Stung Again

ByJoni Bouchard
Will with Jamie and Lauren, at the precious age of 12
Will at twelve, with Jamie and Lauren

Friday, November 22, 2013 (2 ½ years)

Hey Will,

It’s late and I can’t sleep.  The clock on my bedside table marks the last few minutes of another 22nd day of the month and it stings like all the others.  I felt it when I woke this morning.  There was a sluggishness about getting out of bed, about having to go through the motions of this day; another day where it would take a little more effort to put one foot in front of the other. And so after a few minutes of staring out of the window at the sun just beginning to give light to the day I got up and dawdled to the shower. It’s always so easy to cry there; the tears run to the tips of my toes not just down my cheeks to be wiped away with a tissue or my sleeve. Today these tears were as necessary and natural as washing my face and brushing my teeth; tears that have become a routine part of the 22nd day of every month.

When I pulled into the parking lot at school this morning I whispered your name and asked you to help me hold it together today and it worked, Will!  I worked through my day with a smile, but it did sting a little each time I saw the date written on a student’s paper, each time I saw it on a computer screen, each time I saw it written on the whiteboard in every classroom I walked into today, but I’ve come to expect it and so its a little easier when I know its going to sting instead of being taken aback or surprised. That feels more like a punch to the stomach and though that still happens from time to time it is a little less now.  Sadly, to me that can only mean that more time has passed and that I’ve gotten used to what it feels like to be punched in the stomach.  I was working with a grade seven boy who was celebrating his twelfth birthday today and that stung too.  Looking at him took me back to your grade seven year and to you being twelve and how it stopped there.  “Twelve” is yet another word that stings.

The next 22nd day of the month will be 3 days before Christmas and that one will sting more; more like one of those punches to the stomach.  As Christmas approaches the tears will multiply and getting out bed will become more difficult. This I know now and there is no stopping the wave of sadness that lasts throughout the holiday season.  It’ll never be right, never be ok that you’re not physically here with us.  It just is what it is and sadly nothing can change it.  I do feel your presence with us spiritually but oh how I miss seeing you, touching you, smelling you.

Thanks for helping me get through the day, Will.  And thanks for letting me know that you are with me on this new day, the 23rd day of November.  I woke this morning and the first thing I did before getting out of bed was reach for my iPad on the bedside table to re-read my letter. I opened the Songza app and the first song that played was “Mr. Blue Sky”.  I’ll take that as a sign that you are here with me and it made me smile.  It’s no secret that you are my little Mr. Blue Sky; you always will be.

Love you like a bus,

Momxo

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  • Our Empty Nest

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    September 2, 2013 (836 days) Dear Will, Today is another first day of school. Your first day in what would have been your grade 10 year of high school. All around me are moms who are saying the same words, “where has the time gone?” Though for me, it is different. I miss you more and more every day and in my world it never feels like time flies. It is a repeat of another day without you. Like last year at this time I have purposely stayed away from the stores; watching moms shopping with their kids for back to school is still too painful. Oh, what I’d give to be complaining and negotiating and frustrated with the whole list… Trying to talk you out of your perceived need for another backpack when the one you have is perfectly fine, trying to convince you that while the new shoes you want so badly are terribly over-priced (because of where they rank on the “cool factor scale”) I agree to meet you in the middle by paying for half of them….all the while feeling that maybe I was too hard on you because I do understand how important it is to want and need to fit in and that I remember as a school aged girl the excitement over a new pair of shoes at the beginning of each school year. New t-shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans, brand new whiter-than-white socks, the necessary new hoodie and last on the list, of course, the binders and notebooks that were a back to school requirement but not near as much fun to shop for as the other stuff. And then the haircut negotiations would begin… You wanting to keep it long while I was on the other end of the spectrum wishing I could talk you into a shorter style… In the end, you’d have won that battle because I did learn (finally) by having gone through it year after year with your older brothers that really, it’s only hair and not worth a battle. Once home you’d empty the bags onto your bed and want to wear it all right now — not wanting to wait until school started…and yet another round of negotiations would begin. Oh, how I miss all of it. Instead, I stay away knowing that hearing the banter and negotiating between moms and their kids would send me into another tailspin of tears. I wonder a lot these past few days what you’d look like now; how handsome you’d be? Its not a surprise that part of what I miss most is the physicality of you. I miss seeing you, I miss your smell, your voice, your laugh. I miss being able to hug you and to touch you. I miss what it feels like to hold your hand, to pat you on the back. Gosh, Will, I even miss making your school lunches and arguing with you. What I imagine to be true is that you’d have been a stunningly handsome, almost 15 year old boy, with the most beautiful blue eyes and that because of that you’d have been a distraction amongst the girls! Then here we’d go again with another round of negotiations about the importance of your school work with less attention on the girls… Oh boy, Will, I know there’d have been some trying times between us at this stage but they’d never be as hard as not having them at all. I am writing you this letter in the wee hours of the morning. It is still dark outside and the only sound I hear is the steady, rhythmic shrill of crickets outside the open window. Dad and I are leaving for home mid morning, having spent the long weekend here in Kelowna helping Ben move into residence and his first year of university. I am grateful that he has chosen to go to university here, close to Uncle Jim. Kelowna is a beautiful place as you know. Spending some of our time in past summers at Uncle Jim’s was full of fun times and for that reason there are good memories here for sure. The difficult part of today will be our arrival back home and the bittersweet of walking into “clean and quiet”. Our nest is empty now and that makes me sad. These next few years were supposed to be ours with just you at home. No sharing you with your brothers. While Justin begins his last year at U of C and Ben is just beginning his university life here, Dad and I feel like we’ve been robbed of this special time with you. All of us have reached another milestone in our lives… Only dad and I aren’t ready. It’s not supposed to be our empty nest time but sadly we weren’t part of that decision. Having Finn, our big, brown dog, will help and I am grateful that we have him as he helps fill up the house a little, but, oh what I’d give to have you at home. The nest would be perfect then. Though I believe in my heart that you are near me, I continue to search for signs of you daily. That’s what makes me smile these days. Stay close to the nest, little blue. We need you there. Love you like a bus… parked in the nest. Momxo

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  • Sixteen Candles on an Angel Food Cake

    third birthday
    Will’s Third Birthday

    October 14, 2014,

     

     

     

    Happy Heavenly Birthday Will,

     

    Upon waking this morning and with you ever present in my mind, the first words out of my mouth as I looked out my bedroom window and up to the sky were my birthday wishes for you. Today is your 16th birthday and I am saving today just for you.

     

    So much has happened in a week, since my last letter. It was so great to have Ben home from University for Thanksgiving; gosh, I miss him (his mess, not so much) and I was grateful for having both Justin and Ben at the table for our turkey dinner on Sunday. You were there too, in the middle of the four of us lighting up our table by candlelight.

     

    Unfortunately, Thanksgiving was far from the minds of Nana and my Uncle and cousins and family as they are in the midst of missing their beautiful sister, wife, mom and grandmother. Auntie Barb succumbed to her battle with cancer early on Saturday morning and has left all of us with all of those questions that have no answers. I remember it as if it were yesterday, those first days after losing you. All the numbness and the pain, the disbelief and the wishing that it were just a bad dream. It STILL feels like that. I drove to Medicine Hat on Friday wanting desperately to see her and to be there for Nana. I wanted to tell Auntie Barb that you’d be waiting for her, and that you’d make her smile and take her to Papa D. She beat me to it Will – as soon as I took her hand in my own and before I could speak, she told me she’d be seeing you soon and that she hoped I wouldn’t be too sad. If I could have traded places with her I would have. I told her that and in her wise and barely audible words she told me life didn’t work like that. I returned home Sunday morning wanting so very badly to see Dad and your brothers and to find the comfort I needed amongst them and memories of you in our home on Thanksgiving and your birthday.

     

    Today I think about you being 16. I wonder what you’d look like, how long your hair would be or whether you’d want it short. I wonder how tall you would be and what your voice would sound like all grown up. I wonder how big your feet would be and if you’d be wearing a hat or a toque today. I wonder if you’d be shaving, and if you would have a girlfriend. I wonder if Kathleen would show up after school today with a bag full of your favourite candy and if today would have been the day you’d have passed your driver’s test.

     

    I smile knowing only that you’d be handsome as ever with the bluest eyes in the land. I smile knowing that you’d be taller than me, and that your feet would be large. I know you’d be over the moon happy today, happy to be 16 and the centre of attention and happy to be driving like your friends. While I was walking Finn this morning I thought about what kind of car you might have up there. Whether it was an expensive racecar type that boys dream about or a ski van. Pondering those thoughts for a few minutes it suddenly came to me that you’d probably have the same vehicle as Ben. A truck just like his… probably even the same color… and I think Ben might actually be happy about that too.

     

    Today I will visit Heaven’s Gate and I will place a painted rock under your tree there. Tonight we will have angel food cake with strawberries and whipped cream just like we would have had if you were here with us. Instead I imagine that today Auntie Barb might just bake you the best angel food cake ever and that she’d ice it with that really fluffy white icing that only Nana D could make.

     

    Happy Sixteen, Willy. I am sending you love and wishes and hand blown kisses all day.

     

    Love you like a bus and a birthday truck just like Ben’s.

     

     

    Momxo 

     

     

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  • Bounce Bounce Bounce

    beautifulwill.jpg
    My sweet Will.

    November 12, 2017

     Dear Will,

     

    In the still of this Sunday morning I wake to the beauty of this day – it is quiet as I lie here in my bed… the sun is shining, Finn is sleeping at the foot of the bed and my mind is busy making a list of all the stuff that I have intentions of tackling today. And yet, all this aside, my heart yearns for the little voice that is you saying “Mom, please get up. I’ve got people to see and places to go. And bacon would be so awesome this morning!”

     

    I wish I could reply, “Hold on, sweet guy. Relax. It’s 7:20 am and we’ve plenty of time.” I remind myself that whatever I do (or don’t do) today that you are with me every step of the way, every minute of every day. Instead of rushing to get up and get going with my list I succumb to days gone by and I get lost in memories of Sunday mornings when you were at my bedside bugging me to get up. When the tears become too much and I feel like I’m on the slippery slope to not getting out of bed at all, I decide to get up and make myself a big cup of tea. Minutes later, I’m at the kitchen table writing you this letter.

     

    There is a bird in the tree outside my big kitchen window and he seems intent on garnering my attention. A little guy, probably a chickadee, who is bouncing from branch to branch… and I just know it’s you. I stare at him for a few moments until he flitters away. A few minutes later he returns. More bounce bounce bounce.   He stops and looks at me. I imagine he is saying, “I saw you crying in your bed, Mom. Think about the good days and all the happy times. Remember me when I made you smile and we laughed together. If you believe that I am truly with you in this moment, I know I can make you smile.” What happens next? I’m smiling at that bouncing little bird.

     

    He flies away again… and a few minutes later he returns. Bounce bounce bounce. It seems he has more to say. “Just look at me out here on this tree. I’m free as a bird and never far away. I will always be here and when you need me just call my name. I promise I will hear you because I miss you too, Mom.” Ok, I’m still smiling, but I can feel the tears coming again. He continues, “Our journey together will never end, Mom, because we’re a forever thing. I visit you often because I miss you, too, but this jumping from branch to branch thing is a whole lot of fun and you’d have never allowed me to climb this high.” He’s right. The only way he’d have climbed that high is if I wasn’t home.

     

    Gosh, I needed that little bird today. More than all the tea in China. Thanks, sweet Will, for your visit and for your message. It means the world to me.

     

    Love you, sweet boy. More than a bus, little bouncing chickadees and all the tea in China.

     

    Momxo

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  • Perfectly Ordinary

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    January 15, 2016

     

    My Sweet Will,

     

    2016.  The first thing that comes to my mind is the number five.  The passing of time seems always to be where my mind, without even thinking, drifts first.  For fifteen days now we’re into a new year and I shake my head in disbelief knowing that it will be 5 years this May.  I wonder over and over, also in disbelief, how it could even be possible that yesterday and forever can seem the same?  Time is funny that way.

     

    I read a post on Facebook this morning that spoke to me in a profound way.  Instantly, I thought about the words I wrote in my tribute to you – the words that Mary read on my behalf at your Celebration of Life six days after our world changed forever.  I wanted to reprint them here in your letter so you are reminded of what I miss the most about you, Will.

     

    Here goes…

     

    “Last Sunday I experienced every mother’s “unimaginable”.  I lost my WillBilly.  On that evening, a part of me was lost with Will as well; Partly, because I have this overwhelming need to be with him and also because at twelve years of age, quite frankly, he still needs his mom.   Surrounding his passing are emotions beyond words.

     

    I recently read (not once, but three times) Katrina Kenison’s book, “The Gift of an Ordinary Day” and many of the words I am sharing with you today were born from hers and some word for word as it seems Moms everywhere convey the same kind of love. 

     

    Katrina writes and it couldn’t be more true for me that “One of the hardest lessons I am learning is that the answers to the really big questions, the answers I most hunger for, don’t ever come to us from the outside; rather, they come from a quiet place within.  A place we can reach only when we find within ourselves the courage to pause, to abide for a while in that place of not knowing, to be at peace even with our uncertainties, and then to listen and attend with the ear of our own hearts.”

     

    I often find myself thinking back to when Will was really small.  Days that began with cinnamon toast cut into finger size pieces and might end with made-up stories or shadow pictures on a bedroom wall.  In between there were walks to the river, picnic lunches at the park, popsicles, hot wheels and miles and miles of orange track that would meander around our living room furniture.   And then there was lego.  Lots. And. Lots. Of. Lego.  Crayola markers, playdough, puzzles, a plastic wading pool and a lawn sprinkler that could enchant a neighbourhood of kids for hours, a shallow red dish full of dish soap and glycerin, and magic wands that once waved hundreds of wobbly, irridescent bubbles into the air.

     

     As he grew, so did his world.  Sports became a part of Will and as long as he had friends (and he had many) to do them with he was having the time of his life.  A trampoline, a bag of candy, a pair of park skis and powder skis, fancy goggles, snow, sleepovers, bacon, his iPod, bouncy balls, Kathleen, Kale, hoodies, hats, a flannel shirt, his constant singing, his laugh and most of all a family who loved him beyond words were all that mattered.  Simple, ordinary pleasures.  

     

    It’s still hard for me to believe that all of this has vanished, that those times are truly gone for good.  Thankfully, what I have now are countless, beautiful memories that scroll endlessly in my mind.  Memories of his constant show of affection, as well as the countless peanut butter and banana sandwiches, bedtime stories, earaches and scraped knees, baking soda volcanoes, snowball fights, trips into Bragg Creek for icecream and how I hauled his baritone sax to and from school every week because it was too big to carry on the bus.  How I harped at him to finish his homework and how I had to remind him to pick up his wet towel off the floor every morning. Yet I am grateful to have had all of those moments, for they are the ones that have turned out, in the end, to be the most precious recollections of all, even though they went unrecorded, unwritten, unremarked on at the time.

     

    Our photo albums and computers are full of pictures of birthday cakes and holiday celebrations, vacation trips and family adventures.  But the memories I find myself holding onto the tightest, the ones that I will cherish for the rest of my life are the ones that you couldn’t capture in a photograph.  His giggle, his “I love you, moms”, his little boy arms around my neck and his final words every night, “Mom, can you tuck me in?” followed by, “I love you like a bus.”  Quite simply, a family’s life as it is from one hour, or day, or season, to the next.  The most wonderful gift we had and the gift I will cherish above all else, was the gift of all those perfectly ordinary days.

     

    I will always carry Will with me.  Everywhere I go.  Forever.”

    (from my Tribute to Will, May 28, 2011)

     

    What I want you to always know, Willy, is that I couldn’t miss you more than I did back then or more than I do now.  All of those perfectly ordinary moments have become what I cherish most in life.  They are the movie that plays over and over and over in my heart. 

     

    And just like we ended each of our days all those days ago,

     

    … I love you like a bus, Willy.  A big, ole ordinary bus with perfectly ordinary wheels.

     

     

    Momxo

     

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  • Those Little Gingerbread Boys

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    December 23, 2020

    My dearest Will,

    It seems rather fitting that yesterday, on the 22nd day of the month I decorated the gingerbread boys I somewhat reluctantly baked last week.  Each year since your passing the little gingerbread boys have become a tradition that I set aside time for and that I have always looked forward to. This year with COVID and how it has changed our world I stumbled, wondering at times if it would be worth it, wondering who would eat them all (other than us!), wondering if anyone would really even notice that the “boys” didn’t make it into their little holiday bags ready to be handed out to friends and family as in years past because we’re isolating and not gathering socially due to the pandemic.  And then it hit me – ultimately, it would matter to me and it would matter because of you. It would matter because it has become a tradition born from your passing and not even a world pandemic would stand in the way of those little gingerbread boys and what they mean to me.

    I realized yesterday how much I enjoy the ritual and learned that it really wasn’t any trouble at all, but rather a little labour of holiday love in honor of you. I buried myself at the kitchen table with Christmas carols and warm tea, with little gingerbread boys and piped frosting and little white candy hearts. I thought about our Christmases together and though my mind got stuck on how 12 Christmases just weren’t enough I managed to flip the bitter to sweet and remembered how much fun we packed into the Christmases we did have together.

    It is easy to complain about the busy-ness of the season but for me the days leading up to Christmas were always the best and the busier we were, it seemed the happier we were. The magic would build day by day, even when the magic of Santa became the magic of giving for all of us. After your angel date we adopted some new Christmas traditions because we knew Christmas would never be the same. To keep on as we did would magnify the empty chair, the empty stocking and the achingly absent “To Will, From Us” gifts under the tree.

    Instead we chose to make you the star, the angel, the toque on top of our tree. We made you our morning Santa with socks and pajamas from you to all of us Christmas morning. We still hang your stocking on the mantle amidst all of ours but on Christmas morning it becomes the anchor upon which our Christmas dinner centerpiece sits. We carefully place it in the middle of our dining room table where we light the sparkliest of candles. The last present under the tree is a jigsaw puzzle or a game from you to us – a promised activity that we enjoy doing together. And then there are the coveted gingerbread boys. The boys I am glad I did not leave out this year. Now that they are decorated the world feels a bit right again, even in this crazy and strange world of unknowns and uncomfortable concerns about the coronavirus. Admittedly, I didn’t bake as many this year knowing that I’d eat far too many if they were hanging around the kitchen. There is nothing right about one small family having to eat 10 or so dozen of those little boys… they are small, but…

    I enjoyed our afternoon, Will. Needless to say, I miss you more than ever — more than I did yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I am overjoyed that the little gingerbread boys prevailed and that we have them to enjoy over the holidays. Yesterday I discovered that without them it just wouldn’t feel like Christmas. The tags I included with the little boys in every holiday cookie bag over the years are printed and in the tin — an undeniable reminder that…

    “Before they can be men, they must be boys.”

    And so this is Christmas. And on this side your little light still shines as bright as ever.  I’m told some stars are like that, Willy. In my heart of hearts I know your spirit is with us today and yesterday and tomorrow and on Christmas and everyday. We carry you with us in all that we do.  Your little light is in each of those little gingerbread boys, a reminder that the little boy / the child is alive and well in all of us, if we just believe. 

    I love you, my sweet boy. More than a bus and more than all the little gingerbread boys and men and sugar cookies and milk in Santa’s big belly on Christmas eve.

    Love Momxo xo xo xo

    christmas gingerbread boy
    The handsewn gingerbread boy that Will made with his tiny hands in grade 1
    remains a Christmas treasure.

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  • The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

    March 10, 2018 Hey Willy, The other day as I was driving home a song that I hadn’t heard in quite some time played on the radio and in those three or so minutes it was ALL about you. It always amazes me how you can hear a song from a long time ago, even your childhood, and somehow, seemingly out of nowhere, you remember all the words. The song was Rainbow Connection (the Kenny Loggins version) and I can say with certainty that I am a lover and a dreamer for sure. As soon as I heard the banjo in the intro I was surprised at how many of the lyrics I could recall from memory. The power of music is really quite something.
    Click on link below to have a listen… Rainbow Connection
    What was perhaps most beautiful was that I was transformed to a place where it was you and me and nothing else and every word of that song was so clear and believable; it moved me like it never had before. This version was not the original Kermit the Frog version but I sure do remember his skinny, little, green self sitting in the swamp singing out his little lungs in the Muppet Movie. Crazy little green frog with a larger than life personality…. hmmm… sounds a bit like you… I’ve always believed in the magic of rainbows and as a little girl I would make secret wishes and dream of finding the pot of gold at the end every time I saw one. Though I’ve outgrown the pot of gold idea what makes me love them still is the possibility that you are there. And I believe you are. The rainbow connection is alive and well in my little corner of Kermit’s swamp and I wonder, Will, if it’s as clear for you looking at us through those colourful prisms of light. I love the rainbow coloured glasses that Mother Nature gives us so we can catch a glimpse of what awaits on the other side. So, why days later am I writing to you about rainbows? Well, because I’m still humming that song. It’s stuck in my head and speaking to my heart. I think I won’t forget it ever. Sweet boy, I miss you more than any dreamer could dream. And I love you more than a bus parked at the end of a million double rainbows. The lovers, the dreamers, and me could only ever get how much that really is. Momxo

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11 Comments

  1. Joni, I so feel all the longing and pain in your words. Once again you write so beautifully about the things you need to say to Will. The theme is so painful every time, but you do have a way of writing that is different from anyone’s I have ever read. I never realized that when parents lose a child that there are so many reminders, especially dates (and numbers) that will forever be that “sting” you talk about. My family and my friend are forever reminded by those dates, days, numbers, etc. because they are tied into the loss of something precious. I am so sorry that this happens over and over again; it’s not fair; plain and simple. I remember my cousin telling me that they would never forget the day my oldest son was born….because it was they day they lost their brother, my cousin. I have to admit it caught me and I actually felt some guilt that my son’s birth would forever remind them of a day someone they loved, died. I’m sure that Will is always with you on those awful days that test you more than usual. He’s there, Joni….I wish it were a physical presence too…
    What a great, loving picture of Will and the girls. I know Lauren as she goes to school with my kids. I also remember how hard it was for her when Will passed away…sigh.
    I also am so sorry that Christmas is an “extra’ hard time for people who have lost family. Everything about Christmas is geared toward this image of joy, family, good will, togetherness, sharing…. everything that is no within your grasp. And as a mother, I can only imagine that you have an even harder time as you undoubtedly feel responsible for making everyone else’s Christmas a great one. Even though you are trying to hold it all together for everyone else, I know you are missing a big piece of your heart at Christmas and every other special occasion. I have no words of comfort or wisdom, Joni. I can only send you good thoughts, hope for some peace, hugs, and offer my prayers.
    And please don’t be worried that because that “punch in the stomach” isn’t as brutally painful as it first was, that it somehow means that it “doesn’t mater” as much. It just means that you are finally getting a tiny bit of relief from that relentless pain you feel and carry every moment of every day. Please don’t feel guilty about that…
    Hugs,

    Cheryl

    Reply

    1. Thank you, Cheryl. Your words are beautiful and mean so, so much. You have made my heart sigh but in a happy way this morning. Your comment will be one I will read over and over again. We must find time for a coffee sometime.

      Reply

      1. I would really like that. When you want to get together, just contact me, or call me at 403-617-2404. My kids had a P.D. day today, so having a snow day on a P.D. day was just “not fair”! LOL

        Reply

  3. The 14th used to do the same for me. Firtst losing my dad, then Herman and my mom. All but one of my childrens grandparents. Littlr do I know know how hard that was did years later I was faced with losing a son. Hugs Joni….
    When Murray phoned Tony and it came up that we weren’t renting til the middle of Jan. since we planned a Disney and cruise including Tamara. Murray excitedly said the whole family Curtis, Kris everybody.. Tony said no Curtis cant make it and they laughed…. So nice to know we can except the unexceptable and cope the best we can.
    It marks ten years next fall and it makes me anxious to know I need to do something extra special cause we should. Today I am quilting (yes after all these years) fabric that Curtis picked out for a quilt a table runner with a pattern I am designing with flying geese, I am looking at snow man and thinking yes they should go on this as well. In the center with be an embroidered light for their light will always be burning. I can use this one in the winter months since his birthday is in Jan. again still miss him so much…. always part of the family as Murray so easily slipped lol. xoxo

    Reply

    1. Hi Carol! I know you get all that I write to Will about because you walk in the same shoes as me. Family losing family. I love that you are working on a quilt to honor Curtis! You will cherish it always and it will be such a nice reminder of him. Glad that you have picked up your quilting again. You are so good at it! I didn’t know of Murray’s blip in mentioning the whole family incl Curtis but was happy that Tony could laugh at it. That takes time. But true that he will be with you as he is everyday. Love you, Carol.

      Reply

  5. Hi Joni, my heart breaks every time I read your love letters your words are so powerful and a Mom aching to hold her son again. You are always in my thoughts love Lyn.Xx.

    Reply

    1. Thanks, Lyn. I dream of the day that I will hold my Will again. Makes me think of the expression we sometimes use… “I would die to see him” or “I am dying to hold him again.” There is much truth to those words. Thanks for keeping me in your thoughts. I can feel it. Xoxo

      Reply

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