Dear Will,
This summer has been full of thoughts and memories of you. Your little “signs” are abundant and when I think about them I can’t help but smile. It’s crazy how many heart shaped rocks I have found and collected this summer; my pockets bursting each time I arrive back home after a doggie walk with Finn or a bike ride to the river. On our vacation in Maui the heart shaped pieces of coral would, of course, find their way to the pockets of my beach tote and at the end of each day I’d add the coral hearts to the growing line down the middle of the table where we’d eat dinner by candlelight. Me and Dad and you. Wherever I was, it seemed I only had to look down and there were heart shaped signs of you at my feet.
Holy cow, Will, I’ve quite a collection and when I empty my bursting pockets I am reminded of the things I’d find in your pockets while sorting laundry. Oh boy, there were Little Lego people and magnets, quarters and loonies that you’d find between the couch cushions where dad would often snooze (“searching” the couch was your cash cow!). I’d find fuzz balls and bits of rolled plasticine, erasers and lint covered candy and the occasional bottle cap or a torn piece of scrap paper with a friend’s phone number written on it so you could call them for a play date. All the random little treasures that were important for you to keep at the time found a safe place in your pockets. Just like my rocks.
You, Kathleen and Kale on the beach in Montana
While in Montana I was reminded of the many trips you and Kathleen would make in the golf cart to the store for Laffy Taffy and the iced tea cans you and Kale were collecting one summer. All the sand hill adventures are etched in my mind too — when you and your friends would scurry up the sand hills, rest for a minute or 5 seconds and then run full tilt or barefoot ski back down the hill and into the lake.
Parker, You and Kale – Mud Monsters
All the fun you had with Kale and Parker covering yourselves from eyeball to toe with mud and clay, swimming, building driftwood forts and how during your last summer you’d fallen in love with playing volleyball on the beach with the big kids and adults. Some of those memories still bring me to tears.
I’m back in Fernie now where there are memories of you all over the place. The ski hill, the ski shops that become bicycle shops in the summer, Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory where you had a preferred customer card from all the candy apples you bought (thanks to all the money you’d find in the couch?). Watching ski movies with Josh and how you loved to spend time with him and Andrea on and off your skis. I love it here, Will, because you loved this place.
Come next week I’ll return home to our Redwood home where summer memories of you will live forever . I am reluctant to look beyond next week as September 2nd would have been the beginning of your last year of high school. My heart cannot go there yet. For now I will summon and enjoy the many summer memories of you and reminisce in what was. I look forward to each and every little sign you send my way and will continue to fill my pockets with as much as I can. Thank God for pockets.
Love you, Willy. Like a bus full of pockets.
Momxo
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Though fall is my favourite time of the year, this year the month of October is like a camel with too many humps — four to be exact. First was our bike ride into Bragg Creek for icecream (our little Ride For Will), then came Thanksgiving, followed by your birthday, and in a couple of weeks, Halloween.
The two biggest humps were the ones in the middle – Thanksgiving weekend and then your birthday. These two always feel a bit like climbing a mountain (clarification… what I think it would feel like). There is a looming feeling in the days leading up to them and I feel a little more anxious as each of them draws closer. The most difficult part of those days is getting out of bed. I lay still and remember what it was like when you were here and wish with all of my being that you still were. I think about all the things we’ve missed out on, the stuff we didn’t get to do. I wonder what you’d look like and what your voice would sound like. I sit with these thoughts for a while and inevitably succumb to my tears whilst giving myself permission to feel sad and then with my head down and a tear-stained face I get up and I get going. It’s not always pretty and its not easy but I forge on finding ways to honour you throughout these days . Then, at the end of each of these difficult days, I sigh, still surprised that I make it through year after year after year. Somehow I do. And somehow in these days I find a smile, I find joy and I find gratitude. On October 14th, 1998 (this year your nineteenth journey around the sun) we were blessed to bring you into this world and call you our son. This day will forever be one of my life’s best and though now one of the saddest it will always be a bittersweet celebration. .
The next hump is Halloween and for me I am happy to report that this hump is growing smaller. Oh boy, I think back to how much you loved Halloween (aka “I love candy” day) and how much you disliked visiting the dentist. You never really understood how bad those tootsie rolls were on your teeth… or maybe you did and they were just too good to give up? I have to come clean, Willy, I still love them, too. (Insert a wink).
Enjoying icecream after our little Ride For Will (Oct 8/17)
For a long time I didn’t think I’d ever smile again; hearing myself laugh or feel joy seemed an impossibility. In the months after losing you, I couldn’t find the strength to leave our home. And now, here I am. I can do this. What got me here? Why can I do it now? Well, I do know the answer now. There are two actually. One is time. And the other is you. With time comes clarity and reflection and with clarity and reflection comes the question I ask more than any other, “What would Will want me to do?” Not a day goes by that I don’t ask myself that very question at least once. You, sweet one, are my reason and my strength for everything. Oh, and there’s these two other boys, too… the other two that call me Mom. And Dad. And our big, brown dog. I am surrounded with boy love! And I am grateful for all of you.
The boy love in my world is big, Will. And I love you more than all the boy love put together on a four humped camel with a big bus full of tootsie rolls on the side. You see, it’s not even possible to love someone more than that. But I do…. times a million.
Miss you, Little Blue.
Momxo
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Not surprisingly, the month of May is weighing heavily on my heart. Seventeen days in and having made it through another Mother’s Day I thought maybe, just maybe, I might get through it without falling down. Well, I was wrong. As I digitally put pen to paper to write you this letter you have to know that I’ve verbally penned a thousand letters to you already this month. For a long while I’ve been able to spin a positive message on my pain… but this month, it’s just too much.
The lead up to your “Angel date” and more specifically the throwback to what was your last full week of life is one that has repeatedly been the most painful. The struggle to find balance is a challenge and the recipe that mixes the ingredients of work and home changes from day to day and moment to moment. I tried to be at work today, Will. I thought that being with the kids at school would be the distraction that I needed but it didn’t play out that way. I know that being in the school you loved can be a double-edged sword and though I’ve experienced both sides, for a long time I have found incredible comfort within those walls. Your happy place was my happy place, too, however, finding myself in your hallway and in your classroom and ultimately staring at your locker today sent me into a tailspin that I couldn’t recover from. All of those triggers together today were just too much for me.
In hindsight what I needed today was to be at home inside the memory-laden walls of our home with Dad and our big, brown chocolate lab. As I write Finn is beside me (one could argue he is half on top of me) his head on my lap. I quickly take notice of his chest as it rises up and down rhythmically with each breath. I stop typing concentrating on matching my own breath with his, the steady in and out, inhale and exhale… I close my eyes and caress his warm, velvety ears and my heart begins to feel lighter, the sting of my tears not quite as sting-y. The heaviness of the morning dissipates a little in this moment and I feel grateful to be right where I am. I believe the lesson in these waves of overwhelming grief is to let them happen, to ride them out so to speak. Eventually the tears have to spill; after all a heart can only hold so much pain at one time.
In the rain/snow mix that is also today (how fitting?) I have found my spot on the couch with a blanket and the warmth of a fire burning in the fireplace. It is here now that I will sink into sleep while I think of you and happier times. I will reminisce about when our world was perfect and my heart didn’t know the heaviness of living without you.
I love you, Willy. Like a bus. A big, beautiful bus with a heart full of light and brown velvety chocolate lab ears.
Momxo
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Your Forever Friends Riding For You
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Dear Will,
It’s been a bit since I’ve written but that is no reflection of how much I’ve been thinking about you. There is no part of any day that you are not on my mind. Your memory lives there and is part of my every breath. And I’ve certainly not stopped talking to you in my quiet moments, most times out loud.
Will in the middle of it all
Last weekend we held your annual Ride For Will and one thing I want to know is how much you had to do with that chaotic weather?? I know the large snowflakes that fell on Friday morning were you, always the teaser, the taunter, the boy who loved snow so much that given the choice of a warm sunny day, you’d take the snow every time. You got me as I looked out the window to see the white stuff falling and before I got my iPad and hit record video I swear I could hear your mischievous giggle… you know the one – the one right before the panic that got you running to my side for protection from your brothers when you’d pushed their buttons one time too many.
Saturday started out so promising, so nice with the sun waking us that morning. You, little Mr. Blue Sky shining down on us as we set up for registration and put the tents up in the sports field to house the bake sale and the medics, the face painting and the PA system. “Just in case” is always our reasoning and because we all know that June in Southern Alberta can deal all kinds of weather my fingers and toes were crossed that you’d be the boss of the weather. This time, maybe that weather task was too big for you and next year, maybe you could ask the big guy up there for some help? I wonder, does the big guy trump Mother Nature?
The good news is that nothing could dampen the spirit that surrounds your Ride. I am in awe at those that continue to support us through this event. The young and old, your school friends and ski buddies, family and friends, all those that gather in your memory and remember and those that didn’t know you, but feel like they do through your story and the good that we are doing in your name and your memory. It is a big bittersweet day for us; a day so full of love and missing you that no harsh weather could diminish. I couldn’t help but smile at all the muddy grins on faces dotted with mud and all the muddy stripes on the backs of the riders as they finished. For you, a bike and a mud puddle meant fun and it was evident that those that rode saw it that way too (or had no choice but to!).
I love you little Mr. Blue Sky. Even when Mother Nature overrules you. I guess when it comes to the weather she really is the boss. Stay on her good side, Will, as she can be quite unpredictable! And that’s one mother that you don’t want to make angry!
Love you like a bus rippin’ through the mud.
Momxo
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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!
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
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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.
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
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)
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
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Gosh, sweet boy, it’s been a bit since I’ve put my words to you in a letter… but it sure doesn’t mean that I haven’t been talking to you. Not a day goes by where I don’t find myself having some sort of conversation with you. When I think about it, it must look awkward, even weird, to those who see and hear what looks like a one sided conversation… ahhh, but what they don’t know is that they aren’t one sided at all. I see you and I hear you in all kinds of ways.
I have spent the last few months travelling between what is our new home in Fernie and the place that will always feel like home back in Redwood and area. Both places so very special because they are the two places on this earth that you loved. One you called home and the other you dreamed of calling home. Each time I drive the three hours between those two places I settle into a trip down memory lane and the nostalgia gets me every time. When the sun is shining and the roads are bare I enjoy these road trips with you very much. As I pass the countryside and the landmarks along the way I imagine you are sitting on my left shoulder where my wise friend told me the boys angels sit. I hear you whisper in my ear, “Mom, can we stop and climb on the rocks at the Frank Slide?” “Can we stop for icecream?” “Mom, I have to pee… can you pull over? I can’t wait til we get to a gas station… I gotta go!”
I fondly remember the car games we played; the Geography Game, 20 Questions, and the “When I go to Fernie I’m gonna take my – something that begins with A, then B and C and so on. When you were little we’d play “I spy with my little eye” and no one could ever see what you where spying because, one, you were the random master of detail and, two, I know you would change your mind during play when one of us guessed correctly leading us on a goose chase of confusion until one of us would say “Will, I give up!”. On one of my trips not long ago I found myself playing the Sign Game all by myself. You loved that game, too.
All these family trips back and forth are vividly etched in my heart and as I sit with them now I am grateful that it was a time when phones and iPads and digital devices weren’t as popular as they are now. It gifted us hours and hours of looking out of the window instead of down at a screen. I remember how we’d moo at cows in the fields as we passed and how we sang Christmas carols at the top of our lungs for two months before Christmas. You knew them all.
I love how you’d pack your dark blue drawstring bag with all the possessions you couldn’t live without before we headed to and from Fernie. When you were small, there were little cars and a lego man or two, sometimes a yo-yo or Pokémon cards and always, always a bag of fishy crackers and a juice box. As you got older, that same blue bag held your iPod and your earbuds, your sticker collection, a couple of ski magazines, usually some candy and, always, always fishy crackers and a juice box.
I am smiling to myself now as I reminisce over how you couldn’t stop singing. You. Never. Stopped. Singing. Outside of the car, Will, it was how I knew where you were. Like for real. When you were small it was children’s songs and jingles and lots of Dad’s and your brothers’ music choices – songs that you grew up listening to. And then when you were 10 or 11 you got an iPod and discovered your own world of music. This was a happy time for you as your little world of music and singing exploded. And so did the quiet times in the car. You’d plug in your earbuds and sing and hum and sing and hum and sing and hum… with many reminders to please stop singing out loud. You just couldn’t do it. Not surprising, Dad and I just got back from visiting Uncle Jim in Kelowna and as we meandered along highways we’d never driven we listened to one of your playlists. Years ago, I downloaded it to my iTunes so that I could have it with me always. I’m pretty sure you were with us in the truck that day singing out loud with us as we drove through the mountains. Each song took us back to you and all the countless road trips we made as a family… so many bittersweets attached to that playlist.
These frequent trips I have been making between Fernie and “the hood” are full of memories that at the time seemed uneventful and at times frustrating. After all, a backseat filled with three boys wasn’t always harmonious. But as I look back now, the family time we spent rolling down the highways was a large part of how our family lived and played. What mattered is that we were together on all those drives and my heart swells as I let my mind wander back to those days when our world was perfect.
I miss you, sweet Will. And I will always love you. More than anything and like a bus full of fishy crackers and your favourite tunes rolling down the highway with the sun shining down on us and the windows wide open as we sing at the top of our lungs.
Momxo
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0 Comments
Love this letter Joni. Although it brings tears to my eyes I also smile at the really great times we had at the lake with Will. The boys knew he should’ve been there this summer too and it made me smile when they told me that they had a few tears that night while they talked about their friend Will and how much they missed him. I know they all think about him very often, as I do. Although we will never know your pain, know that we miss him and send you so much love.
Yes, there were some really great times at the lake and I will always remember them. It’s just hard to watch the boys grow up without Will. Am so glad that they remember him and talk about him like they do and that they aren’t uncomfortable letting me know that. I’m pretty sure that Kale will always carry Will with him in his life and they’ll laugh and giggle like they used to. Love you, Mary. More than you could ever know. Thanks for always being there for me!
Love this letter Joni. Although it brings tears to my eyes I also smile at the really great times we had at the lake with Will. The boys knew he should’ve been there this summer too and it made me smile when they told me that they had a few tears that night while they talked about their friend Will and how much they missed him. I know they all think about him very often, as I do. Although we will never know your pain, know that we miss him and send you so much love.
Yes, there were some really great times at the lake and I will always remember them. It’s just hard to watch the boys grow up without Will. Am so glad that they remember him and talk about him like they do and that they aren’t uncomfortable letting me know that. I’m pretty sure that Kale will always carry Will with him in his life and they’ll laugh and giggle like they used to. Love you, Mary. More than you could ever know. Thanks for always being there for me!