you are every beautiful snowflake, every rainbow, every blue butterfly, and every heart shaped rock on my path. You are the sparkle in a dewdrop and the twinkle of a star and you are that warm wind that sometimes so suddenly will hit my face on a frigidly cold day. I believe that you are the knowing eyes in our dog and the playful spirit and knowing way that Finn just has to be in the middle of Dad and I wherever we are. I think all of this is YOU showing up, sending your love, and reminding us that you are here. Please keep on showing up, Willy. Keep on sending those signs that sometimes stop me in my tracks and sometimes make me turn around and go back, the signs that make me whisper your name and make me stop and stay in the moment for awhile. You are the signs that make me feel warm and fuzzy, that sometimes make me smile and sometimes make me cry. Today, Little Blue, you are the blue sky that serves as the backdrop to the mountain you called your own. You are the sunshine that makes that blue sky possible today and you are the reason that I find myself smiling right now.
    Big, big Love (photo credit unknown)
    Big, big Love
    (photo credit unknown)
    Love you like a bus, Will. The bus that sits on the white sparkling snow somewhere over the rainbow. That’s big love, Will. Big, big love. Momxo

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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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  • The Little Blue Ball and You

    The little blue ball on the hard to reach ledge
    The little blue ball on the hard to reach ledge
    February 2, 2014 Good morning, my little star, Each day as I make my way down the stairs to the main floor of our home (more times than not with dirty laundry in my arms) I am taken aback by the little blue ball that still sits way up high on the second story above the front door on the ledge under our front feature window.  How did it get there?  Well, I know that YOU know and I know that it wasn’t deliberately “placed” there as you can only reach that narrow ledge with an extendable ladder.  It “ended up” there as a result of a bad shot in the mini sticks hockey shoot-out that occurred regularly (sometimes, daily) on the landing at the top of the staircase to the second story of our house.  The place where the space opens up to a high ceiling, few walls, and a white wooden railing that was the only stopper to that little blue ball ending up downstairs on the floor… or, less likely, on the ledge above the door where it still sits.  I remember the countless times I asked that you boys take the game downstairs where it didn’t matter where or how the ball was hit; downstairs where I could close the door to the basement so I didn’t have to hear the play by play of each shot and the thunk, thunk, thunk, of feet running up and down the stairs to retrieve that little blue ball. What I hear in my head now when I see that ball and what I remember more than anything else is the sound of boys giggling with delight at the simple fun of hitting a little blue ball (a ball soft enough that it couldn’t possibly damage anything) with little hockey sticks.  It’s quite remarkable how things that used to drive me crazy back then speak to me in such a different way now.  How I long for those days where listening to you and your friends, or you and your brothers, just simply laugh because you were having fun.  Its true that in between the laughter there were negotiations and arguments on fair play and sometimes stoppage of play because one of you would get hit with the stick and have to rub your hands together while jumping up and down to shake off the pain.  I also remember the same repeated question I’d get when I asked you to move the game downstairs… “awe, Mom.  Why?  We’re not wrecking anything and its “funner” here.  The shots are more fun when they can go further.”  When I’d respond with a more serious and stern voice that what I needed (wanted) was silence, then and only then, was there compliance.
    the little blue ball
    the little blue ball
    Seeing that little blue ball now conjures up a different feeling.  And with it the yearning that if only I could have those days back, relive those precious moments where the sound of boys laughing and giggling was what really mattered, I’d take them back in a heartbeat.  I have no desire to retrieve that little ball from where it now sits because it is a reminder of you and that makes me smile.  It took a long time before my tears turned into smiles upon seeing that little ball but somehow even through the tears I knew that I didn’t want to take it down, that in time it would become another sacred memory of you.  And now that’s what it is. From time to time  (ok, once) I had to maneuver the long, awkward (and scary) extendible ladder into the house and get my butt up there to dust that ledge.  That was a while ago and I’ll need to do it again soon, as the dust seemingly multiplies faster in the places where you can’t reach easily.  Once up there I put the little blue ball in the pocket of my sweatshirt while I “swiffered” the dust onto the floor below.  Before I carefully placed the ball in the exact same spot where it landed on that mini sticks game day, I cupped both my hands around it and brought it to my face.  I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and planted a kiss on it as if it were your cheek.  That place is now home to that little blue ball.  And I’m pretty sure it always will be. Love you, little blue (hah!).  More than a bus on top of a tall, hard to reach ledge. Momxo

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