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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  • Shhhh…. Will is here. 

    willandme

    Me and my boy at the top of the Timber Chair in Fernie, BC.

    July 19, 2017

    Hey Will,

    The long, lazy days of summer are upon us and I enjoy the simplicity of these days so very much. Waking up when it feels right is a gift. My morning begins with a big cuppa joe as I contemplate the makings of my day and sometimes another cup to kickstart those contemplations into action. Occasionally, even with good intentions nothing gets crossed off the list and that, perhaps, might just be the very thing that I love the most. Why? Because it’s ok. Because there’s always tomorrow or the next day or the next. I haven’t always felt comfortable with this relaxed way of looking at things…. I guess I’ve mellowed over the years. And, well that’s a good thing.  

    One of the difficult things that comes with this slower, almost lackadaisical pace, has been slowing down my mind; finding comfort in that space that, since your accident, held so much fear for me. My busy mind kept the very intense, painful feelings of losing you to a constant simmer instead of the gut wrenching pain that would creep into my thoughts whenever my mind was quiet. The “chatter” so to speak became a way for me to cope without you in the physical world; it became quite literally a way to survive. Allowing my busy mind to be quiet has been one of my biggest challenges and it is why I found the practice of yoga so difficult. A sobbing mom was hardly relaxing for anyone. 

    These days quieting my mind and allowing thoughts of you to reside there have become a beautiful thing. Its taken a long time to get here and as I look back time was indeed my friend. There were days early on when it was just too painful to let my mind wander, too many times where if I allowed myself to do so my tears would takeover. Too many days where once the flood gates opened I could not stop the painful feelings and the scary, guttural cries of a mom in mourning. The fear that I would never be able to make them go away was very real. It’s been a long process, an evolution really, where time became the conduit to what I can now call a beautiful place. I’ve come to realize that you are my breath, my being, my reason to carry on and that my life story is you. I AM a mom who has lost a child and all the pain that comes with that incredibly painful loss has made me who I am now.

    For a long time I looked for you, Will. Everywhere I went I looked for signs. I uncovered rocks and searched for butterflies and rainbows and snowflakes that sparkle in a certain way. The beautiful thing is that I’ve come to trust that I needn’t look for you because you are here all the time. All the things that are you find their way to me seemingly without effort — heart-shaped rocks at my feet, little blue butterflies on my path, the chirpiest bird outside my window, the chipmunk that just won’t stop nattering, dew drops on the grass that seem to wink at me in the morning sunlight, the twinkle of a faraway star and in the winter, those Willy white perfect snowfalls. You are everywhere. All the time. 

    I wake with thoughts of you and close my eyes at the end of each day knowing that you are near. The spirit world has become one where I live more often than not… and I like it there. It is in this realm that I see you, hear you and feel your presence. I have come to trust that the spirit world lives in my mind and when I’m quiet you are all abuzz. Your love, your giggle, your warmth, your silliness, your sensitivity, your crazy boyishness; all that I miss so very much is all there. Of course, there are times when I have to make myself busy, kickstart my mind, get my list-making brain chugging along because if I didn’t, Will, nothing would ever get finished. Or started for that matter.

    But here’s the other cool thing. When I’m chugging along you’re there chuggin’ along right beside me. You are my little messenger, the one who guides me and who makes me live in the moment. You have taught me to open my eyes and to believe. You have shown me just how important it is to make memories and to cherish those that mean everything to me. You have taught me to give life the gusto it sometimes requires and to also just stop and let things be.

    I miss you here more than anything and I’d be lying if I told you I don’t cry. There are still lots and lots of tears but that’s ok, too. Tears are a part of loss and with deep love there is deep loss and lots and lots of tears. There really are no words for what losing a child feels like here on earth. Only when I quiet my mind can my heart really feel the kind of love that lifts me up. It’s a “Willy kind of love”. A big love where you and I measure big love with big busses. 

    These long, lazy days of summer are full of you and in the quiet of this morning and in my mind at this moment there is abundant beauty. It will be a good day, Will, because I’m spending it with a million thoughts of you. 

    Love you like a bus, sweet boy.  

    Momxo

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  • The Little Blue Ball and You

    The little blue ball on the hard to reach ledge
    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
    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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  • Time Still Stands Still

    Will's Tribute 001 copyFriday, May 17, 2013 Dear Willy, The long weekend is here and it’s the one that I dread more than anything. I have gone right back to the weekend that started out being so much fun and ended so tragically two years ago. As I type the words “two years ago”… I think how long two years sounds and then in the same breath it feels like it is all playing out like no time has passed. I remember this day so vividly; where we were, what we were doing, and how much fun you were having. It was a PL day so no school for you (oh, how you loved those PD days!). I was taking a CPR certification course at school learning how to use CPR in the event that I would someday need to administer it in an emergency. Not ever in this whole, wide world did I think I would be using it on you two days later. A mom’s worst nightmare? Yup. And that’s just the beginning. 725 days and the nightmare just won’t go away. This night we were at a friend’s home celebrating a birthday. Many of your friends were there and you were having such a fun time playing outside with all of them. Instead of coming home with us you were invited to go have a campfire in a campground in the Kananaskis with our friends who have camped their annually every long weekend in May. Kale’s mom and dad delivered you home later that evening and I remember how happy and tired you were, smelling of a campfire and energized on marshmallows. When I tucked you into your bed that night your whole room smelled of campfire – from your clothes that were laying on the floor to your hair. You were tired and I had to tell you (more like order you) to brush your teeth and wash your hands and face. Eventually you did but it wasn’t without a little Willy battle. Oh, we had a few of those, your strong “Will” showing its true colors. All such normal “twelve going on thirteen” negotiations that ended way too soon. All in all, it was such a fun evening and a great way to begin the weekend that until 2011 always kicked off the promise of summer fun. What we didn’t know/couldn’t know was that that Friday would be your last. The pain that comes with that reality is paralyzing. I spent most of today in my pajamas. I remember how much you loved “pajama days” and well today was one of those for me. I did manage to get out of bed for a bit but found myself back in my pajamas and under my covers wondering how it was possible that I was still alive and that I hadn’t died in my sleep from the heart break. Two years and I am still here but still hurting. It doesn’t feel any different, not any less painful and in some ways it is worse because I miss you so much. Watching life go on for so many when my world is still shattered and broken is difficult. But I look for you everywhere. And I see you in the most beautiful things. Yesterday, it was the little blue butterflies that appeared out of no where and fluttered around me while I was looking for a stick to throw in the river for Finn to fetch. I knew it was you, Willy. No one can make my heart flutter like you. So here I go again… another long weekend in May to live through… minute by minute, breath by breath. I miss you Will. More than anything and everything. And I always “Will”. Love you like the biggest bus ever, Momxo

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  • The Warm Side of the Window

    The blanket of Willy in our backyard
    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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  • Happy Heavenly Twenty

    Will B&W
    Almost a teenager…
    Sunday, October 14, 2018       Happy Birthday, my sweet boy,   This week began with a throwback to a sunny afternoon 20 years ago when I welcomed you into my arms and you officially became a member of our little family. It was and will always be one of the very best days of my life. It’s terribly sad for me to think that today you would be 20 years old and even more sad that I had only 12 birthdays to plan and celebrate with you here. You have to know, however, that we’ve never missed a year celebrating your birthday, Willy. Ribs, an angel food cake and cinnamon buns were your favourite and so we continue with the same birthday menu year after year after year. I’ve been thinking all week about your birthday and how we were robbed of so much when you passed. A boy who never got to be 13. A boy who never got to be a teenager. A boy turned man who would now be 20. Eight birthdays where instead of lighting candles on your cake for you to make a wish and blow out we instead light a white pillar candle that sits in the middle of our dinner table. This candle lights our way so to speak and we don’t put it out until well after our dinner for you. Instead we make our own wish and I’m pretty sure that we all make the same one — a collective, “I wish you were here.”   Today I will put all my energy into celebrating one of my happiest of days. I will remember your welcome into the world and the 12 short, but full to the brim, years we shared.   I will remember your sticky fingers while eating your birthday ribs and I’ll smile at how you used to squish/press/roll your slice of angel food cake into a small ball of doughy goodness. I will remember how at age 10 you learned how to make the gooey-ist bread-maker cinnamon buns in our family. I will remember your smile and your laugh and how much you loved being with us. And I will remember how much we loved celebrating you and how much we miss you. We will never stop celebrating you, Will. You will always be a part of us and every October 14 will always be a special day.   Love you, sweet one. Bigger than a bus full of birthday ribs and angel food cake squished into a million tiny cake balls and more than a Willy batch of the best cinnamon buns in the land.       Momxo
    willandcole
    Will and his friend, Cole, who celebrated birthdays together because they were only 2 days apart.

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  • When Our World Was Perfect

      willyWill@Kales.jpg August 23, 2016   Hey Willy,   Yesterday was a 2-2 day. Another mark on the “when our world was perfect” scale and like all the days that mark the 22nd day of each month this day just always gets me. The 2-2 days seem to be a little more difficult than all the other days. I’m certain that even without a calendar my body has come to know when it is the dawn of a 2-2 day because as soon as I wake the rhythm of that day changes. It stops. I stop. I spend much of that day preoccupied with thoughts of you. I time travel back to the days and years when our world was perfect because you were in it. We didn’t know it then but we sure know it now.  
    The wishing stone I found
    The wishing stone I found
    Before the rain yesterday I took Finn out for a walk and as we meandered along our usual path by the river I noticed a wishing stone. I stopped and picked it up (of course I did!) and as I rubbed it between my fingers to clean off the dirt I thought about what I would wish for. It’s always the same wish and even though I know that in my lifetime it cannot ever come true I still wish it. Every time. Why? Because one day, Willy, when my life here is done my wish will come true. And that’s what keeps me keepin’ on.   Until then I will ride the wave of the days that mark the 22nd day of each month and I will think of you and time travel back to our days together. I will continue to wish for my one wish and know in my heart that each 2-2 day brings me closer. Until then I will live for you and because of you. I will soldier on remembering when our world was indeed perfect and I will miss you more and more and more.   I love you, Willy. Like a bus in a perfect world.     Momxo Wish copy

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0 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

  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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