love

  • Where Love Continues

    Wills Little Sun

    Monday, September 7, 2026

    Dear Willy,

    You and I have a new and improved home online! After publishing our story in my memoir I felt that we outgrew my blog so I acquired the most wonderful website designer and she did some website renovations. Same address, just a new, bigger space with a couple of extra rooms so we have some more room to grow. All the letters I wrote to you and posted to my blog are now unpacked and settled into their new room and you’ll see there are some familiar bits that I just couldn’t leave behind. My book, however, needed a room of its own which was the real reason for some renovations. And, because life’s little things bring me so much joy and are a reminder for all of us to slow down, to pause, and to find awe in the little moments I thought it would be super cool to have a room to celebrate and share life’s little blessings.

    For now, Will, I just wanted to welcome you to our new online home sweet home and to let our friends and visitors know that while loveletterstowill.com has a new look and  some new features, at its core it still honours where love has always lived and where it continues, still. 

    As always, my sweet boy, I love you like a Willy bus oozing with love parked in the middle of our new online home sweet home.

    Momxo

    loveletterstowill.com

    Same address. New home. Where love continues. 

  • So… I Did a Thing!

    Friday, June 26, 2026

    Hey Willy,

    After many gentle nudges over the years I jumped off the literary cliff and published our story in a memoir! It’s a culled collection of my letters to you that recounts our mom-son moments and memories, all the ways you relentlessly showed up for me, and how we continue our relationship still. Those early days, weeks, months and even those first two or three years after losing you were heartbreaking—it was impossible to sugar-coat how difficult that was but as I wrote all those letters to you something beautiful and hopeful emerged. Out of fierce mother-son love and a desperate need for a connection with you I found a way to survive and, little by little, grace and joy followed. 

    It is fittingly entitled LOVE YOU LIKE A BUS: Letters to Will and chronicles my journey through debilitating loss to finding joy and purpose again. I did not know how to do life after losing you… I only knew that I could never stop writing to you because it was the only way I knew how to keep you present in my thoughts. I was never ready to say good-bye… I just couldn’t, wouldn’t, and still can’t and won’t.

    Over the years I have questioned and searched and toiled over what my life purpose is. Over and over I have wondered what I am supposed to learn and accomplish in my time here on earth. Occasionally, I wished I could just succumb and be with you, but I knew that could never happen because I needed and wanted to be Ben and Justin’s mom, too. They say it is impossible to be in two places at one time… but they are wrong, Will, because you and I have found a way. 

    In many quiet moments I asked you all the questions I struggled for answers to—the “Why did you have to go?” and “When will I see you again” and “How will I survive in this world without you in it?” Your message has been steadfast. “Mom, you are a helper and a messenger and your purpose is clear. You can help others understand the pain of losing someone they cannot live without by sharing our story. We know that the distance between heaven and earth is only a heartbeat and that wherever you are, I am right there with you.”

    All your whispers and encouragement from friends and family over the years have suggested that sharing my journey might help others through their own grief and also provide them with a wonderful perspective about life and the parts of it they can and cannot control. The reminder that life is fleeting and fragile is one that bears repeating. Living and loving without regret and choosing to see and celebrate all the little things along the way matter—and when you lose someone you love they, ultimately, are what matters most. Collectively, all those gentle nudges were getting stronger to ignore and so, Willy… I did it! I published our story.

    In early fall I will officially launch LOVE YOU LIKE A BUS: Letters to Will. I will proudly stand with you on my left shoulder where the boy angels sit, and we will put it out to the world, Willy. Until then let’s quietly celebrate. I promise I will share more details come September. 

    I miss you, my sweet boy, but I see you and I hear you. And… I love you like a bus wrapped up inside the sky-blue book covers of a mom-son love story about us. 

    Momxo

  • The World Needs a Little More Willy

    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

    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

  • When Missing You is Forever

    May 10, 2020

     My dear, sweet boy,

    I miss you.

    But it’s so much more than that.

    I’m not sure there are words to even describe what missing you forever feels like. There is a quote that I frequently refer to that I think sums it up best…

    Sometimes one person can be missing and the whole world feels empty.

     … Yup, “empty” feels like the right word. But again, it’s so much more than that.

     And, it’s May. The hardest month of the year. Every day a sad reminder of the day our world changed forever. I wonder every May if your angel date won’t sting so much, but almost nine years later, the sting still stings.

     And, today is Mother’s Day. You and Justin and Ben are the best part of me and I am missing all of you.

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    The social distancing restrictions due to COVID-19 have not allowed me to see your brothers but, thankfully, that is a “just for now” thing. I will see them soon, but you, Will, are the one I will miss forever. Today I think of my own Mom, your Nana, and how much she means to me — how in this world she is the one person I’ve known the longest (ahem, like my whole life!) and whom I have always been able to count on in good times and in bad. I hope you know that every minute of your 12 ½ years I loved you more than the minute before and that all these days later my big love for you just gets bigger.

    My heart smiles recalling all the beautiful, and sometimes funny, gifts and kind gestures that you and your brothers and Dad did to make Mother’s Day extra special for me. I am lucky to have had all of what you boys could muster when what mattered the most was that we were together. Believe me, Will, I have tucked every special memory and every cold piece of toast into my heart. I have kept every homemade card and gift you boys ever made at school and that big box of love is one of my most treasured possessions. Today I will spend my day touching and reading every one of them remembering the tiny and not-so-tiny hands that created them.

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     I will pause and remember the sound of your infectious giggle and call to mind how you’d sit at the kitchen table with that big tub of Crayola markers and crayons and construction paper and pipe cleaners and stickers and tape. Oh, how you loved tape. With a juice box and a bowl of fishy crackers at your side.

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    My sweet Will, I miss you so very much. I miss all the yesterdays, I miss you today and I will miss you for all the tomorrows.

    And I love you. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, forever… Like a bus from here to forever and then a whole bunch more.

     

    Momxo

     

  • The Five or So People You Meet in Heaven

    Will – Grade 7 Basketball

    March 16, 2017

     

    Dear Will,

     

    As I’m sure you already know, your Grade 7 teacher (Mrs. Harford) has joined you on the other side and I wonder if you may have been one of the five or so people that met her in heaven? She was so lovely in so many ways and was a teacher that had begun to make a real difference in your learning of important life skills.

     

    She had some real “mom like” qualities and was determined to teach you that amongst the obvious academics, you needed to know the importance of good organizational and strong time management skills. Stuff that I, as your mom, tried to teach you and your brothers over and over and over… A few things that Mrs. Harford had over me were 1) she wasn’t your mom, 2) she didn’t see how well you could dig in your heels, and 3) she was so lovely all of the time.

     

    One thing you did super well was to present what you thought most important to a 12 year old boy and as I look back, YOUR grade 7 real world perspective was important. Well, most of it…

     

    Friends and sleepovers and the importance of a bike and a pair of skis… A voice that always mattered and a warm bed… Help with homework and a ride to all those early morning practices… Age appropriate freedom like biking to school and ripping down to the park on your skateboard…Eating cookie dough and choosing your own new shoes, icecream and marshmallow science (when I wasn’t home), sitting ON Dad and a before bed tuck-in.

     

    All these things were so important to you and though I didn’t buy in to candy before dinner and chocolate before bed you didn’t seem hungry when an apple or banana was the option, nor were you receptive to the word “no” even when “yes” was out of the question. (This is where Mrs. Harford didn’t see how well you could dig in your heels.) Grade 7 — a time when you were really coming into your own.

     

    On Wednesday afternoon Mrs. Fisher sat beside me on the couch in front of our big living room window and as we shared tears and talked about Mrs. Harford’s battle with cancer she exclaimed mid-sentence, “look, it’s snowing? It’s Will!” The uncanny thing about this scenario is that it was +8 C and it should have been impossible for it to snow, but it did. You have taught me that nothing is impossible in heaven and so it was at that moment we agreed that you and Mrs. Harford had just met each other on the other side. Crazy? I think not. Why? Because you have taught me so much about the other side and what it’s like there. How else can one even try to explain snowflakes on a warm, sunny, spring day?

     

    I hope that you were on your best behavior on Wednesday and that weren’t talking out of turn. Were you tidy and organized and on time? I know you may not have had matching socks or combed your hair (really, I can’t even remember a time when that actually happened down here, but you had that kind of hair!). All this aside, I do imagine that you had the biggest smile and that your bright, blue eyes and zest for fun showed her that you’d make it feel like some of the best parts of her life up there — in heaven where the skies are always blue and there is no such thing as cancer.

     

    Love you sweet Will. Like a bus carrying the five or so people that met Mrs. Harford in heaven. Stay close to her, Will. She still had so much to teach you.

     

     

    Momxo

     

     

  • C’mon Mom

    willpower.jpg
    All the Inner Strength and WillPower I will ever need…

    Dear Will,

     

    Hey sweet one, wanted you to know how necessary you have been to the introduction of my new knees to my old body and the healing that must take place in order for us to get along in the active life I long for and miss so much. Getting these two new knees has not been an easy road and although I knew it would be challenging there have been some days that I had to lean on you more than I thought I’d need to.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret having the surgery and am happy everyday to report that the chronic, achy, “migraine in my knees” kind of pain is gone!  I have no more osteoarthritis and my legs are straight. I’m taller, Will!  Not quite the Jana Hart kind of tall, but for the record — I. Am. Taller.  And, the cowboy boots I wore to Dina’s special dinner looked awesome, not that you’d really care about that.

     

    This month has been one that I’ve had to lean on you so much more than usual. I have felt you near me, have heard you whisper, “C’mon Mom. Climb on my back. I bet I can give you a piggy back?”  Then my reply to you and I’ve even said it out loud, “Uh. No. Climbing on your back is not gonna happen.”  “Why?” you say. “Because that would just be weird and strong and mighty as you are, Will, you don’t need me on your back.”  So instead and just the way I like it, I have your hands in mine — sometimes just one, but at times both of them.  Your hands are warm and a bit wiggly, but I kinda always liked that.  Being still was not really one of your strong attributes. (Nor was being quiet, however, I think that’s one of the things that made you so likeable amongst your peers.)

     

    One of the most difficult parts of this and one that I am a bit surprised has hit me as hard as it has is the depression that is common to the post-surgical healing process. Before surgery the medical team did talk about it and they stressed that there would be resources available to support me through it should I need it. I consider myself “quite” aware of depression and how it can rear itself in my body and in my mind but it goes to show that knowing about and being aware of depression doesn’t mean you don’t experience it. The reality of the weeks and months of healing and the patience and work that it requires isn’t surprising – that wouldn’t be the right word – maybe restrictive is the better way to explain it. And with restriction comes feelings of isolation that in turn affect my self-esteem… then along comes some feelings of worthlessness… and round and round it goes. The days can be too long, Will.

     

    After my surgery, while still in hospital a social worker stopped by my room and we had a chat about how I was feeling post surgery and what kinds of thoughts and feelings could present once I went home. We talked about depression and PTSD and I shared my story of losing you and how I knew first hand what depression and PTSD was. She listened while I shared my belief that as a mother who’d lost a child there would never be anything worse in my life or nothing that I could not handle going forward. My certainty in those words is as strong as it will ever be and that is what gets me through the sometimes dark moments of depression when I wonder just for a moment where I will find the strength to overcome the feelings of “I don’t know if I can”. It felt a little like the table had been turned when it was she who shed a few tears and we even laughed for a moment about it; how it was she who’d been given a takeaway moment instead of she delivering one to me. You see, Will, she was a Mom too. “Your healing road will have bumps and hurdles,” she said, “but you’ll be just fine.” And, I’ve no double that I will be.

     

    You, little blue, are my inner strength. It is you that pulls me up, that gives me the extra uuumph that I need to heal these knees and get on with it. Your whispers, “C’mon Mom” and your hands in mine are the ever-present reminders that my new knees and I will get to know each other and we’ll be just fine.

     

    Love you, Will. Like a bus, of course. With brand, new wheels!

     

     

     

    Momxo

     

     

     

     

     

  • WillPower Graduation 2016

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    WillPower Graduation 2016

    July 6, 2016

     Dear Will,

     

    When I think about all the times I thought about you in June, all the times I called your name, prayed to you, the times I cried thinking about you and the times too, that you made me laugh I am dumbfounded that I didn’t write a hundred love letters to you last month. It was by no means a month where there was no communication ~ Gosh, Will, that would just be impossible. Instead it was a month where I hung onto every bit of you so that I could make it through.

     

    June 2016 was a month I expected would be one of the most difficult in our five years without you. Months after your accident when I began to come out of the scary fog called shock I began to think about all the milestones that you’d miss out on and that, as your parents, Dad and I would miss out on too. All these milestone moments that would transport me right back to my own growing up years; things like my 16th birthday, getting my driver’s license, the scary, first day of high school to name a few. For a long, long time I couldn’t talk about the day in June 2016 that would have been your high school graduation. The one day that packs a big punch not only for what you’d have achieved and accomplished in high school, but also the jumping board from man cub to young man.

     I’ve had a long time to think about this day, to plan how I might soften the blow, to wonder how I could keep it together when I’d see your friends and if maybe I could run away and hide so that I didn’t have to. And then the most beautiful thing happened, Will.

     

    forever friends
    Forever friends

    The week of your amazing Ride For Will I received a phone call that I will never forget. One of your classmates (thank you, MT) planted a seed and asked a question of the High School Graduation Committee. Could there be a chair for you amongst them at the Convocation Ceremony where you could be with your classmates? The pride and love that filled every part of me was a feeling I can’t find the words to describe. Maybe its because there isn’t a word to describe that kind of love? These kids that were once your kindergarten pals, and then your grade school classmates thought about you on their day five years later. They had wristbands made that said “WillPower Graduation 2016” and had a Class of 2016 photo in their graduation gowns with their wrists held high in the air. Jordan presented it to us on behalf of your classmates the day before they would celebrate their own milestone day.

     

    So Little Mr. Blue Sky, if you can imagine a machine that makes tears that can fill a tub faster than a faucet then you can imagine what my eyeballs looked like. Your little light is so darn bright and where there is light, there will always be you.

     

    Love you like a bus, Will. A lit up bus as bright as the sun.

     

     

    Momxo

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    Some friends just never ever forget. Sure do love these man cubs…

     

     

  • So Long, May

    will

    Sunday, May 29, 2016

    So Long May

    Dear Will,

    As I turn the calendar to the last days of May I am relieved that 1) I made it and 2) the overwhelming sadness that I associate with May is behind me again for another year. I am often asked if losing you gets easier with time and the answer to that is no, 100% absolute no. It is not one bit easier. There is still a sting, an emptiness, and an ache deep inside that can make it hard to breathe. Still.

    I still wonder every moment how this can happen and why parents sometimes outlive their children when it just should never, ever be. I struggle still with not being able to touch you, to physically see you in your body and believe me, I will miss that forever. Where I do find comfort, and where I seek it is in all of the things and places that I believe you are. I believe it’s you because I can feel you. Sometimes its that feeling of déjà vu and sometimes it’s the way you feel when you think somebody is looking at you from the other side of the room, only there is nobody there… except you.

    I believe you are those little blue butterflies in the spring and the heart-shaped rocks that find their way to my pockets and to my home. I believe you are the magnificent rainbows and double rainbows that wow me, and that you are the very sparkliest snowflakes in every blanket of Willy that falls to the ground. I know that you are the effervescent dewdrops in the trees that a friend of mine says stretch up so high that they must hold up heaven. There have been moments when I’ve said your name out loud, asked if it was you, but knew in my heart that it was. Sometimes it’s the way Finn looks seemingly “through me” and not at me. I’ve seen you in the aura that surrounds the sun and in the middle star of Orion’s Belt as it twinkles so brightly in the night sky. I feel your winks and your pokes, your smiles and your gotcha’s and at the end of the day before I sleep I feel your “I love yous”.

    I promise you, Will, for as long as I am on this side of heaven I will continue to look for all the signs you send to let me know that you are here. I promise that I will never lose hope, or my faith in the magical power that is you and that we refer to as WillPower.

    I love you, little blue. More than ever and anything and a bus.

    Momxo