Robins and Brown Bunnies…

ByJoni Bouchard
Memorial Rock
Will's Memorial Rock - Fernie, BCWill’s Memorial Rock – Fernie, BC

Sunday, April 17, 2016

 

Hey Willy,

 

Spring has sprung and with it comes all kinds of new “hellos” from you. The season of robins and brown bunnies, budding trees and tulips, open windows and shoes without socks, raking the grass of remnants of last fall after a winter season of snow and the excitement of putting out the patio furniture… its just gotta be Spring. But, wait… It can’t be spring until I have my picnic lunch with you and Dad up at your memorial rock in Fernie. Then it will be spring.

 

Last weekend your favourite mountain closed for the ski season and on the Friday, Dad and I had our picnic with you under a cloudless sky on the bluest of bluebird days. It was my first visit to the rock since last summer and a day I’d been longing for for some time. Because I’m not able to ski with my hurting knees, Dad made arrangements for one of the ski patrollers to give me a lift up to your magical place on a snowmobile. I believe there’s nothing that the Resort wouldn’t do for you and us; time and time again they’ve gone above and beyond any expectation we could have ever had and we are ever grateful. A “thank you” never seems enough.

 

Each time I meet someone affiliated with the Resort they seem to already know you and, well, it happened again. The patroller who gave me the lift told me that when he was training as a groomer three years ago he was taken to your rock late one night while in the snow cat. It was there that he learned your story and about your passion for skiing and for Fernie. He expressed how sorry he was to hear about your tragic passing and told me that you’re like a legend, Will; a little, blue-eyed legend. It’s not every day that someone gets to be remembered like that!

 

Dad and I sat with you at the base of your rock and had our lunch. We shared some quiet conversation and some “remember whens” and some silence too. During our silence I ran my fingers over the face of your rock feeling the etching of every letter of every word that we so carefully chose to have engraved on it. In my silence came flashbacks of happy times with you and then sadness for what will never be. And then a reminder of why we chose a memorial rock – a rock is forever, Will, and so are you.

Our family message engraved on the back
Our family message engraved on the back

Now it is spring and now I can focus on all the little hellos that you are sending my way; the robins and the brown bunnies, the budding trees and the tulips, open windows and shoes without socks…

 

I miss you, Willy, and I love you. Like a bus full of robins and brown bunnies and a big, beautiful forever rock.

 

Momxo

 

 

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  • A Gold Dipped Yellow Leaf

    this one.jpg

    September 16, 2019

    Dear sweet Will,

    Today I watched the first yellow leaf fall from your tree. It reminded me of a tear as it fell to the ground and in those few seconds I did wipe a tear as it rolled down my cheek. Sometimes the unexpected can just get me like that. It was also a stark reminder of the passage of time… another season, another fall since you passed to the other side. I ponder how that can be possible when it feels both so long ago and like yesterday at the same time. That golden yellow leaf is also a reminder of the many signs of you that seem to be everywhere – all of them beautiful in their abundance and all of them I am ever grateful to be witness of. They are a daily reminder that you are indeed near and that you continue to watch over us. It really is possible in the moments of each passing day, week, month, season and year to see little signs of you in all kinds of places and in so many different ways. Little blue butterflies, heart shaped rocks, a snowflake, a brand new leaf, rainbows, tiny-fluffy- speckled feathers, a chattering squirrel or cawing crow and sometimes the magical, indescribable way Finn seems to look through me instead of at me. I know all of these are somehow you. I often reply to these abundant signs saying out loud, “Hey Willy, I see you, I hear you, I feel you.” I have had many conversations with these signs of you believing and hoping that you can see me, hear me and feel me, too.

    Friends

    The painful part is that I miss you as you were. So many things I miss… I miss watching you grow, seeing you run and jump. I miss hearing your giggle and the sound of your voice. I miss watching you make cinnamon toast in the morning and how you’d pour milk into your bowl of honey nut Cheerios. Frequently there’d be more milk on the counter than in your bowl but you insisted that you could do it and if I made a fuss about how that was wasteful you’d look at me and without saying a word you’d lick it right off the counter just to prove a point. I know I didn’t miss that back then but I’d give anything for a bowl of spilled milk now. I miss watching you swing your backpack over your shoulder and how sometimes it was so jam packed that you looked like a turtle carrying its shell. I long for the morning chaos that was part of every school day… how you’d rush to eat breakfast and brush your teeth before you’d stuff your backpack with all you needed for the day and then how you’d saunter out the door (and sometimes run like mad) to catch the bus to school. I miss our conversations about what mattered most to you on each given day. I miss watching how you loved being with your buddies and how much you loved pushing your brothers’ buttons and wrestling and cuddling with Dad. I miss your “Hi Mom” when I’d see you in the hallways at school and your public hugs when you just knew it meant more to me than to you. I miss watching you work so hard to get through your homework after school because every extra minute was golden when you were playing with your friends and / or jumping on the trampoline before dinner. I miss the way you would stall every bedtime routine and then how you’d look forward to our time to read together before bed. I miss hearing you say, “goodnight mom” and how you’d tell me you loved me like a bus. I miss our bedtime hugs and watching you as you slept when I’d enter your room one more time before it was my turn to crawl into my bed down the hall. I know these times were fleeting in the big picture but like every parent I always believed that these little nuances – these routines of everyday life – would morph into different age appropriate routines as you grew older. Never did I ever believe that it would end so tragically and so quickly. When I look back I am reminded of how fleeting it really was and how precious those moments really were. What a gift an ordinary day was back then and how lucky I am to be able to recall so many. I am especially grateful to have had that perspective. I will hold onto each and every one of them for all of my days on earth.

    And Will, when the next golden leaf flutters from your tree to the ground I will choose to look at it as you waving to me instead of feeling it as my tears. I will watch closely so I don’t miss it and as fall inevitably makes its grand entrance I will see you wave many, many times as the leaves from your thriving little tree cover the ground. Watch me, Will, as I will be waving back at you.

    I miss all of you, sweet boy, and I love you beyond words. Like a bus. A big, yellow bus full of beautiful gold dipped, yellow leaves.

    Momxo

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  • As November Wanes

    willbilly
    Our Will.
    When our world was perfect.

    November 30, 2016

    Dear Willy,

    As November wanes I find myself between reflecting on the happy moments of this fall and then trying to wrap myself around how I will find the gumption to face another December and the painful feelings that come with the holiday season.

    This October 22 was one of our happiest days as we witnessed your big brother marry the love of his life and the girl we, too, love to bits. I can’t help but wonder, Will, if maybe you had something to do with them marrying on a 2-2 day thinking that a sprinkle of happy was what we needed going forward and that perhaps having a happy measure of time would make it a little easier for us on the 22nd day of every month? It wouldn’t surprise me since all of your short life you were all about spreading smiles and cultivating happiness. I must also tell you, Will, that being the only female in a family of five, for me it was a wish come true that our family has grown to include a daughter-in-law. The only sad part for me was that in a perfect world you’d have been there too and that your Willy shenanigans would have been part of their day. I wish you and Amy would have had the chance to know each other. I do know you’d love her as we do.

    Tomorrow will be the first day of December and the heaviness I feel not only typing the word “December”, but also hearing and saying that word conjures up an emptiness that just never goes away. We’ve done this December thing now for five years and one might expect that it should be easier for us but it just isn’t. I do try to find love and light in each of December’s days but there are times when I have to dig real deep and sometimes to no avail. Amongst them, however, we find a jewel here and there – like Justin’s birthday, for one. December 17th always makes us smile but there is no denying that when you were here to celebrate with us the day was just better.

    As November wanes and I wake to the first sunrise of December I will take a big, deep breath and before I open my eyes tomorrow morning I will take a moment longer and feel you in the deepest parts of my heart. I couldn’t love you more or miss you more than I already do and you will always be the first person I see before I open my eyes. I will think about all the sparkles that you are waiting to sprinkle upon us and the love and light that you want us to feel so deeply. We will find some smiles in our December days but you must know, Willy, that our smiles were the biggest and the brightest when you were living December with us.

    I love you, sweet Will. Bigger than a bus and, as November wanes, brighter than a super moon.

    Momxo

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  • Mother’s Day without you

    Holding you close always and forever
    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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  • Our Christmas Memory Tree

    December 21, 2013 Dear Will, Christmas is almost here and though I am trying to focus on the good things that will be part of our Christmas this year, memories of you and our Christmases past are the only things that occupy my mind.  I go through the motions but just past my eyelids are tears that I have been trying so hard to suppress.  This morning is different.  It is quiet in the house; I’m the only one up, I’ve made myself a cup of tea, turned on the lights on the Christmas tree and now I can let my tears fall.   I sit here wanting only to spend some time with you.
    Will's Santa Hat
    Your Santa Hat
    As daylight is beginning to show its face, I stare at our tree and all the memories of you that adorn it.  Since your angel date our Christmas tree has become a Memory Tree.  Instead of the angel that we used to put on top, we have placed your Santa hat.  I smiled while putting it up there looking at the way you printed your name with a sharpie on the inside when you were in kindergarten.  The bigger the space, the bigger you printed.  Your name is really just a bunch of sticks and being the third child we chose a name that, of course, we loved and was meaningful, but at the same time was going to be easy for you to print when you were little and beginning school.  Will (not William) was perfect for so many reasons! There are tiny white twinkly lights from top to bottom and on each branch is a Fernie family ski pass; all five of us from all the years we were Fernie pass holders.  You and your brothers have been Fernie pass holders all of your lives and as I look at the photos on each pass I remember so many fun times.  The photos on these (expensive) little pieces of plastic are a chronological record of how each of you have grown and changed from year to year; from tots to big boys and Justin and Ben, now young men.  There is one of you that is all bent and I smile remembering it was the one that you didn’t remove from your ski pants before throwing them in the dryer (one of those wet snow days!) and it had begun to melt from the high heat.  When I look closely, Will, I notice you weren’t the only one that forgot… For the last two Christmases I have added three ornaments each year to signify you and your brothers.  The first year I found three white sparkly stars.  I wrote your names on each of the stars and hung them in the same order as your star on Orion’s belt in the Orion Constellation.  Sandy and Don Bietz (your kindergarten teacher and her husband) dedicated this star to you after your angel date so it made perfect sense that I put three stars on our tree.
    My Three Stars
    My Three Stars
    You, Justin, and Ben
    You are in the middle and Justin and Ben are on each side protecting you.  I have to tell you (and I’m pretty sure you’ll find this funnier than I did !*?#) that when I came home from work a couple of weeks ago, the three stars were on the ground.  The string of tree lights was askew and had been pulled across the carpet.  The cord was chewed through and a couple of the bulbs were missing (we have new lights now).  Finn!  I panicked while Finn skulked out of the living room with his head down low and his tail between his legs.  Little bugger… he knew he’d done wrong.  What I was worried about most were the three stars.  When I picked them up both of your brother’s stars were chewed on the ends but yours was perfect.  They are all back on the tree in the order I’d originally put them.  Perhaps next Christmas I’ll smile remembering that story but it’s a very small smile now.  Last year I hung three snowflakes and this year three glittery peace signs.
    Your hand-sewn Gingerbread Boy
    Your hand-sewn Gingerbread Boy
    Here and there I hung the Christmas ornaments that you made in school and up high (where Finn could not possibly reach or see) I placed amongst the branches the brown felt gingerbread boy that you had hand-sewn and stuffed when you were in grade 2.   All are Priceless handmade memories that I value more than anything. Nana and Pa will come and spend Christmas with us this year and that will be special.  That makes me smile but I wish more than anything that you were here, too; that you’d be with us in your pajamas on Christmas morning.  Like the last two Christmases, Willy, under the tree will be the last gift that we unwrap — a new jigsaw puzzle from you to us.  A gift that will give us hours and hours of family time while we remember you and how much we miss you and love you. Happy Heavenly Christmas to you up there, Will.  I know you’ll be looking down on us and that in many ways you’ll be with us on this favorite holiday of yours. Missing you so much… and love you like a bus. Momxo

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  • May. Another Circle Around The Sun Begins.

    May 13, 2018 Here we go again. The hardest month of the year is upon us and as your angel date approaches it is this month that is the biggest reminder of the passage of time. The 22nd day of May will mark seven years since our worst day ever and it still feels like yesterday and forever. How can time dance between these two extremes? May brings with it a flood of memories; an abundant and beautiful playlist of memories that no one can ever take from me. The onset of May meant soccer at the park, riding your bike and wearing shorts again. After a long winter it was the month where we’d have to shop for new shorts and t-shirts and pull out Ben’s hand-me-downs because of how much you grew since we switched them out for warmer clothes and snow pants. With May also comes Mother’s Day and what used to be one of my favourite days of the year. Now, not so much. There is an emptiness that nothing can fill and the empty chair at the table is so blatantly noticeable on this day. I will always treasure the gifts you and your brothers made at school when you were all small. I have kept them all, along with every handmade card. I will play all of my moments with you over and over and over a million times throughout my lifetime, Will. There is solace in recalling the many happy moments but on the other side of all that “happy” is the pining and longing I have for all that was lost and all that could have been and will never be… watching you navigate through your teen years (whilst pulling my hair out on occasion, I’m sure) and then transitioning from man cub to man. Missing out on celebrating the milestones you’d have enjoyed along the way and all the beautiful, ordinary moments and days in between is something that will haunt me for all my days. There is an aching sadness in thinking about that. A month that used to hold such promise and a change of seasons now feels so different. My patience is thinner, my heart is heavier and the onset of tears sits so close to the surface of my being that I can feel their sting. And yet, I try. I try to be positive, to be hopeful and to be grateful for the little blessings that present themselves each day because I know, Will, that this is what you want for me. I spend more time these days practicing self care and wake each day with the intent to be kinder to myself… because I need to. Walking our chocolate lab down by the river is the best medicine on these May days. I try to be in less of a hurry and to be patient while Finn sniffs everything in sight. It’s quite a ritual he practices and with every sniff of every tree or rock or patch of grass, dog experts say that he can recall which one of his furry friends pee’d there and when. It’s crazy to think about, really, but for whatever reason he must just need to know this stuff. Silly dogs. Today, I noticed many fat robins strutting around the ground with their proud, red breasts looking for bits and pieces to finish building their nests so they can lay their eggs soon. Last week I picked some pussy willows and put them in a little jar beside my kitchen sink. Such happy little fur balls and I thought to myself that if I was a plant I’d surely love a little fur coat to keep me warm on the not so sunny spring days. While I walked I noticed all the signs of renewal that Mother Nature so intentionally orchestrates. I thought about how hardy the trees and bushes are when after a long winter they spread their branches up to the sky in an effort to begin their growing cycle again. I love how after a few warm days buds appear and how soon after that those buds uncurl into new, tiny, green leaves. I don’t know where else you can even replicate that color of green. It really is quite beautiful. The forest floor is still covered with a blanket of dead leaves from the fall but here and there there are tufts of new green grass trying to poke through. Though I’ve not yet seen any wildflowers I know they’ll be here soon. This cycle of renewal that is spring is a reminder to me that I can find beauty in little things and that if I set out with the intention to find it I can and will. Even when the sting of tears is so close and my heart aches I can find you, Will. You are every tiny miracle I see on my daily walk and as we circle the sun again I know I can count on you to lead the way. I feel your hand in mine and that helps. I love you, sweet boy. More than a bus full of spring miracles and the color of brand new leaves. More than pussy willows and and a chocolate lab named Finn. Momxo

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  • A New Year. And, I Am Here.

    My boys. My everything.
    My boys. My everything. December 2004
    January 11, 2014 Dear Will, This is my first letter to you in 2014, and though you may be wondering why it took eleven days to finally put my words here…  well, Willy, it was just really hard for me.  I know what you’re thinking.  “Geez, Mom.  You were never at a loss for words.  Gosh, there were days when I wished it were so, but c’mon, Mom, this never happens to you!”  Truth is, I have thought about you every minute of every day; I have talked to you out loud, whispered your name, looked for you in the sky, in the snow, and in every nook and cranny of life.  Most times, Will, thankfully I found you staring right back at me.  I have taken you with me to Fernie and Montana and back, tucked you safely in my heart where you occupy an indelible space; a space every mother creates for her children when they go to heaven without their moms, no matter how old they are.  These past 11 days and the days over Christmas have been especially difficult.  I woke each day wondering if this might be the day that I could find the strength to put some happy words here… but day after day (even though I tried and tried) it just never worked.  As soon as I would open my laptop and type your name, my tears would fall and I would find myself paralyzed, staring at an empty screen. This holiday season was our third without you and though I know that grief never follows a straight line from unbearably sad to sad, to a little bit sad, to a little less sad… I somehow wanted to believe, to hope, that maybe this year it would be a little easier.  Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong.  For me, Christmas without you was again unbearably sad.  Was it because I expected/hoped it would be a bit easier?  Maybe.  But then, how could it be?  I know in my heart of hearts that it will never be easier, never be less painful, or less empty.  What we’ve been told is that it will always be sad, but that we will get better at learning to live with the pain, the loss, the emptiness of not having you here.  Oh, like that makes it better?  Of course it doesn’t. What I will focus on and remember is the wonderful things that we do in honor of you around the holidays.  How our tree is adorned with memories of you and of us spending our winters skiing in Fernie.  How your Christmas stocking, instead of being filled with gifts and goodies, sits underneath the most beautiful spray that is the centre of our Christmas dinner table.  The florist at the Farmers Market incorporated some of the blue and silver balls from the last two Christmas centrepieces into some cedar and evergreen boughs that hugged the same frosted hurricane vase with the white candle that is your light in the middle of all of us at Christmas.  Will, it was really beautiful.  (Thank you, Sandy).  How under the tree is a gift for each of us from you, our Santa now.  And how the last gift we open is a special family gift from you — always a jigsaw puzzle for us to work on together.  I’ve yet to open the box, but think I might just do that today.  Somehow seeing 1000 puzzle pieces spread out all over the dining room table and knowing that it’ll take us a month or two to complete finds me smiling. There were some extra-special gifts under our tree this year and all were in honor of you, Will.  I’d chosen two of your t-shirts, one each that held special memories for your brothers.  For Ben, your black and gold LINE t-shirt, the one you’d won the summer you both went to Windell’s.  I remember Ben always saying that you’d win everything and that he was never that lucky.  For Justin, I chose your purple Fernie Freestyle Ski Club t-shirt.  You know the one… you had a few because you’d worn out the first one.  There are many pictures of you wearing this t-shirt under your flannel shirts.  It was part of the classic “Will uniform”.  Annette kindly sewed them into pillow covers (Thanks, Annette) and now your brothers have them on their beds.
    Justin's gift to all of us. Amazing!
    Justin’s gift to all of us. Amazing!
    The other was a gift for each of us from Justin.  He insisted that his gift be the first one we opened on Christmas morning.  Inside his beautiful wrapping (he might need a little work on this?) each of us received a mug that Amy had made and the two of them had designed.  On each mug was the wolf that you’d drawn in kindergarten.  I was unaware that transposing a real image was even possible on a handmade piece of pottery and am still in awe that he would know how precious this gift would be to all of us.  They are priceless and I know I will treasure them forever. The careful thought and love that we put into our Christmases without you is a beautiful testament to you and how much we miss you and love you.  As your mom, I am so proud.  You and Dad and your brothers are my everything and I couldn’t love any of you more than I already do.  Nana and Pa shared Christmas with us this year and that was really special, too.  It was quiet and had its share of laughter and tears like every Christmas going forward undoubtedly will. New Years was again sad all over again.  Though I tried to be more social this year, I found myself alone in my bed before the stroke of midnight wishing more than anything that the pillow I was holding was you.  As midnight approached I could see the fireworks light up the darkness, hear them explode with loud bangs.  I could hear the music and the laughter and the words “happy new year” being shared from one to another outside the window.  Where I found comfort was snuggling with Dad and my pillow under the covers with my eyes closed remembering how much you loved staying up till all hours on this magical night to ring in a new year.  I’ll try again next year and maybe it will be different.  Or maybe it won’t.  It will only be what it will be.  But for now, the holiday has passed and I’ve settled once again into my routine.  I am back at school, back in my community, back amongst friends and family where I can be me; where it feels safe to shed a tear or two, even when asked one of the questions I dread most this time of year, “How was your Christmas?” So now, here I am 11 days in to 2014 and I am here.  I know you are here with me, too, Will.  There are gobs and gobs of snow outside; the biggest blanket of Willy we’ve had in a long time!  Is it a coincidence that Mr. Blue Sky has just played on the radio?  Maybe.  But I know it’s you.  And earlier this morning, I found a loonie and two quarters in the couch cushions while looking for my knitting needle.  Another coincidence?  Maybe.  But again, I know it’s you.  I think I will open that jigsaw puzzle today.  Help me, Will, I think this one’s gonna be a doozy. Love you, little blue.  Like a bus and the beauty of every single, magical snowflake. Momxo
    Thanks, Willy
    Thanks, Willy

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0 Comments

  1. Hi Joni, I still read your posts the minute they come across my email. I always have to brace myself before I start, because there is always a tear for your families loss. You are an eloquent, generous, and honest writer, and I appreciate that you are willing to share. You are helping many people. You help me to take pause and remember the important things in life. And, I’m grateful. Lisa Lundberg

    Reply

    1. Awe, Lisa. I am grateful for you and for your taking time to make my day with your kind words. Writing has become one of the coping mechanisms that I have needed in order to survive. It will never be easy. Writing to him keeps him with me. He was such a chatter box; I talked to him everyday of his short life and I can’t/won’t stop. I’m glad that my words help you with perspective. In the end it’s always the little things that matter the most. Again, thank you, Lisa.

      Reply

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