January can be a downer for many people. It’s been proven. And I get it. But somedays can be bluer than blue… like today. I feel like there’s a dark blue cloud over my head and though I know you’re still sitting on my left shoulder I think this dark cloud might silence even you today. Try as I might I just can’t seem to shake it off. So what do I do when I have a day like this? What can I do? Well…. maybe I just need to sit with the blues. Maybe I’ll give myself permission to sit out today. Surely the world will be just fine with me watching from the sidelines.
I’ll drink tea and reminisce about happier days. I’ll close my eyes and time travel back to the days when our world was perfect and remember all the perfectly ordinary days when you kept me on my toes, kept me running, kept me busy and, on occasion, kept me “unkept”. Ah yes, those days. Those days when I was angry at something you did and I became unhinged. And you could tell because of the deep furrow in my forehead and how my eyebrows would knit together into that horrible, chunky line. This, of course was the precursor to me raising my voice and stomping my feet. AND THEN the way you’d cock your head ever so slightly and not say a word while staring at my eyebrows and then you’d do that thing with your nostrils…. that flaring in and out thing that would make me laugh. You just couldn’t stand to see me angry so you’d turn on your Willy nostrils and watch my frowns turn into smiles and my smiles turn into laughter. That was a brilliant strategy when I look back at it. (Not so sure it would have worked as smoothly as it did in your teen years…).
While I sit out today I’ll think about how wrapped up I could get in things that weren’t important or that I couldn’t control. I’ll think about how much time and energy I expended on stuff that really didn’t matter. And then I’ll remind myself that I did the best that I could on those given days and that all of it came from a place of love. I’ll look at today and remind myself of that very same message. I’ll tell myself that these blue days all come back to love. Because they just do. I’m sad today because I miss you and I’m down and out because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I’ll never be ready to say goodbye. And so I won’t. I can’t. I think I never will.
Then I’ll tell myself that no matter how blue my mood you are still the brightest light in my world, my North Star. Grief is a bigger monster than usual today and no matter how dark the blue cloud I will hold on tight to the good things and the good people that care about me. And I’ll hold on to everything that is you.
While I sit on the sidelines today I know and I trust that your little light (and the thoughts of your little flaring nostrils) will pull me out of this blue cloud and that it will dissipate. All I ask, Will, is that you sit with me today. In love. In trust. In hope. Flaring nostrils and all.
I miss you, sweet boy. And I love you so very much. Like a bus, only bigger.
Momxo
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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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It’s crazy down here. And, as you look down on our world I wonder what you must be thinking? It’s hard to even believe that we are where we are. But, my sweet boy, we are. I cannot help but appreciate what heaven must be like right now… where eternal love and beauty are uninterrupted and where there is no wrong, no hurt and no pain. A place where there are no coronaviruses… and perhaps the only place right now where there is no COVID-19!
Down here we are praying for the safety of ALL who are on the front line of this crisis – all the healthcare workers, doctors, nurses, grocers, pharmacists, truck drivers… all who are providing essential needs to where we can access them… Our world needs big love right now and the best way to love this world is to heed the advice of the scientists and medical professionals and stay home. And so, we are hunkering down at home. Dad and I are committed to keeping our small bubble safe, as are your brothers in their own little bubbles. And Finn, well, I think he’s never been happier. He’s never left at home alone!
Many times throughout the day I find myself looking up to the sky for answers and for hope. I look up there because that is where you are and, well, that other big guy, too… the guy I refer to as God. I trust that he’s got this and that you are helping him share the light and the hope and the love. Send an extra big helping to those on the front line and those fighting for their lives because right now they need it most.
I believe that at some point the world will be able to return to some semblance of what we once called normal but, too, I hope that we are all better people for it. I hope that our world can be kinder and more grateful and that we can celebrate every day for the blessed ordinariness of the little things that too many take for granted. Our time here is finite and we can all make a difference. The world needs to unite in this crisis. We are not an “us and them” but one big ole world who needs lots of big ole one love.
I’ve unpacked the “ONE LOVE” canvas that you painted when you were 11 years old and I think I will never pack it away again. It needs to be hung in our home where we can love it everyday, not only because your little hands created it, but also because it is a message that we need to practice everyday.
I miss you, little blue. And I love you. More than a bus and bigger than our big ole hurting world right now.
Keep on shining your little light, Willy. Our world needs it so much.
Momxo
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My boys. My everything. December 2004
January 11, 2014
Dear Will,
This is my first letter to you in 2014, and though you may be wondering why it took eleven days to finally put my words here… well, Willy, it was just really hard for me. I know what you’re thinking. “Geez, Mom. You were never at a loss for words. Gosh, there were days when I wished it were so, but c’mon, Mom, this never happens to you!” Truth is, I have thought about you every minute of every day; I have talked to you out loud, whispered your name, looked for you in the sky, in the snow, and in every nook and cranny of life. Most times, Will, thankfully I found you staring right back at me. I have taken you with me to Fernie and Montana and back, tucked you safely in my heart where you occupy an indelible space; a space every mother creates for her children when they go to heaven without their moms, no matter how old they are. These past 11 days and the days over Christmas have been especially difficult. I woke each day wondering if this might be the day that I could find the strength to put some happy words here… but day after day (even though I tried and tried) it just never worked. As soon as I would open my laptop and type your name, my tears would fall and I would find myself paralyzed, staring at an empty screen.
This holiday season was our third without you and though I know that grief never follows a straight line from unbearably sad to sad, to a little bit sad, to a little less sad… I somehow wanted to believe, to hope, that maybe this year it would be a little easier. Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong. For me, Christmas without you was again unbearably sad. Was it because I expected/hoped it would be a bit easier? Maybe. But then, how could it be? I know in my heart of hearts that it will never be easier, never be less painful, or less empty. What we’ve been told is that it will always be sad, but that we will get better at learning to live with the pain, the loss, the emptiness of not having you here. Oh, like that makes it better? Of course it doesn’t.
What I will focus on and remember is the wonderful things that we do in honor of you around the holidays. How our tree is adorned with memories of you and of us spending our winters skiing in Fernie. How your Christmas stocking, instead of being filled with gifts and goodies, sits underneath the most beautiful spray that is the centre of our Christmas dinner table. The florist at the Farmers Market incorporated some of the blue and silver balls from the last two Christmas centrepieces into some cedar and evergreen boughs that hugged the same frosted hurricane vase with the white candle that is your light in the middle of all of us at Christmas. Will, it was really beautiful. (Thank you, Sandy). How under the tree is a gift for each of us from you, our Santa now. And how the last gift we open is a special family gift from you — always a jigsaw puzzle for us to work on together. I’ve yet to open the box, but think I might just do that today. Somehow seeing 1000 puzzle pieces spread out all over the dining room table and knowing that it’ll take us a month or two to complete finds me smiling.
There were some extra-special gifts under our tree this year and all were in honor of you, Will. I’d chosen two of your t-shirts, one each that held special memories for your brothers. For Ben, your black and gold LINE t-shirt, the one you’d won the summer you both went to Windell’s. I remember Ben always saying that you’d win everything and that he was never that lucky. For Justin, I chose your purple Fernie Freestyle Ski Club t-shirt. You know the one… you had a few because you’d worn out the first one. There are many pictures of you wearing this t-shirt under your flannel shirts. It was part of the classic “Will uniform”. Annette kindly sewed them into pillow covers (Thanks, Annette) and now your brothers have them on their beds.
Justin’s gift to all of us. Amazing!
The other was a gift for each of us from Justin. He insisted that his gift be the first one we opened on Christmas morning. Inside his beautiful wrapping (he might need a little work on this?) each of us received a mug that Amy had made and the two of them had designed. On each mug was the wolf that you’d drawn in kindergarten. I was unaware that transposing a real image was even possible on a handmade piece of pottery and am still in awe that he would know how precious this gift would be to all of us. They are priceless and I know I will treasure them forever.
The careful thought and love that we put into our Christmases without you is a beautiful testament to you and how much we miss you and love you. As your mom, I am so proud. You and Dad and your brothers are my everything and I couldn’t love any of you more than I already do. Nana and Pa shared Christmas with us this year and that was really special, too. It was quiet and had its share of laughter and tears like every Christmas going forward undoubtedly will.
New Years was again sad all over again. Though I tried to be more social this year, I found myself alone in my bed before the stroke of midnight wishing more than anything that the pillow I was holding was you. As midnight approached I could see the fireworks light up the darkness, hear them explode with loud bangs. I could hear the music and the laughter and the words “happy new year” being shared from one to another outside the window. Where I found comfort was snuggling with Dad and my pillow under the covers with my eyes closed remembering how much you loved staying up till all hours on this magical night to ring in a new year. I’ll try again next year and maybe it will be different. Or maybe it won’t. It will only be what it will be. But for now, the holiday has passed and I’ve settled once again into my routine. I am back at school, back in my community, back amongst friends and family where I can be me; where it feels safe to shed a tear or two, even when asked one of the questions I dread most this time of year, “How was your Christmas?”
So now, here I am 11 days in to 2014 and I am here. I know you are here with me, too, Will. There are gobs and gobs of snow outside; the biggest blanket of Willy we’ve had in a long time! Is it a coincidence that Mr. Blue Sky has just played on the radio? Maybe. But I know it’s you. And earlier this morning, I found a loonie and two quarters in the couch cushions while looking for my knitting needle. Another coincidence? Maybe. But again, I know it’s you. I think I will open that jigsaw puzzle today. Help me, Will, I think this one’s gonna be a doozy.
Love you, little blue. Like a bus and the beauty of every single, magical snowflake.
Momxo
Thanks, Willy
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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
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Almost a teenager…
Sunday, October 14, 2018
Happy Birthday, my sweet boy,
This week began with a throwback to a sunny afternoon 20 years ago when I welcomed you into my arms and you officially became a member of our little family. It was and will always be one of the very best days of my life. It’s terribly sad for me to think that today you would be 20 years old and even more sad that I had only 12 birthdays to plan and celebrate with you here. You have to know, however, that we’ve never missed a year celebrating your birthday, Willy. Ribs, an angel food cake and cinnamon buns were your favourite and so we continue with the same birthday menu year after year after year.
bd balloons mur
bd balloons
I’ve been thinking all week about your birthday and how we were robbed of so much when you passed. A boy who never got to be 13. A boy who never got to be a teenager. A boy turned man who would now be 20. Eight birthdays where instead of lighting candles on your cake for you to make a wish and blow out we instead light a white pillar candle that sits in the middle of our dinner table. This candle lights our way so to speak and we don’t put it out until well after our dinner for you. Instead we make our own wish and I’m pretty sure that we all make the same one — a collective, “I wish you were here.”
Today I will put all my energy into celebrating one of my happiest of days. I will remember your welcome into the world and the 12 short, but full to the brim, years we shared. I will remember your sticky fingers while eating your birthday ribs and I’ll smile at how you used to squish/press/roll your slice of angel food cake into a small ball of doughy goodness. I will remember how at age 10 you learned how to make the gooey-ist bread-maker cinnamon buns in our family. I will remember your smile and your laugh and how much you loved being with us. And I will remember how much we loved celebrating you and how much we miss you. We will never stop celebrating you, Will. You will always be a part of us and every October 14 will always be a special day.
Love you, sweet one. Bigger than a bus full of birthday ribs and angel food cake squished into a million tiny cake balls and more than a Willy batch of the best cinnamon buns in the land.
Momxo
Will and his friend, Cole, who celebrated birthdays together because they were only 2 days apart.
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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
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