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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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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Wednesday, June 29, 2011 (38 days)
Good morning, little sun,
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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Holding you close always and forever
Mothers Day, Sunday, May 12, 2013 (721 days)
Dear Will,
It’s not an easy day for me. I woke this morning and tried a couple of times to get out of bed, but I just couldn’t do it. I took the Kleenex box back to bed with me and stayed there all morning. I am trying to find happiness in remembering all the Mothers Day’s I had with you; the breakfasts in bed, the dinners you and your brothers and Dad prepared, the handmade gifts you made at school and the most beautiful handmade cards that I loved more than anything. I have saved them all. I considered them treasures always but now that I will never have another from you they are more precious than anything I own.
As I write you this letter I am sitting on a blanket beside the rock and your tree at Heaven’s Gate; the place where we lost you forever almost two years ago. It is both so very sad to be here but in some ways, comforting too. Memories of that day and the fun you were having here are as crystal clear as if it were yesterday and in the quiet times in between the birds chirping and a squirrel behind me in the forest chattering away I can hear your laugh and your voice. But, in the next breath as the tears trickle down my cheeks I, too, remember how it all came to an end and our world was changed forever.
Before I sat down I opened a bag of wildflower seeds that I brought along with me and sprinkled it all around the rocks and the base of your tree. In a month or two from now I am hopeful that I can sit here amongst the wild flowers; this spot already beautiful but a little closer to heaven I think with a mix of wildflowers shining their faces up towards the sun during the day and bowing their heads at night as if praying for another day to keep you company.
I am in no rush to leave this little place of heaven on earth. I will finish up the cup of tea that I also brought along before I pack up the blanket and my iPad and head back home. Dad and your brothers are going to put together dinner for me this evening. We will talk about and remember the Mother’s Days when you, too, were at the table with us. And we will all miss you so very, very much
Love you, little one. More than a bus.
Momxo
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Gosh, sweet boy, it’s been a bit since I’ve put my words to you in a letter… but it sure doesn’t mean that I haven’t been talking to you. Not a day goes by where I don’t find myself having some sort of conversation with you. When I think about it, it must look awkward, even weird, to those who see and hear what looks like a one sided conversation… ahhh, but what they don’t know is that they aren’t one sided at all. I see you and I hear you in all kinds of ways.
I have spent the last few months travelling between what is our new home in Fernie and the place that will always feel like home back in Redwood and area. Both places so very special because they are the two places on this earth that you loved. One you called home and the other you dreamed of calling home. Each time I drive the three hours between those two places I settle into a trip down memory lane and the nostalgia gets me every time. When the sun is shining and the roads are bare I enjoy these road trips with you very much. As I pass the countryside and the landmarks along the way I imagine you are sitting on my left shoulder where my wise friend told me the boys angels sit. I hear you whisper in my ear, “Mom, can we stop and climb on the rocks at the Frank Slide?” “Can we stop for icecream?” “Mom, I have to pee… can you pull over? I can’t wait til we get to a gas station… I gotta go!”
I fondly remember the car games we played; the Geography Game, 20 Questions, and the “When I go to Fernie I’m gonna take my – something that begins with A, then B and C and so on. When you were little we’d play “I spy with my little eye” and no one could ever see what you where spying because, one, you were the random master of detail and, two, I know you would change your mind during play when one of us guessed correctly leading us on a goose chase of confusion until one of us would say “Will, I give up!”. On one of my trips not long ago I found myself playing the Sign Game all by myself. You loved that game, too.
All these family trips back and forth are vividly etched in my heart and as I sit with them now I am grateful that it was a time when phones and iPads and digital devices weren’t as popular as they are now. It gifted us hours and hours of looking out of the window instead of down at a screen. I remember how we’d moo at cows in the fields as we passed and how we sang Christmas carols at the top of our lungs for two months before Christmas. You knew them all.
I love how you’d pack your dark blue drawstring bag with all the possessions you couldn’t live without before we headed to and from Fernie. When you were small, there were little cars and a lego man or two, sometimes a yo-yo or Pokémon cards and always, always a bag of fishy crackers and a juice box. As you got older, that same blue bag held your iPod and your earbuds, your sticker collection, a couple of ski magazines, usually some candy and, always, always fishy crackers and a juice box.
I am smiling to myself now as I reminisce over how you couldn’t stop singing. You. Never. Stopped. Singing. Outside of the car, Will, it was how I knew where you were. Like for real. When you were small it was children’s songs and jingles and lots of Dad’s and your brothers’ music choices – songs that you grew up listening to. And then when you were 10 or 11 you got an iPod and discovered your own world of music. This was a happy time for you as your little world of music and singing exploded. And so did the quiet times in the car. You’d plug in your earbuds and sing and hum and sing and hum and sing and hum… with many reminders to please stop singing out loud. You just couldn’t do it. Not surprising, Dad and I just got back from visiting Uncle Jim in Kelowna and as we meandered along highways we’d never driven we listened to one of your playlists. Years ago, I downloaded it to my iTunes so that I could have it with me always. I’m pretty sure you were with us in the truck that day singing out loud with us as we drove through the mountains. Each song took us back to you and all the countless road trips we made as a family… so many bittersweets attached to that playlist.
These frequent trips I have been making between Fernie and “the hood” are full of memories that at the time seemed uneventful and at times frustrating. After all, a backseat filled with three boys wasn’t always harmonious. But as I look back now, the family time we spent rolling down the highways was a large part of how our family lived and played. What mattered is that we were together on all those drives and my heart swells as I let my mind wander back to those days when our world was perfect.
I miss you, sweet Will. And I will always love you. More than anything and like a bus full of fishy crackers and your favourite tunes rolling down the highway with the sun shining down on us and the windows wide open as we sing at the top of our lungs.
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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You and the ski legends “upstairs” have been busy. After an October full of balmy temperatures and a Halloween that will go on record as one of the warmest in a handful of Halloweens, the big blanket of Willy that I am looking at this morning is another testament to your love for snow.
Friday night I was watching the neighbourhood kids in their Halloween costumes parade from door to door in their “skinny” costumes instead of the “fat” ones we’ve become accustomed to because of the snowsuits the little ones needed to wear underneath their costumes. No little roly-poly’s this year, no mittens or gloves or winter boots and no snow to trudge through. The streets were alive with kids and parents who were not in a hurry to get out of the cold and back into their homes unlike some of the bitter cold Halloweens I remember when you boys were younger.
This morning is quite different. As the snow continues to fall the streets in our Community are quiet. It seems no one is rushing out of their homes… yet. It is still early and soon there will be a few who will venture out to begin to shovel their driveways. By mid morning I’m pretty sure our cul-de-sac will be full of kids in snow gear building snow forts and snowmen, piling snow to build jumps, and the “snow toys” that have been packed away since last winter will find themselves once again all over the yards of those with children. Until three years ago that was our house and if I could wish it all over again I would.
The season of winter coats and pants and wet socks begins. The season of lost mitts and constant reminders to put on warm winter boots is now here. The days of clean clothes being dumped from the dryer so the wet ones could be tossed in to dry while the kettle was boiling water for hot chocolate is about to begin. The front door mess of wet toques and mitts, of snow boots and jackets, and ski pants with one leg turned inside out while sometimes still attached to a snow boot is now a memory of winters past. And perhaps the sweetest memory of all was your rosy cheeks and crazy “toque-head” hair. Many a time, you’d adorn one sockless foot while the other sock looked like a snake because your foot was pulled from your snow boot while your sock somehow wanted to stay in there, your big boisterous voice full of excitement and your unforgettable BIG smile when you’d finally come inside from a building-then-playing session in the big snow. Will, these were the days that I will cherish always — the days I would give anything to have back. I’m sure you also remember my raised voice, the sound of my frustration at the mess that would accumulate at the front door. When I’d tell you to hang up your stuff, you and your brothers would say the same thing, “Mom, it doesn’t fit in the closet” or “Mom, what’s the use of putting it away when I’m gonna put it on again as soon as it’s dry.” And so it seemed that the heap of wet jackets and clothing and all the extra stuff that became a part of the front entrance to our home somehow stayed there for the whole winter. Yup, those were the winters I will fondly remember, the gifts of ordinary winter days.
Today I imagine you up there with your BIG smile and boisterous yippees and yahoos making all that snow that wintertime brings with a big heavenly snow machine. I can visualize you wanting to dump bigger and bigger amounts upon us down here… though not for me per se, but for all the ski nuts like your dad and your brothers and your ski buddies who are anxious to begin a winter full of fun on skis and snowboards. Undoubtedly I will need to remind myself over and over, again and again, in the upcoming months of how much you loved the snow — a tactic I use to get through our winters down here without you. When watching the snow pile up appears nothing but a headache to me, I remind myself of how much you loved it and that can make me smile at all of it (for now).
Love you, Willy. Like a bus and a big heavenly snow machine.
Momxo
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0 Comments
Wow, that is a powerful photo. I too see Will there and am drawn back to it over and over again, there is so much in it. Beautifully written. XO
It IS powerful for sure. I’ve shown it to you haven’t I! From the day I got it it sits on my desk up in my “happy space” where I look at it / into it often. Another one of those Willy signs.
Wow, that is a powerful photo. I too see Will there and am drawn back to it over and over again, there is so much in it. Beautifully written. XO
It IS powerful for sure. I’ve shown it to you haven’t I! From the day I got it it sits on my desk up in my “happy space” where I look at it / into it often. Another one of those Willy signs.