Last night I was reminiscing about your favourite number. Eight. Kathleen and I had chatted on Monday about why you loved the number “8” so much and the obvious reasons, of course, where that, for one, it looked like a snowman and we all know how much you love snow. Secondly, it was Ben’s favourite number and it was no secret that whatever Ben liked, you liked too. Thirdly, Powder 8’s came to mind and one of Dad’s favourite memories is of you and him skiing fresh powder in Fernie; he crossing over the fresh turns you’d already made in the snow in front of him to make an “8”. Then, we remembered that in all of the sports you played, if there was a jersey and a choice of which number could be worn, you always chose a number that had an “8” in it.
Last night as I stood in the driveway saying goodbye to Kathleen, I turned around to walk back into the house and staring at me was our house number. Number 8! I stopped and stared, unable to move, and thought that perhaps the most beautiful reason of all, was that home was number 8. Beautiful tears filled my eyes and at that moment I thought that maybe you were telling me something; that maybe “8” was your favourite number because it was your home. Our home. Because of that, I have never loved our home more.
I love you WillBilly. Like a bus and to infinity. (Which Mrs. Fischer reminded me today is an 8 turned on its side). Another Wow.
Momxo
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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
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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Friends Forever: Calvin and Will at age 5
October 27, 2013
Dear Will,
Last night Dad and I went to the Lovenuik’s for dinner. Your winter ski bud and summer beach bud, Calvin, was there too, choosing a night at home instead of a night out with his friends. It was really great to see him, Will… though I wished more than anything that you were with us and that you and Calvin could have been hanging out together like it just should be. I remembered when the two of you first met – at the daycare at the base of the ski hill in Fernie — ski buddies before you even knew how to walk. The two of you, only 3 weeks apart in age, became great friends seeing each other every weekend during the winter months in Fernie for almost all of your “much too short” life. Winters full of dinners and play dates, swimming at the aquatic centre and building snow forts on the Lovenuik’s front lawn until you boys were frozen or wet or it was time to go home to bed. On many of those weekends, you and Calvin would go from building a snow fort outside to building a nest in the linen closet inside where the two of you would sleep. I find myself both smiling and shaking my head as I write this, wondering how the heck that could have been comfortable. Then, in the same breath, I remember that for boys, “fun” seems to always trump “comfortable”.
As the two of you grew not much changed. Sure, your little one piece ski suits became trendy ski jackets and cool pants, your skis got longer, your feet grew bigger, and building snow forts turned into building ski jumps. You no longer needed your dads to take you swimming for you were old enough to go on your own, the Disney DVDs disappeared replaced by endless hours of watching ski movies over and over and over. Your friendship circle grew too, encompassing more boys your age, all of them members of the Fernie Freestyle Ski Team; boys that became part of a world that you loved so much. Ski movies, stickers, ski mags, toques, posters, park passes and helmet cams became the norm. What never changed though and what I believe would still be true was how much the two of you enjoyed each other’s company and how much your friendship meant to one another.
Seeing Calvin last night and how much he has grown is another bittersweet for me. (You’d love his hair, Will!) But, what I will never forget is what he gave to Dad and I after dinner. He’d come from his bedroom with a photograph (the one above); a photo of the two of you when you guys were about 5. Two little boys, hamming it up for the camera and as I looked at it my heart went back to that time and to that happy place. This photo is a treasure; a gift so precious; a gift that’s worth can only truly be understood by a parent who has lost a child. Sadly, there are no recent photos of you, the last one taken the day before the accident. Photos of your 12½ years, though they will never be enough, are all we have now and each time I see one that I haven’t seen before my heart wants to take a picture of it so it will always be there. I will always appreciate another photo, another story, another remembrance of you. More memories for the memory box that will never be full enough. Which makes me think… maybe I should put it out there to all who knew you to please share any photos of you that they may have. All of them are treasures and memories that would mean the world to us.
It was nice to spend an evening with good friends and to see your friend, Calvin, too. I am ever grateful for the “gift of you” that he sent us home with.
Love you little blue. Like a bus.
Momxo
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Our Finn and Old Buck
Thursday, March 28, 2013 (676 days without you)
Dear Willy,
Jess, next door, put old Buck down yesterday. Over the last year and a bit his quality of life was diminishing quite rapidly and understandably so. At almost 15 years old (105 in doggie years) he wasn’t the same Buck you’d have remembered. Oh, how you loved that dog and he, you. When I spoke to Jess today she told me that one of her fondest memories was when you and Ben would wander over to their house when they were just new to our cul-de-sac to ask if you could take Buck for walks. I will always remember how cute the two of you looked with Buck as I watched your backs head down the street. It will be odd to not see old Buck out and about but my heart smiles knowing that now he has you. He has you to take him for walks pain-free in heaven. And you have an old pal to keep you company; to sit at your feet, to pet, and to cuddle up to. It’s no secret that you always wanted a dog… And now you have one of the best.
Take care of each other up there. I know you will find him… you’ll see him, Will, for he is the old yellow lab with the tail that never, ever stops wagging. Miss you, Willy.
Love you like a bus full of labs,
Momxo
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Well, true to Alberta (and Fernie form) its now chinooking outside and a melt is underway. When I walked Finn yesterday afternoon careful to avoid the puddles and the ice lurking beneath them I was remembering the marshmallow world that blanketed us just weeks ago. Large tufts of snow on branches and trees, on mailboxes and fence posts and anywhere that allowed a flat space for snow to accumulate I was filled with thoughts of you. The freezing temperatures brought “Christmas card snow” – you know, the kind that falls straight down with no wind to swirl it around or blow it off all the places that marked how deep and substantial that Willy blanket really was. Though cold enough to freeze my fingers and toes I couldn’t help but take in the beauty of the snowfall and how it formed marshmallow sculptures wherever it was possible. All of that snow and the beauty it created is so you.
Taking in that marshmallow world made me think of how much you loved marshmallows. Your love of those blobs of pure sugar started with the small ones in a cup of hot chocolate and in my weak moments of motherhood how I’d offer them to you in a little bowl with raisins and/or cheerios. When I’d catch you with your little hand in the marshmallow bag I knew it was time to move the bag to a higher shelf in the pantry… sometimes behind cereal boxes so you couldn’t find them. After a bit of a battle with the little ones you finally gave up or perhaps the right way to say it was that you outgrew the little ones and grew into the large ones. And so began the world of making S’mores and roasting marshmallows over a fire on a stick.
Like your brothers and what seems is a right of passage for all kids you learned the art of roasting the perfect marshmallow after many were sacrificed to the fire and if they didn’t fall off the stick into the fire you’d offer the black crispy blobs that you’d have to blow flames off of to Dad or me thinking that adults liked to eat these black ashes that were clearly not marshmallows anymore.
OH, and then began the “Marshmallow Science” and where I had to draw a line in the sand and prohibit marshmallows going into the microwave. First Ben and then you. But as the little brother and true to your personality you had to have the last word and so the marshmallow science continued when I wasn’t home. However, I’d find the evidence… You guys seemed to get such pleasure putting a marshmallow on a plate and into the microwave watching the marshmallow puff up to at least 10x its original size. I remember watching your eyeballs grow wider and wider at the sheer joy of watching it grow. Then you guys would take it out of the microwave and put the plate out in the snow or into the freezer depending on the season. It would cool and then you’d try to eat it. Other than all the sugary goo (!) it seemed rather harmless … that is until it came time to wash the plate and that seemed to fall into my pile of things to do.
It was then that I remember clearly having to put a stop to the marshmallow science because it was near impossible to wash the residue off of the plates without a heavy duty scraping tool. To this day I’m not certain that this type of tool falls under the category of a kitchen utensil. It was at this point that I believe your love of marshmallows stopped.
Now when I see marshmallow snow I am reminded of your love affair with marshmallows and how much enjoyment they brought you. I smile now remembering what began as a little morsel of sugary goodness in a bowl when you were a toddler to the fiery blob of sugar on a stick that resulted in black, crispy blobs of ash to the perfect marshmallow in a s’more and to the ever popular (aka EVIL) marshmallow science that I had to put an end to. I’ll bet, just to have the last word, you’re up there making marshmallow science where no one can stop you and that when you bestow upon us down here on earth a beautiful marshmallow world of snow that you are laughing your head off up there. Of course, you are.
I miss you so much, Will, and love you beyond everything and anything. Bigger than a bus full of marshmallows in a snowy marshmallow world.
Momxo
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Will’s 12th Birthday
October 14, 2013
Dear Will,
Today is your birthday and another one we will celebrate without you. You’d be 15 years old today and I can’t help but wonder what you would look like? Handsome as ever I already know, but it’s not enough. Yup, your eyes would still be blue as ever, but would your hair be short or long? Long, I am guessing, like your brothers and whatever Ben had you’d want to have too. How tall would you be? Well, taller than me for sure for you were almost as tall as me 2 ½ years ago. You were on your way to being tall like Justin. Loud and proud? Oh yeah. Would you still be super athletic and active? I think so. Big feet? Oh yes. Your feet were already big. I wonder what your voice would sound like now? I still remember clearly what it sounded like at 12 ½ but you missed the phase of squeaks and intermittent highs and lows that come with being a teenage boy and a man cub. There are many things I don’t know now; things I can only imagine to be true about you. I imagine that you’d still love bacon, and ribs, and candy. But, would Skittles still be your favourite? I’m not sure, but I doubt very much that you would ever say no to a handful of candy in any form! I imagine winter would still be your favourite season and snow still your favourite “toy” because freestyle skiing was so much a part of you.
Will’s 6th Birthday. With his big brothers, Justin and Ben
Today I will set the table and tie four helium balloons to your chair — two green (your favourite color) and two blue (the color of your eyes). We will light a white candle and place it in the middle of the table and we will honor you with what we imagine you would still love. As we have done and will continue to do for everyone in our family on their birthday, we will have your favourite meal. I will make ribs and remember how I’d have to remind you that dinner was more than just a plate FULL of ribs. I’ll smile remembering how you’d negotiate taking the smallest amount of vegetables and rice or potato to keep me quiet. We will have an angel food cake with whipped topping and strawberries and remember and laugh at how you’d only want the cake part, no topping, and perhaps maybe a few strawberries. I shake my head and smile now remembering how, away from the dinner table, you’d flatten and squish a piece of that cake into a bite-sized morsel and how you’d say you just loved it that way. How coincidental it seems now that your favourite cake was angel food? Hmmm. We will light fifteen candles and blow them out making our own wish — our wish that you were here so that we could sing happy birthday to you and wish you many more. All the stuff that we took for granted back then and no longer do. We’d shower you with gifts and handmade cards and watch you open the others from your grandparents and extended family. Now there are no gifts and cards. Instead, Dad and I and Ben and Justin will write you a personal message and each of us will tie it to one of the helium balloons on your chair. After your cake we will go outside and on our own time and in our own little space in the backyard we’ll let them go, sending our love and our wishes up to you. Watch for them Will and please make the stars appear a little brighter and give them a special sparkle tonight so we know that you got them.
Miss you little blue. My heart aches more than usual today…if that is even possible.
Momxo
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The blanket of Willy in our backyard
March 3, 2014
Dear Will,
February was a long month for me. It’s been too cold to do much of anything outside lately, which seems to have magnified the too many days without you. It is no secret that looking at the mounds and mounds (and mounds!) of snow makes me think of you. Your presence is huge this winter and it is incredibly beautiful to take in the sight of the blanket of Willy that covers the ground in and around our community. However, in these frigid temperatures after days of feeling imprisoned on the warm side of the window, I am anxious for the cold weather to leave. Yesterday morning as I sat in the chair in front of the window that looks out at your snow-covered garden and our WillBilly tree, a quilt on my lap and my hands cupped around my mug of hot tea, I noticed the stiff, frozen branches of your tree waver in the wind… I want to believe it was you waving at me from the cold side of the window.
As I am writing to you now, on what is yet another “too cold to do anything outside” kind of day, I can’t help but notice the brilliant blue sky and the way the sunshine makes the snow sparkle; it’s like you’re winking at me. Then there’s the untouched snow that blankets the trampoline making it look like a giant marshmallow. That snow so deep and heavy has pulled the springs towards the ground making the jumpy part stretch and curve into what looks like a giant grin. Yup, it’s you again. I don’t imagine the weight of the snow can be good for the trampoline but the giant smile it has created makes my heart smile with it. Hey, speaking of marshmallows… I am just remembering how you’d like to put one on a plate and slide it into the microwave for a minute. It would puff up multiplying in size, seemingly taking on a life of its own… another one of those edible “science projects” and the topic of another letter I’ll write to you on another day, Will. What I remember most about those microwaved marshmallows was how hard the gooey plate was to clean!
Anyways Will, as I’ve turned the calendar to March I am hopeful that the days won’t seem as long as some of the frigid February days we’ve had to endure as of late. With the daylight hours (slowly) increasing and Spring-like weather on the horizon, soon being outside will be enjoyable again and knowing that puts a little bounce in my day. I’ve lived in Alberta long enough to know that we’ve not seen the end of winter by any means but what I have come to expect once February has passed is that when we find ourselves in a cold snap, those deep freeze days don’t hang around for long. Yuk, it is true the cold spell is still upon us but the forecast is for warmer weather to come our way in the next few days. Until that happens, I will continue to look at the abundant beauty from the warm side of the window and I’ll continue to look for all the special winter Willy’s that are you.
Love you like a frozen bus with square wheels, Willy. I am missing you terribly these past few weeks. More so than usual… if that is even possible.
Momxo
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0 Comments
That is such a nice story. I, too know the importance of having the “right” number as my son has always had to have the number ‘6’. He would almost panic if they were handing out jerseys and he got there a bit later and was scared someone else would take it! So, that did happen a couple of times, so he would do what Will did and pick anything with the ‘special’ number in it. So, the next time someone asks “what’s in a number?” you can tell them about Will and number ‘8’.
Hugs…
You, Cheryl, have made my heart smile with your similar story. Getting that special numbered jersey was such a game in itself. Boys… aaahh. Gotta love em. Forever. Thanks for being such a great supporter of my love letters. It means so much.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011 (38 days)
That is such a nice story. I, too know the importance of having the “right” number as my son has always had to have the number ‘6’. He would almost panic if they were handing out jerseys and he got there a bit later and was scared someone else would take it! So, that did happen a couple of times, so he would do what Will did and pick anything with the ‘special’ number in it. So, the next time someone asks “what’s in a number?” you can tell them about Will and number ‘8’.
Hugs…
You, Cheryl, have made my heart smile with your similar story. Getting that special numbered jersey was such a game in itself. Boys… aaahh. Gotta love em. Forever. Thanks for being such a great supporter of my love letters. It means so much.