November 1, 2015
Dear Will,
There is a sense of calm this morning as I visualize flipping the calendar to November. Since 2011, October has become a long and sad month and each year it continues to beat me up emotionally. We honored your birthday on the 14th in our own beautiful way and found ourselves busy both physically and mentally while we hoped and prayed for a positive outcome for Pa after he suffered a heart attack. He was airlifted to the Foothills Hospital in Calgary where he spent most of the last three weeks of October. It was a stressful time for all of us and I prayed extra hard that my Dad would make it through the open-heart surgery that was the only option to repair his heart. The unspoken and underlying possibility that Pa might join you in heaven weighed heavily on me, Will, and though there were moments where I wished I could trade places with him I was grateful and relieved when he was able to return home and begin his road to recovery and his second chance at life. October became a double whammy month of emotions and today I finally feel like I can breathe again.
After spending weeks “hoping” I’m now back to spending my days “wishing”. Wishing that the outcome of the 22nd day of May 2011 were different. I wish that you were here sitting on the couch beside me right now with a pillowcase full of Halloween candy and a mouth full of chocolate. I wish your shoes were at the front door with mismatched socks “sort of in the vicinity” and that your jacket was draped/thrown over the stair banister with the arms pulled inside out. Yes. Inside out. The inside out thing was definitely a Will thing.
When I’d do laundry I’d cuss and swear while sorting the clothes, annoyed that all of your t-shirts were inside out. And so I’d either turn them right side in before I’d toss them into the washing machine or before I folded them when they came out of the dryer… the extra time it took kind of drove me crazy. I remember the day I decided to leave them inside out and folded them that way thinking I was so clever and that giving you a taste of your own medicine would surely teach you a lesson, that it’d drive you crazy — but not only did you appear to not care even one bit I think you were completely oblivious to the whole inside out thing. That day, Will, changed the way I did laundry and to this day if there are t-shirts (or socks) that are inside out I leave them like that. Ha! I think. Ha! And like you, no one really seems to care that they are inside out. Oh my, the stuff that drives a mother crazy…
I wish you were here with us every single day. Before your passing I used to consciously think about what I’d wish for if I was given a wish and now all I wish for is you. You with your tousled hair and your big feet. Maybe with socks, maybe without. You singing out LOUD to the music on your iPod with your ear buds in and me reminding you to remove them from your ears. You, Willy, loving Halloween because of all the candy and the chance to dress up and be silly with your friends. I would be the happiest human being on earth if the one wish I wished more than anything could come true. And even though I know it’s not possible I continue to wish that it were different.
Love you, Willy. Like an inside out bus and a big wish.
Momxo
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Fall has arrived. It surprises me every year how the first, tiny hints of yellow leaves in late August turn into a splendor of yellow in just a few short weeks. How the mornings go from warm, doors-wide-open and coffee outside on the deck to cool, brisk mornings, cozy sweaters and coffee in front of the fireplace. Aahhh… but I do love this transition. And so, this week I traded my shorts and sleeveless tops for cozy sweaters and warm socks all the while knowing that you’re still wearing shorts up there.
I am sitting this early, fall morning in front of the fireplace with a big cup of coffee, our big brown dog at my feet reminiscing over memories of you and your brothers and how you guys would hold onto summer for as long as you could. Succumbing to fall didn’t happen until it snowed, it seemed. I smile remembering how as September waned and the mornings turned cool you and your brothers would defy wearing pants – always deferring to shorts. Some of those mornings were darn cold. Most days the grass would be white with frost as you’d bolt out the front door to catch the school bus. Hoodies were the thing, of course, and at least you guys would put those on. I remember watching from the front window as you waited for the bus; your skinny, spindly legs shaking, your hands tucked in the front pocket of your hoodie, shoulders up to your ears, looking like a turtle with your overstuffed backpack slung on your back. I remember suggesting many a morning that wearing pants might be a good option, but not until water puddles turned to ice and stayed frozen would you and your brothers succumb to that mom tip (and for what its worth, a natural consequence was always a better convincing tool in the ‘ole parenting handbook ). Packing away those summer shorts was a sad day in our house. Stretching out summer for as long as possible was the norm and looking back on my own childhood it was the very same.
When you’d return home from school your backpack was even more stuffed because the hoodie that kept you from freezing in the morning was now sort of, somewhat, portions of it anyway, tucked into your backpack. I recall the thunk of your backpack hitting the floor at the front door because of the weight of all it held… a textbook or two, your agenda, your lunchbox, a gym strip (if you hadn’t forgot it), your pencil box and homework (if you hadn’t forgot it), your iPod and some miscellaneous odds and ends… remember the yo-yo stage and the coveted binder of Pokémon cards and hockey cards? I smile recalling how you’d barely set foot inside the door to shed your pack and yell, “Mom, I’m home!” only to turn around and run back out the door because playing outside was the best part of your day. Gosh, I loved that so much.
And, then there were all the pockets full of rocks. I remember, (most times with an eye roll) how I’d routinely check all your pockets before I put a load of laundry into the washing machine. There is something unnerving about hearing rocks roll around in the washer… and there were many that went undetected… which is why I had to check your pockets. A pocket full of rocks seemed to be a regular occurrence in our family… your brothers, too, loved rocks and it is no secret that I love them too. I frequently return with a rock or two and sometimes a pocket full (I take back all the eye roll). I guess the apples didn’t fall far from the proverbial tree.
You and your pals. Brent and Jordan.
I think loving the fall season in all it’s splendor might be something one acquires a love for as one gets older. It is certainly true for me. Saying goodbye to summer seems a bit easier now as the furnace kicks in. So, hello fall, I’m ready for you. Cozy sweater and all. In a bit, I’ll head out for a walk with Finn and undoubtedly I’ll return with a rock or two or a pocket full. I’m pretty sure, Willy, that you’ll help me find the best ones.
I love you, sweet one. More than a bus and more than a cozy sweater for me, shorts for you and a pocket full of rocks for us.
Momxo
You and me finding rocks in Fernie.
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The passage of time is often marked by the change of seasons but in my world there are two days in the calendar year that mark that time more than any other day or event. One is the day we celebrate your birth and the other is the day we had to say goodbye. Those two days are polar opposites of each other – one being one of the happiest of days and the other, the worst day of my life. Today we celebrate one of my happiest markers, your birthday, and that means it is angel food cake day in our house.
My heart was heavy this morning, Willy. Who’d have ever imagined that the angel food cake that had 12 candles on it would be the last we’d have with you physically sitting at the head of the table. The big breath you took to try and extinguish all of those little fires will always be emblazoned in my memory. It’s hard to imagine that today that angel food cake should have 25 candles on it. That’s a hard number…
It was tough to get out of bed this morning. Sometimes those tears can be extra heavy. I got stuck thinking about the glass half empty instead of the glass half full, and when I thought about what you’d want me to do today the glass half empty suddenly shifted to the glass half full. I know you’d want us to celebrate the 12 years we had with you and not dwell on the 13 we didn’t get. I thought about how your brothers and Dad and I have always celebrated you on this day and how we will never stop. Of course, there will be an angel food cake and though we will never know what 25 would really look like, we do know that the 12 we had were the BEST we had.
Happy Heavenly Birthday, Will. There is much to celebrate today. You made our world a better place and because of that, October 14th will always be angel food cake day in our house.
I miss you more than ever. And the bus… well, I love you more than a bus full of angel food cakes and 25 WILLion candles.
Momxo
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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
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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One year ago today and it feels like minutes and forever all at once. Flashbacks, tears, trembling, it all comes back to these moments and the impact of the two little words… “I’m sorry”. Those two words reverberate over and over in my head. The two words every mom and dad and brother never, ever want to hear, nor should they. The natural order of things is that it just should never happen this way; you Will, the youngest were supposed to outlive us all. If only that were true. As soon as those words left the mouth of the paramedic, there were unfamiliar sounds that came from deep within me, guttural really, and then panic, shock, disbelief and tears that I would not, could not stop and still cannot a year later. At that moment, all of those emotions hung in the air while I realized that the world as I knew it only moments before was forever changed and forever gone. I immediately began to miss you more than anything. All the hope that I was clinging to while the two teams of EMS workers and the STARS ambulance doctors worked on you were replaced by sadness, devastation, emptiness, and a pain deep within my very being; feelings that I cannot even fully describe. Oh Willy, when I heard the STARS helicopter in the distance, it’s whir coming closer and closer until it was above us and then landed, I thought, “OK. Now it’ll be good. STARS is here now. They’ll take you and dad and me to the Children’s Hospital and it’ll all be good.” Oh, my dear little boy, I cannot describe how that hope turned to the worst feelings of sadness that I could ever imagine and then questions and numbness. Unbelievable numbness. And a hole in my heart that I suddenly realized was never going to mend. Losing you meant a part of me was lost too. My life here will never be the same without you. My heart still so broken. The pain still so real. I love you, Willy, more than one could ever imagine, more than a million buses.
Help me get through this, little blue. Keep watching over me and Dad and your brothers. Send us signs and smiles, and know that we will never forget you. Always remember this, Will; you are forever a part of us and never alone. We love you and we miss you; from the bottom of our hearts and to the very tips of our toes and then like a bus.
Momxo
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Will, Brent and Jordan. Friends Then, Friends Still
Thursday, September 29, 2016
Hey Will,
Well, fall is definitely in the air these days and the crisp mornings, yellow leaves and fall smells have enveloped me in what I can only describe as my favourite season. Soon the snow will fly and your favourite season will be upon us. For now, though, I will savour everything that is fall and will remember all of what September was to our family when our world was perfect.
For a few years now, September is the month Ben returns to university and Dad and I are confronted again with living alone in the house that for a long time was filled with all you boys and all the smelly stuff that is part of you guys. The best Septembers were when you were all here at home — three new school backpacks hanging in the closet, three new pairs of outdoor shoes in the vicinity of the front door and oodles of brand new socks after all the old tattered and mismatched ones with holes were silently thrown away before school started again. New socks… such a September right of passage…
Sadly, this September should have been our first empty nest, Will, but life threw us that terrible tragedy 5 ½ years ago and we were robbed of precious time. A lifetime with you would never have been enough but oh, to have had more time… I’ve spent much of this month wondering where you’d be this first September after high school, and knowing of course that you’d be at UBC in the Okanangan – Just. Like. Ben. No one would be surprised as your idolization for Ben was no secret. You do know it drove your brother crazy but raining on his parade was what you loved to do and to do that at university would have been a proud feather in your cap.
I’ve frequently thought about Kathleen too and hoped that she would be on the good side of your conscience; a reminder to you to make good choices. I have also thought a lot about your friends, Jordan and Brent, who are also at UBC in Kelowna and I just know that the three of you would be thick as thieves on that campus and that I’d be worrying myself crazy… then in the next breath wishing more than anything that it was true and that I had the chance to worry about you. Sigh. I’d give anything to have all of that. I was corresponding with Jordan mid September, wondering how he was doing, and when your name came up he, too, agreed that in a perfect world you’d be there with them. I reminded him that as an angel you were there looking out for them, keeping them safe and sharing in the fun. He replied that he knew you were. My heart smiles, Will, when I hear that your friends still keep you close. I hope that they will for all of their lives.
Next weekend is Thanksgiving and Ben will be coming home. And Kathleen. And Brent. And Jordan. Ben who has adapted to being away from home and whom we are used to coming home and then going again, but for the others coming home having just spent their first September at university will be a bit more exciting. Not just for them, but for their parents and families, too. Dinner is always better when everyone is sitting around the table and we’re blessed that Justin is able to come for dinner frequently. Having Ben at home for Thanksgiving is something I look forward to very much. I count the days. I imagine in our perfect world that once in the driveway you’d pile out of the car on his coat tails leaving everything in the back seat and make a run for the front door thinking it was a race to get their first while he’d saunter in, leaving a trail of things he was bringing with him from the back seat. Of course, there’d be hugs and then to the refrigerator you’d both go only this time it would be a race to see who’d get there first. It’s difficult still to live with the reality that you won’t be returning home too, and the pining that my heart feels tugs heavily on my heartstrings sometimes still pulling me down to my knees.
Instead, I know that you’ll be with us in spirit. That you’ll be sitting in your spot at the table. We’ll talk about you like we always do and we’ll be grateful for the times we did have together. We’ll reminisce about all of the Septembers that we did have and we’ll laugh and cry and eat turkey and mashed potatoes til our tummies are ready to explode. And then I’ll pick up all the dirty, new socks that will have littered the house whilst Ben is home…
Love you, Willy. Like a bus full of brand new socks.
Momxo
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November 1, 2015
Dear Will,
There is a sense of calm this morning as I visualize flipping the calendar to November. Since 2011, October has become a long and sad month and each year it continues to beat me up emotionally. We honored your birthday on the 14th in our own beautiful way and found ourselves busy both physically and mentally while we hoped and prayed for a positive outcome for Pa after he suffered a heart attack. He was airlifted to the Foothills Hospital in Calgary where he spent most of the last three weeks of October. It was a stressful time for all of us and I prayed extra hard that my Dad would make it through the open-heart surgery that was the only option to repair his heart. The unspoken and underlying possibility that Pa might join you in heaven weighed heavily on me, Will, and though there were moments where I wished I could trade places with him I was grateful and relieved when he was able to return home and begin his road to recovery and his second chance at life. October became a double whammy month of emotions and today I finally feel like I can breathe again.
After spending weeks “hoping” I’m now back to spending my days “wishing”. Wishing that the outcome of the 22nd day of May 2011 were different. I wish that you were here sitting on the couch beside me right now with a pillowcase full of Halloween candy and a mouth full of chocolate. I wish your shoes were at the front door with mismatched socks “sort of in the vicinity” and that your jacket was draped/thrown over the stair banister with the arms pulled inside out. Yes. Inside out. The inside out thing was definitely a Will thing.
When I’d do laundry I’d cuss and swear while sorting the clothes, annoyed that all of your t-shirts were inside out. And so I’d either turn them right side in before I’d toss them into the washing machine or before I folded them when they came out of the dryer… the extra time it took kind of drove me crazy. I remember the day I decided to leave them inside out and folded them that way thinking I was so clever and that giving you a taste of your own medicine would surely teach you a lesson, that it’d drive you crazy — but not only did you appear to not care even one bit I think you were completely oblivious to the whole inside out thing. That day, Will, changed the way I did laundry and to this day if there are t-shirts (or socks) that are inside out I leave them like that. Ha! I think. Ha! And like you, no one really seems to care that they are inside out. Oh my, the stuff that drives a mother crazy…
I wish you were here with us every single day. Before your passing I used to consciously think about what I’d wish for if I was given a wish and now all I wish for is you. You with your tousled hair and your big feet. Maybe with socks, maybe without. You singing out LOUD to the music on your iPod with your ear buds in and me reminding you to remove them from your ears. You, Willy, loving Halloween because of all the candy and the chance to dress up and be silly with your friends. I would be the happiest human being on earth if the one wish I wished more than anything could come true. And even though I know it’s not possible I continue to wish that it were different.
Love you, Willy. Like an inside out bus and a big wish.
Momxo
