Love Bursts

ByJoni Bouchard
Love burst
A love burst memory of a ski day in Fernie

December 31, 2016

Dear Will,

Well, sweet One, December has been quite a month. For me (your Type A Mom!) it was a month that will go down in the books as one that reminded me that even with all of the best intentions sometimes plans can go sideways and coming up with a Plan B can be good, too. I will also remember this December as one that beckoned even more strength than usual. With the holiday season our broken hearts seem more broken than ever and I realize that the jagged edges of losing you have not smoothed over time. Some things are just not possible and not having you in our earthly world will always be the most painful thing to endure. No matter the day, the month or the year.

In mid December your biggest brother became ill and we learned that his appendix had unfortunately burst. With that came an emergency surgery followed by 11 days in hospital. Not only did he spend his 28th birthday in hospital but as Christmas Day approached there was the probability that he would have to remain in hospital due to the serious abdominal infection he was fighting. It was an easy decision to accept that we’d forego Christmas in Fernie as Christmas without Justin was never an option.

My favourite gingerbread boy. The one you made.
My favourite gingerbread boy. The one you made.

So Plan B ensued and Dad dug out the tiny artificial tree from the basement and brought up the box of Christmas decorations that I opened only once since losing you. That box held all of the special handmade ornaments that you boys made in kindergarten and elementary school – those special Christmases when magic pumped through your veins and through our house right down to bells on boots and zipper pulls, special Santa pillowcases and advent calendars and boxes and cups of hot chocolate stuffed with marshmallows while reading Christmas books in our jammies. The first Christmas without you I’d pulled out only a few to take with us to Fernie where, out of mere survival and the need to have certain special things in our midst, we began a new tradition. Our new Willy Christmases are all about you. Your Santa hat or toque has replaced the angel figure that used to grace the top of our tree and we adorn the tree branches with all of our family ski passes over the years. Each year I have added sparkly snowflakes of all colors and sizes, fuzzy snowballs and the glitteriest things I could find. All the while I’d not forgotten that at home was that very special box of Christmas treasures and one that I knew one day when I was ready I’d open again and cherish more than I had ever before. Well, that day did come and though I might not have been ready it seemed the right thing to put on our little tree. And so I did. And it was beautiful, Will.

As each day brought us closer to Christmas we continued to pray that Justin would be well enough to come home and each day we’d hear again the “not today” news. We decided that if Justin couldn’t come to us, we’d take Christmas to him. With a heavy heart on Christmas morning I went upstairs to bathe and dress so we could go to the hospital and when I came down the stairs what to my wondering eyes should appear, but Justin and Amy sitting on the couch in our living room in front of our little tree. There were only two things I could do, Will. One was to cry and the other was to hold on to the stair railing so I wouldn’t fall. For the rest of my life I will always remember that moment of surprise and how my heart burst. Oh, how I love a love burst! We had a wonderful day complete with Christmas dinner and though Justin needed to return to hospital that evening we knew that if they’d allowed him a day pass that a hospital discharge was not far away. Our wish came true the next day.

As I look back now this last day of 2016 I think about the love bursts of the year and am refilling my heart with the happy moments that will help sustain me as I flip the calendar to a new year and another painful reminder of the passage of time. I think about all of the signs you continue to send our way — the magical rainbows, the sunspots and the beautiful sparkly snowflakes that can only be you. I think about another successful Ride For Will and how your legacy just keeps on keepin’ on. I think about Justin marrying his Amy and the girl that we are delighted to have as part of our family. I think about Ben and the love for the outdoors that is his passion and the exhilaration and anticipation that comes with completing his last year of university. I think of Dad and how we continue to hold each other in happy times and how we find comfort in each other’s arms when the world is too much to bear. I think of Finn and how much joy he brings to our home and I swear that lurking behind his knowing eyes are your eyes and a place I often look to for love bursts. For all of these moments I am grateful and when I wake tomorrow to 2017 I will continue to fill my heart with all of these moments while I search for and cultivate more.

I love you, Sweet Will. Like a bus full of love bursts and sparkles and glittery things and all the things that I cherish most in my life… you, your brothers, your Dad and our big, brown dog.

Momxo

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  • Life Lessons From My Forever Twelve-Year Old

    Monday, October 13, 2025

    Dear Will,

    The change of seasons and October always turn my focus to you. You are a constant undercurrent in my days but when the first snowfall sticks to the ground I think of you a little more than usual. And tomorrow is your birthday. Forever 12. Almost fifteen years of heavenly birthdays is a long time and as I sit in reflection and remember the day you came into our world I think about the immense joy you brought to me and at the same time I feel the constant ache of what it is like to miss you forever. The missing you part of grief is hands down the hardest part and sometimes it’s tough to not dwell in that space. You have taught me though that feeling sad is the price of love and that grief is like love upside down. I do have a choice on where I put the magnifying glass and today I am shifting it to gratitude. Gratitude for you and for all the lessons you taught me.

    You taught me how to look at the little things and how to recognize that they, in fact, are the big things. I have learned that if I bulldoze through my days I miss out on all the little celebrations along the way. The smell of coffee first thing in the morning, the way the sun spills from behind the clouds on these cool, crisp days, sharing a belly laugh with a friend, conversations that spark thought and inspire me to be and do better, lazy mornings and baggy sweaters, oh, and the centre of a cinnamon bun. I am grateful for every rock or two that end up in my pockets on my way home after a walk. I am grateful for Dad and your brothers and their beautiful gals and all the times we get to spend together. I am grateful for the gift of every ordinary day and how many you and I shared. I frequently draw from all the memories of those precious ordinary days and, Willy, everything about them and you makes me smile. 

    One of your biggest teachings and one I am most thankful for is the importance of telling those that mean the world to me that I love them every chance I get. Sometimes we don’t get a tomorrow and I am over the moon grateful that you knew how much you were loved on the day our tomorrows stopped.

    In the beauty of this October, Mother Nature has sent a gust of wind, a message to the trees to hunker down for winter, to take a last drink of whatever moisture she bequeaths them through a morning frost, some rain and inevitably a rain/snow mix. And with that gust of wind comes my appreciation for Mother Nature and her reminder that we are small and maybe not as mighty as we think we are on this spinning ball we call earth. Like you, she also has lessons to share.

    Happy Heavenly Birthday tomorrow, Willy. I miss you, my forever twelve-year old boy, and I love you more than a bus full of your life lessons.

    Momxo

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  • Time Still Stands Still

    Will's Tribute 001 copyFriday, May 17, 2013 Dear Willy, The long weekend is here and it’s the one that I dread more than anything. I have gone right back to the weekend that started out being so much fun and ended so tragically two years ago. As I type the words “two years ago”… I think how long two years sounds and then in the same breath it feels like it is all playing out like no time has passed. I remember this day so vividly; where we were, what we were doing, and how much fun you were having. It was a PL day so no school for you (oh, how you loved those PD days!). I was taking a CPR certification course at school learning how to use CPR in the event that I would someday need to administer it in an emergency. Not ever in this whole, wide world did I think I would be using it on you two days later. A mom’s worst nightmare? Yup. And that’s just the beginning. 725 days and the nightmare just won’t go away. This night we were at a friend’s home celebrating a birthday. Many of your friends were there and you were having such a fun time playing outside with all of them. Instead of coming home with us you were invited to go have a campfire in a campground in the Kananaskis with our friends who have camped their annually every long weekend in May. Kale’s mom and dad delivered you home later that evening and I remember how happy and tired you were, smelling of a campfire and energized on marshmallows. When I tucked you into your bed that night your whole room smelled of campfire – from your clothes that were laying on the floor to your hair. You were tired and I had to tell you (more like order you) to brush your teeth and wash your hands and face. Eventually you did but it wasn’t without a little Willy battle. Oh, we had a few of those, your strong “Will” showing its true colors. All such normal “twelve going on thirteen” negotiations that ended way too soon. All in all, it was such a fun evening and a great way to begin the weekend that until 2011 always kicked off the promise of summer fun. What we didn’t know/couldn’t know was that that Friday would be your last. The pain that comes with that reality is paralyzing. I spent most of today in my pajamas. I remember how much you loved “pajama days” and well today was one of those for me. I did manage to get out of bed for a bit but found myself back in my pajamas and under my covers wondering how it was possible that I was still alive and that I hadn’t died in my sleep from the heart break. Two years and I am still here but still hurting. It doesn’t feel any different, not any less painful and in some ways it is worse because I miss you so much. Watching life go on for so many when my world is still shattered and broken is difficult. But I look for you everywhere. And I see you in the most beautiful things. Yesterday, it was the little blue butterflies that appeared out of no where and fluttered around me while I was looking for a stick to throw in the river for Finn to fetch. I knew it was you, Willy. No one can make my heart flutter like you. So here I go again… another long weekend in May to live through… minute by minute, breath by breath. I miss you Will. More than anything and everything. And I always “Will”. Love you like the biggest bus ever, Momxo

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  • A Room With a View

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    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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  • When Missing You is Forever

    May 10, 2020

     My dear, sweet boy,

    I miss you.

    But it’s so much more than that.

    I’m not sure there are words to even describe what missing you forever feels like. There is a quote that I frequently refer to that I think sums it up best…

    Sometimes one person can be missing and the whole world feels empty.

     … Yup, “empty” feels like the right word. But again, it’s so much more than that.

     And, it’s May. The hardest month of the year. Every day a sad reminder of the day our world changed forever. I wonder every May if your angel date won’t sting so much, but almost nine years later, the sting still stings.

     And, today is Mother’s Day. You and Justin and Ben are the best part of me and I am missing all of you.

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    The social distancing restrictions due to COVID-19 have not allowed me to see your brothers but, thankfully, that is a “just for now” thing. I will see them soon, but you, Will, are the one I will miss forever. Today I think of my own Mom, your Nana, and how much she means to me — how in this world she is the one person I’ve known the longest (ahem, like my whole life!) and whom I have always been able to count on in good times and in bad. I hope you know that every minute of your 12 ½ years I loved you more than the minute before and that all these days later my big love for you just gets bigger.

    My heart smiles recalling all the beautiful, and sometimes funny, gifts and kind gestures that you and your brothers and Dad did to make Mother’s Day extra special for me. I am lucky to have had all of what you boys could muster when what mattered the most was that we were together. Believe me, Will, I have tucked every special memory and every cold piece of toast into my heart. I have kept every homemade card and gift you boys ever made at school and that big box of love is one of my most treasured possessions. Today I will spend my day touching and reading every one of them remembering the tiny and not-so-tiny hands that created them.

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     I will pause and remember the sound of your infectious giggle and call to mind how you’d sit at the kitchen table with that big tub of Crayola markers and crayons and construction paper and pipe cleaners and stickers and tape. Oh, how you loved tape. With a juice box and a bowl of fishy crackers at your side.

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    My sweet Will, I miss you so very much. I miss all the yesterdays, I miss you today and I will miss you for all the tomorrows.

    And I love you. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, forever… Like a bus from here to forever and then a whole bunch more.

     

    Momxo

     

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  • Stuck in the Snow With Nowhere To Go

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    Monday, December 2, 2013 Hey Will, Well, true to the weatherman’s forecast last night I woke this morning to a blustery, heavy snowfall… what he’d referred to as an imminent blizzard and what you’d refer to as “one of the best days ever!”  I am grateful that I don’t work Mondays and that I didn’t have to get out of bed to an alarm this morning and make my way to school.  I lay in my bed for a while with the warm, feathery duvet tucked in all around me wondering if this is what it would feel like to be floating on a cloud?  Outside, the snow swirled in the intermittent wind, big flakes interrupted from their usual flight pattern and what we normally see here in Redwood.  Because we are nestled amongst the trees we usually see the snowflakes fall like on a Christmas card, but NOT today.  For a few minutes I thought about how horrible the road conditions must be, how terrible the visibility would be on the highways, how the wind would bite my cheeks when I would eventually have to go outside to shovel the driveway… and then in the next breath I thought about what you’d be thinking if you were here.  How you’d jump out of bed on this scheduled day off of school (probably before the alarm on a school day).  How you’d be planning how quickly you could get dressed, eat breakfast and find a friend or two to come over and start the process of building a ski jump and mini rail park in the backyard.  I chuckled to myself, thinking how brilliant Dad and I would have been in winters past to have encouraged you and your brothers to build your winter playground in the front yard (instead of the backyard) adjacent to the driveway…. how you guys would have shoveled the driveway so you’d have more snow to build with (without even thinking of it as shoveling the driveway which would have been a win/win for all of us).  You wouldn’t feel the wind, or the biting cold but instead would be vibrating with excitement thinking only about being outside in the snow.  Hours would pass before you’d burst through the back door shedding all of your outside winter clothing (boots and all) into a big heap hoping that I’d already thought about plugging in the kettle to make hot chocolate.  I smile now remembering how rosy your cheeks would be, how your hair would look like it was home to a pack of mice after you removed your toque, how you’d say your hands and feet were frozen but not complain.  I know I’d be shaking my head, wondering how kids just don’t feel the cold like grown-ups.  And then, here it comes, Will… the words that would roll off my tongue, “Will, please hang up your coat, put your mitts on the heat register.  Your toque won’t dry laying under your boots (oh, there’d probably be more) and then you can have a cup of hot chocolate.”  Because you’d really only come inside for a cup of hot chocolate and a chance to warm up your fingers and toes you’d comply without me having to ask you again to clean up the “heap” at the back door.  As soon as your belly was warm, and your fingers and toes too, out you’d go and the process would begin again.  Outside, inside, outside, inside… Tonight when I’d tuck you into your bed, you’d be hoping and praying for the heavy snowfall to continue.  The icing on the cake would be a phone call from Rockyview Schools early tomorrow morning saying that school was cancelled due to the weather so you could repeat today; a true blue snow day and no school was the very best kind. So instead of thinking of today as a terrible winter blizzard, I am going to think of it as you’d have.  I’ve nowhere that I have to be today, so I’m happy to be “stuck here” at home.  Each time I look out the window, Will, I will imagine you out there in all your glory… loving every minute of the heavy snowfall and all the winter playground possibilities that it would bring.   This afternoon, I’ll plug in the kettle and make some hot chocolate; I’ll make two cups, Will… one for you with extra marshmallows and one for me.  I’ll give yours to Dad since he’s working from home today and we’ll smile through our tears wishing you were here. Missing you so much today.  Love you like a yellow school bus stuck in the snow with nowhere to go. Momxo

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  • Where the Rainforest Meets the Sea

    Vancouver Island

    Sunday, September 24, 2017

    Dear Will,

    As a citizen of this beautiful country and the place I am proud and happy to call home I have this desire to plant my feet on the two outermost coasts of Canada — one the furthest point east on PEI and the other the furthest point west on Vancouver Island. And so, Will, here I am crossing the furthest place west off of my bucket list. Dad and I and Finn travelled by car and ferry to the west side of Vancouver Island, to a place “where the rainforest meets the sea” in Super Natural British Columbia. Those two slogans have captured the very essence of where we were perfectly.

    We spent a couple of days on Mackenzie Beach near the bustling little town of Tofino, not surprisingly loving and appreciating all the fresh seafood and at the same time surprised at how abundant the surf culture is there. It’s such a remote area where there is a surf shop or two or three and a fish and chip shack on every corner. I’m not naive enough to have thought there would be no surfing… after all it is the big wave side of the island, but holy cow, Will… The. Water. Is. Freezing! All. The. Time! I crossed off my bucket list a walk on Long Beach where we dipped our toes in the cold Pacific Ocean. This beach known by storm watchers in the winter and surfers the rest of the year is the furthest one can go before the Pacific Ocean eats up land. As I stood there I was reminded of two things. One, the next landform is Japan, thousands of miles away, and two — that you are pretty darn small when you stand beside the ocean where the next piece of land is Japan.

    Mother Nature is definitely the boss here and sometimes I think we all to need to be reminded of the respect she commands. It was cool (ok, cold) and it had rained (heavily at times) but we managed also to find a window here and there where she gave us a beautiful blue sky and some sunshine. That coast line is known for its raw beauty, for the storms that roll in off the Pacific and for the array of clothing one must own if you want to spend some time there. Rubber boots and a warm, rain jacket are a definite must in that part of Canada and if you’re a surfer… well, you’ll need a wet/dry suit made of thick black rubber to cover every part of your body other than your eyeballs and your nostrils.

    Tofino

    We spent 9 days, much of it, rolling along the highways in our vehicle, listening to music and a few downloaded podcasts, stopping to pick up coffees (and timbits for Finn) at the no shortage of Tim Horton’s along the way. We stopped in Kelowna and spent some time with your Uncle Jim, and in the Shuswap, too, to see your Auntie Mindie rounding out the new sights with familiar ones where we made many memories with you over the years. So many happy times we had together, Will. Those memories still bring tears as they were just the very best of times.

    Our adventure to the west coast is behind us now and as we head east along the TransCanada nearing our home in Redwood Meadows I’m also reminded that there is no place like home. The memories that abound there in our home and in our community will always make the little place we call our home so very special. It was an awesome week away and all along the way I felt you sitting happy and tall on my left shoulder (where I’m told the boy angels sit). I love that wherever I go you come along. In my heart and on my left shoulder.

    I love you, sweet boy. Like a bus on a long beach on the furthest place west where the rainforest meets the sea in the country we proudly get to call our home. And then like that same bus parked in our driveway in Redwood Meadows where the basketball net meets the cul-de-sac.


    Momxo

     

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