Tag Archives: signs

So Long, May

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My Little Blue

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

Celebrating Every Tiny Moment

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TinyHeartRock

Tiny Heart

Sunday, March 13, 2016

 

Hey Little Blue,

 

It has been a week of much reflection. A week of questions with no answers, of traumatic flashbacks and a week of friends having to find their way amidst their own losses. The circle of life is not always an easy one but I know firsthand that when there is deep sadness it means there is deep love. I was reminded over and over of how small we really are and of how little control we have in this big picture we call life.

 

There are two special women who have woven threads into my own life story and who have taught me heaps about life and loss, grief and sadness. They shared their voices with me and spun yet another perspective on life and loss. They invited me to see their loss through their eyes and painted a beautiful picture of not what could have been or should have been, but what is. Their stories are incredibly beautiful and inspiring and I feel so blessed to know them.

 

Come Thursday, I found myself “needing” our weekly drive to the mountains and when Dad and I headed to Fernie that afternoon I felt that I could once again fill my lungs with a big breath and see the beauty that surrounded me with quiet, thoughtful eyes. I had a plan, Will, and for my Type A personality that felt pretty darn good. (Remember how some of my plans would drive you boys crazy? Well, that’s Type A for you and good or bad I must tell you that I still have that). Rather than stay in sadness I was going to search for and celebrate all the tiny beautiful moments I could find. The crazy part though was that, much to my surprise, the tiny moments found me. At first I was dumbfounded? And then I knew. It was you, Will. It had to be you. It was you.

 

Snowflakes that fell while the sun shone? That could only be you. Tiny, new shoots of green poking up through patches of ice and snow? Pretty sure that was you. A lone ladybug crawling across the windowsill in our bedroom? Yup, you again. The tiny glimpse I had of your star in the night sky when everyone claimed that it was cloudy and overcast? Had to be you. And the teeny tiny heart shaped rock that I found while walking Finn on Saturday? Hands down, that was you.

 

With each of those tiny moments comes a smile that begins in my heart and radiates outward. These seemingly little things are what matter most and the impact they carry is huge. They are the necessary reminders that keep me keepin’ on because they are you. You’re a funny one, Will, always the boy who loved to poke and to have the last word (even when it got you into trouble). I will never tire of these tiny, magical moments you sprinkle about my world. Each one a tiny moment worthy of a celebration.

 

Love you, Little Blue. Like a bus… full to the brim with tiny celebrations.

 

 

Momxo

 

Those Little, Blue Butterflies Get Me Every Time

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The Little Blue Butterfly

May 18, 2015

 

 

Dear Will,

 

While walking Finn down by the river this afternoon I noticed the little, blue butterflies were visiting again. I’ve missed seeing these little beauties, as these were the first I’ve seen since last summer. First there was one, then two… then three, all fluttering about in the sunshine, stopping here and there, up and down and all around — going nowhere it seemed, or certainly not in a hurry if they were. I smiled wondering if they were you… and in the same breath, of course, they were you. I slowed my pace and began to talk to them, extending my hand and then stopping to just take it all in. I asked them, “is that you, Willy? Is it you? Is it?” They continued to flutter about always coming back to where I could almost reach out and touch them. They stayed close, stopping and starting in unison as if I was leading some sort of dance.

 

For quite some time I was oblivious to anything else. Their delicate, little, blue wings so perfect and the way they’d stop and rest on a dandelion or a leaf or a blade of grass while their little wings moved as if that is how they breathed. Little ins and little outs. And then off they’d go, their wings moving so effortlessly and so quietly amongst us.

 

I needed to see those little, blue butterflies today, Will. A sign from you that you are here, that you see us and hear us and love us still. These past few days have weighed heavily on my heart and to see the weightlessness of love in the wings of a little blue butterfly instantly picked me up. I hadn’t realized until that moment just how fragile I was feeling today. For a few days, I didn’t want to open my eyes and instead closed them tight for fear that the river of tears inside of me would spill. I’d been walking with my head down instead of up, not seeing the beauty in little things…until I saw the little, blue butterflies this afternoon.

 

For the rest of my walk I longed to touch you, to see your face, to hear your voice and in the quiet of my afternoon walk I did try, but the only sight and sound was in my memory. I sighed. But I will never give up on my belief that you are here. Just a blink away. Somewhere over the rainbow. On the other side of the veil. I’ll be out again tomorrow Will, on the same river path as today. And I’ll look for you again… because those little, blue butterflies get me every time.

 

Love you, little blue. Like a bus full of those little flutterbies.

 

Momxo

 

Signs and Big, Big Love

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Fernie Alpine Resort photo credit: Fernie Alpine Resort

Fernie Alpine Resort
photo credit: Fernie Alpine Resort

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Dear Willy,

It’s a beautiful, bluebird morning in Fernie and I am in my pajamas with a cup of tea watching the sunshine awaken the mountain that beckons you. You, Will, are all I am thinking of.   I feel drawn to this place, a gentle unwavering pull that is you. It seems to me that so many adults struggle with where they want to retire, where they see themselves wanting to spend the next chapter of their lives when their kids are grown and have finished university to embark on “the school of real life”. The decision to spend more time in Fernie and make this the place where we will retire became crystal clear when we sadly and tragically lost you in May 2011. Life and me so defined by that day – like a line in the sand. I subconsciously categorize all that happens in my world as before losing you and after losing you.

Will skiing in Fernie - the place he wanted to someday call home.

Will skiing in Fernie – the place he wanted to someday call home.

The before is full of so many wonderful memories; days full of laughs and giggles, of hugs and I love yous (oh, there were some “I’m mad at yous” too), of brothers pushing buttons to provoke deliberate annoyance, of driving here and there and everywhere, and of constant negotiations around, well, everything. Life was good then, it was full and the way it was supposed to be, the norm so to speak… all of them days that I would give anything to have back. Life after losing you has been a struggle to say the least. Days where there is no choice but to find a way to live, days where I must go on without the physicality of you. Even though I see signs of you everywhere and know in my heart that you are all around me spiritually, the physical part is what I miss so very much. The reality that I cannot see you grow, that I can’t tousle your hair and feel your hugs or hear what your teenage voice would sound like are still too hard to bear. What keeps me going, Will, is my belief that I will see you again and that when I do we will be together for eternity. Believing that you strategically send signs that confirm your presence continue to put the warm and fuzzy in my living days.

Our FinnWilly

Our FinnWilly

I will forever believe that you are every beautiful snowflake, every rainbow, every blue butterfly, and every heart shaped rock on my path. You are the sparkle in a dewdrop and the twinkle of a star and you are that warm wind that sometimes so suddenly will hit my face on a frigidly cold day. I believe that you are the knowing eyes in our dog and the playful spirit and knowing way that Finn just has to be in the middle of Dad and I wherever we are. I think all of this is YOU showing up, sending your love, and reminding us that you are here.

Please keep on showing up, Willy. Keep on sending those signs that sometimes stop me in my tracks and sometimes make me turn around and go back, the signs that make me whisper your name and make me stop and stay in the moment for awhile. You are the signs that make me feel warm and fuzzy, that sometimes make me smile and sometimes make me cry. Today, Little Blue, you are the blue sky that serves as the backdrop to the mountain you called your own. You are the sunshine that makes that blue sky possible today and you are the reason that I find myself smiling right now.

Big, big Love (photo credit unknown)

Big, big Love
(photo credit unknown)

Love you like a bus, Will. The bus that sits on the white sparkling snow somewhere over the rainbow. That’s big love, Will. Big, big love.

Momxo

The Warm Side of the Window

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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

A New Year. And, I Am Here.

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My boys. My everything.

My boys. My everything. December 2004

January 11, 2014

Dear Will,

This is my first letter to you in 2014, and though you may be wondering why it took eleven days to finally put my words here…  well, Willy, it was just really hard for me.  I know what you’re thinking.  “Geez, Mom.  You were never at a loss for words.  Gosh, there were days when I wished it were so, but c’mon, Mom, this never happens to you!”  Truth is, I have thought about you every minute of every day; I have talked to you out loud, whispered your name, looked for you in the sky, in the snow, and in every nook and cranny of life.  Most times, Will, thankfully I found you staring right back at me.  I have taken you with me to Fernie and Montana and back, tucked you safely in my heart where you occupy an indelible space; a space every mother creates for her children when they go to heaven without their moms, no matter how old they are.  These past 11 days and the days over Christmas have been especially difficult.  I woke each day wondering if this might be the day that I could find the strength to put some happy words here… but day after day (even though I tried and tried) it just never worked.  As soon as I would open my laptop and type your name, my tears would fall and I would find myself paralyzed, staring at an empty screen.

This holiday season was our third without you and though I know that grief never follows a straight line from unbearably sad to sad, to a little bit sad, to a little less sad… I somehow wanted to believe, to hope, that maybe this year it would be a little easier.  Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong.  For me, Christmas without you was again unbearably sad.  Was it because I expected/hoped it would be a bit easier?  Maybe.  But then, how could it be?  I know in my heart of hearts that it will never be easier, never be less painful, or less empty.  What we’ve been told is that it will always be sad, but that we will get better at learning to live with the pain, the loss, the emptiness of not having you here.  Oh, like that makes it better?  Of course it doesn’t.

What I will focus on and remember is the wonderful things that we do in honor of you around the holidays.  How our tree is adorned with memories of you and of us spending our winters skiing in Fernie.  How your Christmas stocking, instead of being filled with gifts and goodies, sits underneath the most beautiful spray that is the centre of our Christmas dinner table.  The florist at the Farmers Market incorporated some of the blue and silver balls from the last two Christmas centrepieces into some cedar and evergreen boughs that hugged the same frosted hurricane vase with the white candle that is your light in the middle of all of us at Christmas.  Will, it was really beautiful.  (Thank you, Sandy).  How under the tree is a gift for each of us from you, our Santa now.  And how the last gift we open is a special family gift from you — always a jigsaw puzzle for us to work on together.  I’ve yet to open the box, but think I might just do that today.  Somehow seeing 1000 puzzle pieces spread out all over the dining room table and knowing that it’ll take us a month or two to complete finds me smiling.

There were some extra-special gifts under our tree this year and all were in honor of you, Will.  I’d chosen two of your t-shirts, one each that held special memories for your brothers.  For Ben, your black and gold LINE t-shirt, the one you’d won the summer you both went to Windell’s.  I remember Ben always saying that you’d win everything and that he was never that lucky.  For Justin, I chose your purple Fernie Freestyle Ski Club t-shirt.  You know the one… you had a few because you’d worn out the first one.  There are many pictures of you wearing this t-shirt under your flannel shirts.  It was part of the classic “Will uniform”.  Annette kindly sewed them into pillow covers (Thanks, Annette) and now your brothers have them on their beds.

Justin's gift to all of us. Amazing!

Justin’s gift to all of us. Amazing!

The other was a gift for each of us from Justin.  He insisted that his gift be the first one we opened on Christmas morning.  Inside his beautiful wrapping (he might need a little work on this?) each of us received a mug that Amy had made and the two of them had designed.  On each mug was the wolf that you’d drawn in kindergarten.  I was unaware that transposing a real image was even possible on a handmade piece of pottery and am still in awe that he would know how precious this gift would be to all of us.  They are priceless and I know I will treasure them forever.

The careful thought and love that we put into our Christmases without you is a beautiful testament to you and how much we miss you and love you.  As your mom, I am so proud.  You and Dad and your brothers are my everything and I couldn’t love any of you more than I already do.  Nana and Pa shared Christmas with us this year and that was really special, too.  It was quiet and had its share of laughter and tears like every Christmas going forward undoubtedly will.

New Years was again sad all over again.  Though I tried to be more social this year, I found myself alone in my bed before the stroke of midnight wishing more than anything that the pillow I was holding was you.  As midnight approached I could see the fireworks light up the darkness, hear them explode with loud bangs.  I could hear the music and the laughter and the words “happy new year” being shared from one to another outside the window.  Where I found comfort was snuggling with Dad and my pillow under the covers with my eyes closed remembering how much you loved staying up till all hours on this magical night to ring in a new year.  I’ll try again next year and maybe it will be different.  Or maybe it won’t.  It will only be what it will be.  But for now, the holiday has passed and I’ve settled once again into my routine.  I am back at school, back in my community, back amongst friends and family where I can be me; where it feels safe to shed a tear or two, even when asked one of the questions I dread most this time of year, “How was your Christmas?”

So now, here I am 11 days in to 2014 and I am here.  I know you are here with me, too, Will.  There are gobs and gobs of snow outside; the biggest blanket of Willy we’ve had in a long time!  Is it a coincidence that Mr. Blue Sky has just played on the radio?  Maybe.  But I know it’s you.  And earlier this morning, I found a loonie and two quarters in the couch cushions while looking for my knitting needle.  Another coincidence?  Maybe.  But again, I know it’s you.  I think I will open that jigsaw puzzle today.  Help me, Will, I think this one’s gonna be a doozy.

Love you, little blue.  Like a bus and the beauty of every single, magical snowflake.

Momxo

Thanks, Willy

Thanks, Willy