Tag Archives: child loss

The World Needs a Little More Willy

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Will, Kathleen, and Kale in “the big sandbox of life”

Wednesday, March 31, 2026

Hey my sweet boy,

I’ve been thinking about you more than usual these days. There are so many things—daily—that conjure thoughts of you and as I sat down to write you a letter I was trying to quantify how much that really is. I know for sure that I think about you with all of my heart and believe me, Willy, the vastness of my heart and what it holds is way bigger than a bus. You not only reside there, but you are the shape of my heart because you fill every space in it. There is not a day that I am not reminded of you in some way and that I don’t say your name . . . sometimes to myself and sometimes out loud. There is not a day that I don’t smile because of you. Even when a smile might not be the first thing that comes.

For instance, I wasn’t going to mention the seemingly incessant snow squalls that have me in a constant state of “what the heck, Willy” but I’m kind of done with the frequent white blankets of Will for now. Not only does the snow make me think of you but I can also hear you laughing your little self to pieces watching me down here struggle with the boots on/boots off stuff. And then, guess what? I smile.

You were indeed a bundle of boy. A boy full of joy and of silliness, of wonder, of awe, of fun, of all the good stuff and all the things that mirrored the pure and simple innocence of a life not yet hardened by real-life cruelties. You didn’t know hate or bombs or death because of race or religion or skin colour or where you were born. You were a boy who proudly and openly wore love on your sleeve and who was drawn to the sandbox of life because everyone was welcome there and that is where you made friends. You didn’t know how much hate could hurt the world because hate didn’t live in your sandbox. I think about our world and how much it could sure use a little more Willy. 

You are my little buoy in a sea of uncertainty, my calm in the storm, my little sun in a world that is holding too much darkness. You are my hope and my life preserver all rolled into one. You are my smile at the end of the day and when the days feel sadder, darker, scary and uncertain, you are my little reminder and my prayer that everything is going to be okay. You are my smile when things get crazy, Willy, even when it is just another snow squall laying down a white blanket of Will on a spring day.

Maybe that is precisely why I am thinking about you more than usual these days. My world—the world—our world—desperately needs a little more Willy right now.

I miss you more than ever and I love you bigger than my heart and our bus. 

Momxo

Will’s One Love canvas that he painted and that lives in my office.

Life Lessons From My Forever Twelve-Year Old

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Monday, October 13, 2025

Dear Will,

The change of seasons and October always turn my focus to you. You are a constant undercurrent in my days but when the first snowfall sticks to the ground I think of you a little more than usual. And tomorrow is your birthday. Forever 12. Almost fifteen years of heavenly birthdays is a long time and as I sit in reflection and remember the day you came into our world I think about the immense joy you brought to me and at the same time I feel the constant ache of what it is like to miss you forever. The missing you part of grief is hands down the hardest part and sometimes it’s tough to not dwell in that space. You have taught me though that feeling sad is the price of love and that grief is like love upside down. I do have a choice on where I put the magnifying glass and today I am shifting it to gratitude. Gratitude for you and for all the lessons you taught me.

You taught me how to look at the little things and how to recognize that they, in fact, are the big things. I have learned that if I bulldoze through my days I miss out on all the little celebrations along the way. The smell of coffee first thing in the morning, the way the sun spills from behind the clouds on these cool, crisp days, sharing a belly laugh with a friend, conversations that spark thought and inspire me to be and do better, lazy mornings and baggy sweaters, oh, and the centre of a cinnamon bun. I am grateful for every rock or two that end up in my pockets on my way home after a walk. I am grateful for Dad and your brothers and their beautiful gals and all the times we get to spend together. I am grateful for the gift of every ordinary day and how many you and I shared. I frequently draw from all the memories of those precious ordinary days and, Willy, everything about them and you makes me smile. 

One of your biggest teachings and one I am most thankful for is the importance of telling those that mean the world to me that I love them every chance I get. Sometimes we don’t get a tomorrow and I am over the moon grateful that you knew how much you were loved on the day our tomorrows stopped.

In the beauty of this October, Mother Nature has sent a gust of wind, a message to the trees to hunker down for winter, to take a last drink of whatever moisture she bequeaths them through a morning frost, some rain and inevitably a rain/snow mix. And with that gust of wind comes my appreciation for Mother Nature and her reminder that we are small and maybe not as mighty as we think we are on this spinning ball we call earth. Like you, she also has lessons to share.

Happy Heavenly Birthday tomorrow, Willy. I miss you, my forever twelve-year old boy, and I love you more than a bus full of your life lessons.

Momxo

Ten Years.

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May 22, 2021

Dear Will,

10 years.

120 months.

522 weeks.

3654 days.

I cannot even put into words how to describe what this momentous passage of time, this significant marker, really feels like other than to tell you that you are still so sadly missed and immensely loved as much as ever. I imagine you are proudly touting your 10 year wings and I’ve no doubt they are bigger, brighter and sparklier than ever. Tonight I will look for you in the nighttime sky… pretty sure you will be the brightest little light up there tonight and before I retire to my bed I promise you I will find a reason to smile for you and because of you. This day feels heavier than usual for me but as I learned all those years ago deep grief is the price of deep love.

I miss you more than ever, sweet boy, and the big bus love is as real to me now as it was when you first said it to me when I tucked you into your bed when you were a toddler. The beautiful and cool thing is that the bus gets bigger and better with every passing hour, day, week, month and year and just when I think that bus cannot hold one more ounce of love it just does. 

Ten years. Sigh…

Momxo