The Five or So People You Meet in Heaven

ByJoni Bouchard
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

 

 

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  • September and Socks

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    Will, Brent and Jordan.
    Friends Then, Friends Still

    Thursday, September 29, 2016

    Hey Will,

    Well, fall is definitely in the air these days and the crisp mornings, yellow leaves and fall smells have enveloped me in what I can only describe as my favourite season. Soon the snow will fly and your favourite season will be upon us. For now, though, I will savour everything that is fall and will remember all of what September was to our family when our world was perfect.

    For a few years now, September is the month Ben returns to university and Dad and I are confronted again with living alone in the house that for a long time was filled with all you boys and all the smelly stuff that is part of you guys. The best Septembers were when you were all here at home — three new school backpacks hanging in the closet, three new pairs of outdoor shoes in the vicinity of the front door and oodles of brand new socks after all the old tattered and mismatched ones with holes were silently thrown away before school started again. New socks… such a September right of passage…

    Sadly, this September should have been our first empty nest, Will, but life threw us that terrible tragedy 5 ½ years ago and we were robbed of precious time. A lifetime with you would never have been enough but oh, to have had more time… I’ve spent much of this month wondering where you’d be this first September after high school, and knowing of course that you’d be at UBC in the Okanangan – Just. Like. Ben. No one would be surprised as your idolization for Ben was no secret. You do know it drove your brother crazy but raining on his parade was what you loved to do and to do that at university would have been a proud feather in your cap.

    I’ve frequently thought about Kathleen too and hoped that she would be on the good side of your conscience; a reminder to you to make good choices. I have also thought a lot about your friends, Jordan and Brent, who are also at UBC in Kelowna and I just know that the three of you would be thick as thieves on that campus and that I’d be worrying myself crazy… then in the next breath wishing more than anything that it was true and that I had the chance to worry about you. Sigh. I’d give anything to have all of that. I was corresponding with Jordan mid September, wondering how he was doing, and when your name came up he, too, agreed that in a perfect world you’d be there with them. I reminded him that as an angel you were there looking out for them, keeping them safe and sharing in the fun. He replied that he knew you were. My heart smiles, Will, when I hear that your friends still keep you close. I hope that they will for all of their lives.

    Next weekend is Thanksgiving and Ben will be coming home. And Kathleen. And Brent. And Jordan. Ben who has adapted to being away from home and whom we are used to coming home and then going again, but for the others coming home having just spent their first September at university will be a bit more exciting. Not just for them, but for their parents and families, too. Dinner is always better when everyone is sitting around the table and we’re blessed that Justin is able to come for dinner frequently. Having Ben at home for Thanksgiving is something I look forward to very much. I count the days. I imagine in our perfect world that once in the driveway you’d pile out of the car on his coat tails leaving everything in the back seat and make a run for the front door thinking it was a race to get their first while he’d saunter in, leaving a trail of things he was bringing with him from the back seat. Of course, there’d be hugs and then to the refrigerator you’d both go only this time it would be a race to see who’d get there first. It’s difficult still to live with the reality that you won’t be returning home too, and the pining that my heart feels tugs heavily on my heartstrings sometimes still pulling me down to my knees.

    Instead, I know that you’ll be with us in spirit. That you’ll be sitting in your spot at the table. We’ll talk about you like we always do and we’ll be grateful for the times we did have together. We’ll reminisce about all of the Septembers that we did have and we’ll laugh and cry and eat turkey and mashed potatoes til our tummies are ready to explode. And then I’ll pick up all the dirty, new socks that will have littered the house whilst Ben is home…

    Love you, Willy. Like a bus full of brand new socks.

    Momxo

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  • Biking for Freedom… and Candy and Ice Cream

    BicyclesTuesday, April 24, 2012 (11 months and 2 days) Hey WillBilly, I got a new bike today.   And I parked it right beside yours.   Side by side they stand next to each other like a mom and a son… mine taller than yours, but not by much, just like the height of you and me.  I am reminded of how important it was that you and your brothers had your bikes; a boy and his bike went hand and hand, like peanut butter and jam.  It always made me so happy that we chose Redwood to call our home; a rare place in a world that is so busy; and a place where boys and bikes could be best friends.  I think back to the freedom that came with being able to ride your bike to the park with your friends without a parent.  What a right of passage, a momentous adventure it was for each of you.  And then to be able to ride to Bragg Creek for ice cream or candy (or both!?)… well, that was the ultimate in freedom at twelve years of age and, in fact, was what you did on that Saturday afternoon of your last weekend with us.  You and Matt rode into Bragg Creek returning with a bag full of “sugar” from the candy store; the little white bag still sits on your desk with the candy you were saving to enjoy later.  You were funny that way; always spacing out the candy consumption – saving bits and pieces for another time, another day.  There were times, Will, (cover your ears!) when I had to throw out some of that candy for fear of it going bad.  For a long time the chocolate Easter bunny that you received last Easter sat on the floor beside your desk, package open and one ear missing because you liked to eat it that way, and I had to throw it out.  You never noticed… or you never said anything and well, I have a hard time believing that you’d have let me throw it out without making a kafuffle.  I can hear it now, “Throw away candy!  Why, Mom, would anyone ever do that!?  That should be against the law!”  Hmmm.  I did win that time… because, like I said, I don’t think you knew. So, now I have a bike too.  Wheels to freedom for me?  Well certainly not in the same way as it was for you, but it will be nice to ride to Bragg Creek along the path to freedom that you enjoyed and then beyond to the beauty of our bigger backyard west of Bragg Creek.  I will always take you with me on my bike, Will, and when I stop for ice cream it will be for you.  I’ll order mango; your favorite. Love you like a bus and all those bike rides to the candy store and for ice cream. Momxo

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  • Number Eight

    BasketballWednesday, June 29, 2011  (38 days)   Good morning, little sun,   Last night I was reminiscing about your favourite number.  Eight.  Kathleen and I had chatted on Monday about why you loved the number “8” so much and the obvious reasons, of course, where that, for one, it looked like a snowman and we all know how much you love snow.  Secondly, it was Ben’s favourite number and it was no secret that whatever Ben liked, you liked too.  Thirdly, Powder 8’s came to mind and one of Dad’s favourite memories is of you and him skiing fresh powder in Fernie; he crossing over the fresh turns you’d already made in the snow in front of him to make an “8”.  Then, we remembered that in all of the sports you played, if there was a jersey and a choice of which number could be worn, you always chose a number that had an “8” in it.   Last night as I stood in the driveway saying goodbye to Kathleen, I turned around to walk back into the house and staring at me was our house number.  Number 8!  I stopped and stared, unable to move, and thought that perhaps the most beautiful reason of all, was that home was number 8.   Beautiful tears filled my eyes and at that moment I thought that maybe you were telling me something; that maybe “8” was your favourite number because it was your home.  Our home.  Because of that, I have never loved our home more.   I love you WillBilly.  Like a bus and to infinity.  (Which Mrs. Fischer reminded me today is an 8 turned on its side).  Another Wow.   Momxo

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  • Our Empty Nest

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    September 2, 2013 (836 days) Dear Will, Today is another first day of school. Your first day in what would have been your grade 10 year of high school. All around me are moms who are saying the same words, “where has the time gone?” Though for me, it is different. I miss you more and more every day and in my world it never feels like time flies. It is a repeat of another day without you. Like last year at this time I have purposely stayed away from the stores; watching moms shopping with their kids for back to school is still too painful. Oh, what I’d give to be complaining and negotiating and frustrated with the whole list… Trying to talk you out of your perceived need for another backpack when the one you have is perfectly fine, trying to convince you that while the new shoes you want so badly are terribly over-priced (because of where they rank on the “cool factor scale”) I agree to meet you in the middle by paying for half of them….all the while feeling that maybe I was too hard on you because I do understand how important it is to want and need to fit in and that I remember as a school aged girl the excitement over a new pair of shoes at the beginning of each school year. New t-shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans, brand new whiter-than-white socks, the necessary new hoodie and last on the list, of course, the binders and notebooks that were a back to school requirement but not near as much fun to shop for as the other stuff. And then the haircut negotiations would begin… You wanting to keep it long while I was on the other end of the spectrum wishing I could talk you into a shorter style… In the end, you’d have won that battle because I did learn (finally) by having gone through it year after year with your older brothers that really, it’s only hair and not worth a battle. Once home you’d empty the bags onto your bed and want to wear it all right now — not wanting to wait until school started…and yet another round of negotiations would begin. Oh, how I miss all of it. Instead, I stay away knowing that hearing the banter and negotiating between moms and their kids would send me into another tailspin of tears. I wonder a lot these past few days what you’d look like now; how handsome you’d be? Its not a surprise that part of what I miss most is the physicality of you. I miss seeing you, I miss your smell, your voice, your laugh. I miss being able to hug you and to touch you. I miss what it feels like to hold your hand, to pat you on the back. Gosh, Will, I even miss making your school lunches and arguing with you. What I imagine to be true is that you’d have been a stunningly handsome, almost 15 year old boy, with the most beautiful blue eyes and that because of that you’d have been a distraction amongst the girls! Then here we’d go again with another round of negotiations about the importance of your school work with less attention on the girls… Oh boy, Will, I know there’d have been some trying times between us at this stage but they’d never be as hard as not having them at all. I am writing you this letter in the wee hours of the morning. It is still dark outside and the only sound I hear is the steady, rhythmic shrill of crickets outside the open window. Dad and I are leaving for home mid morning, having spent the long weekend here in Kelowna helping Ben move into residence and his first year of university. I am grateful that he has chosen to go to university here, close to Uncle Jim. Kelowna is a beautiful place as you know. Spending some of our time in past summers at Uncle Jim’s was full of fun times and for that reason there are good memories here for sure. The difficult part of today will be our arrival back home and the bittersweet of walking into “clean and quiet”. Our nest is empty now and that makes me sad. These next few years were supposed to be ours with just you at home. No sharing you with your brothers. While Justin begins his last year at U of C and Ben is just beginning his university life here, Dad and I feel like we’ve been robbed of this special time with you. All of us have reached another milestone in our lives… Only dad and I aren’t ready. It’s not supposed to be our empty nest time but sadly we weren’t part of that decision. Having Finn, our big, brown dog, will help and I am grateful that we have him as he helps fill up the house a little, but, oh what I’d give to have you at home. The nest would be perfect then. Though I believe in my heart that you are near me, I continue to search for signs of you daily. That’s what makes me smile these days. Stay close to the nest, little blue. We need you there. Love you like a bus… parked in the nest. Momxo

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  • Still…

    Heart Rock

    May 14, 2022

    Dear Will,

    It’s May. Again. The month I shy away from, still. Dread, still. The month that is hard to write down, still. The month that conjures up deep pain, still. And, the month that measures time like no other. I pinch myself wondering how one week short of 11 years can still feel like yesterday and forever, still.

    The still part feels like I’m stuck. And maybe that is what I have let May become for me? As I ponder and dread and feel all these things that seem to define the month of May, maybe being stuck doesn’t have to be a bad thing? Maybe being stuck or “still” allows me to sit with you a little longer, to honour and remember you with more intention than usual. Though sadness still creeps in, because that is, after all, the price we pay when we lose a loved one, it can also be a time to be stuck in the deep love part of loss. And, maybe, just maybe that is the gift, the silver-lining so to speak. To be stuck on you is not a bad thing at all!

    In the beginning of my grief journey I would never ever, ever have believed that gratitude and loss could live in the same sentence, in the same breath. But, Willy, I do believe that it is possible sometimes. It is not possible to be grateful that you died, but it surely is possible to be grateful that you lived. It was too short, way too short, but it was better than no life with you at all. 

    Of course, I wish things were different. Oh, what I’d give for a re-do of that tragic day. The shoulda, coulda, woulda’s still seep into my thoughts from time to time but I know that I have to push them aside as it is unproductive and impossible to change the events of May 22, 2011. It is nothing short of torture to dwell there, and besides, if there was a way, believe me, I’d have found it. 

    Instead I will sit in the still of May and celebrate being stuck in the love part of losing you. Not just for May, but for every day, every month, every year, still. 

    img 2714
    img 2714

    I miss you, my sweet boy. Still.

    And I love you. Still. Like a big ‘ole bus stuck in love. By the grace of God, that love bus is plenty big for both of us. Still.

    Momxo

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  • Perfectly Ordinary

    snowman copy 2.jpg

    January 15, 2016

     

    My Sweet Will,

     

    2016.  The first thing that comes to my mind is the number five.  The passing of time seems always to be where my mind, without even thinking, drifts first.  For fifteen days now we’re into a new year and I shake my head in disbelief knowing that it will be 5 years this May.  I wonder over and over, also in disbelief, how it could even be possible that yesterday and forever can seem the same?  Time is funny that way.

     

    I read a post on Facebook this morning that spoke to me in a profound way.  Instantly, I thought about the words I wrote in my tribute to you – the words that Mary read on my behalf at your Celebration of Life six days after our world changed forever.  I wanted to reprint them here in your letter so you are reminded of what I miss the most about you, Will.

     

    Here goes…

     

    “Last Sunday I experienced every mother’s “unimaginable”.  I lost my WillBilly.  On that evening, a part of me was lost with Will as well; Partly, because I have this overwhelming need to be with him and also because at twelve years of age, quite frankly, he still needs his mom.   Surrounding his passing are emotions beyond words.

     

    I recently read (not once, but three times) Katrina Kenison’s book, “The Gift of an Ordinary Day” and many of the words I am sharing with you today were born from hers and some word for word as it seems Moms everywhere convey the same kind of love. 

     

    Katrina writes and it couldn’t be more true for me that “One of the hardest lessons I am learning is that the answers to the really big questions, the answers I most hunger for, don’t ever come to us from the outside; rather, they come from a quiet place within.  A place we can reach only when we find within ourselves the courage to pause, to abide for a while in that place of not knowing, to be at peace even with our uncertainties, and then to listen and attend with the ear of our own hearts.”

     

    I often find myself thinking back to when Will was really small.  Days that began with cinnamon toast cut into finger size pieces and might end with made-up stories or shadow pictures on a bedroom wall.  In between there were walks to the river, picnic lunches at the park, popsicles, hot wheels and miles and miles of orange track that would meander around our living room furniture.   And then there was lego.  Lots. And. Lots. Of. Lego.  Crayola markers, playdough, puzzles, a plastic wading pool and a lawn sprinkler that could enchant a neighbourhood of kids for hours, a shallow red dish full of dish soap and glycerin, and magic wands that once waved hundreds of wobbly, irridescent bubbles into the air.

     

     As he grew, so did his world.  Sports became a part of Will and as long as he had friends (and he had many) to do them with he was having the time of his life.  A trampoline, a bag of candy, a pair of park skis and powder skis, fancy goggles, snow, sleepovers, bacon, his iPod, bouncy balls, Kathleen, Kale, hoodies, hats, a flannel shirt, his constant singing, his laugh and most of all a family who loved him beyond words were all that mattered.  Simple, ordinary pleasures.  

     

    It’s still hard for me to believe that all of this has vanished, that those times are truly gone for good.  Thankfully, what I have now are countless, beautiful memories that scroll endlessly in my mind.  Memories of his constant show of affection, as well as the countless peanut butter and banana sandwiches, bedtime stories, earaches and scraped knees, baking soda volcanoes, snowball fights, trips into Bragg Creek for icecream and how I hauled his baritone sax to and from school every week because it was too big to carry on the bus.  How I harped at him to finish his homework and how I had to remind him to pick up his wet towel off the floor every morning. Yet I am grateful to have had all of those moments, for they are the ones that have turned out, in the end, to be the most precious recollections of all, even though they went unrecorded, unwritten, unremarked on at the time.

     

    Our photo albums and computers are full of pictures of birthday cakes and holiday celebrations, vacation trips and family adventures.  But the memories I find myself holding onto the tightest, the ones that I will cherish for the rest of my life are the ones that you couldn’t capture in a photograph.  His giggle, his “I love you, moms”, his little boy arms around my neck and his final words every night, “Mom, can you tuck me in?” followed by, “I love you like a bus.”  Quite simply, a family’s life as it is from one hour, or day, or season, to the next.  The most wonderful gift we had and the gift I will cherish above all else, was the gift of all those perfectly ordinary days.

     

    I will always carry Will with me.  Everywhere I go.  Forever.”

    (from my Tribute to Will, May 28, 2011)

     

    What I want you to always know, Willy, is that I couldn’t miss you more than I did back then or more than I do now.  All of those perfectly ordinary moments have become what I cherish most in life.  They are the movie that plays over and over and over in my heart. 

     

    And just like we ended each of our days all those days ago,

     

    … I love you like a bus, Willy.  A big, ole ordinary bus with perfectly ordinary wheels.

     

     

    Momxo

     

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0 Comments

  1. Hi there Joni. I was just posting my own new blog to Twitter and saw your name and your link; of course I had to read your letter to Will right away. I’m so moved by the image of your dear boy welcoming his teacher to heaven. Your heart touched mine today. Sending love.

    Reply

    1. Awe,thanks for your kind words, Katrina. It means o much that you took the time to read my love letter to Will. I, too, read your post and am happy for the parenting reminders from the perspective of your Jack. Your heart always touches my heart. Xo

      Reply

  2. Thank you for your strength and perseverance I just lost my grandmother in January at 101 years of age and one day thank you again

    Reply

    1. Thank you for your note, Jim. You are very lucky to have had all those years with your grandmother. 101 Wow! I hope you are at peace knowing that her life was long and full.

      Reply

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