The World Needs a Little More Willy

ByJoni Bouchard

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.

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  • Stung Again

    Will with Jamie and Lauren, at the precious age of 12
    Will at twelve, with Jamie and Lauren
    Friday, November 22, 2013 (2 ½ years) Hey Will, It’s late and I can’t sleep.  The clock on my bedside table marks the last few minutes of another 22nd day of the month and it stings like all the others.  I felt it when I woke this morning.  There was a sluggishness about getting out of bed, about having to go through the motions of this day; another day where it would take a little more effort to put one foot in front of the other. And so after a few minutes of staring out of the window at the sun just beginning to give light to the day I got up and dawdled to the shower. It’s always so easy to cry there; the tears run to the tips of my toes not just down my cheeks to be wiped away with a tissue or my sleeve. Today these tears were as necessary and natural as washing my face and brushing my teeth; tears that have become a routine part of the 22nd day of every month. When I pulled into the parking lot at school this morning I whispered your name and asked you to help me hold it together today and it worked, Will!  I worked through my day with a smile, but it did sting a little each time I saw the date written on a student’s paper, each time I saw it on a computer screen, each time I saw it written on the whiteboard in every classroom I walked into today, but I’ve come to expect it and so its a little easier when I know its going to sting instead of being taken aback or surprised. That feels more like a punch to the stomach and though that still happens from time to time it is a little less now.  Sadly, to me that can only mean that more time has passed and that I’ve gotten used to what it feels like to be punched in the stomach.  I was working with a grade seven boy who was celebrating his twelfth birthday today and that stung too.  Looking at him took me back to your grade seven year and to you being twelve and how it stopped there.  “Twelve” is yet another word that stings. The next 22nd day of the month will be 3 days before Christmas and that one will sting more; more like one of those punches to the stomach.  As Christmas approaches the tears will multiply and getting out bed will become more difficult. This I know now and there is no stopping the wave of sadness that lasts throughout the holiday season.  It’ll never be right, never be ok that you’re not physically here with us.  It just is what it is and sadly nothing can change it.  I do feel your presence with us spiritually but oh how I miss seeing you, touching you, smelling you. Thanks for helping me get through the day, Will.  And thanks for letting me know that you are with me on this new day, the 23rd day of November.  I woke this morning and the first thing I did before getting out of bed was reach for my iPad on the bedside table to re-read my letter. I opened the Songza app and the first song that played was “Mr. Blue Sky”.  I’ll take that as a sign that you are here with me and it made me smile.  It’s no secret that you are my little Mr. Blue Sky; you always will be. Love you like a bus, Momxo

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  • A Million Reasons to Smile

    willandme

    Thursday, May 22, 2025

    Dear Will,

    Fourteen years to most feels like a long time. Fourteen years to me feels like forever. Sometimes in that forever, it is still hard to breathe. Like today. The beautiful thing though is that it is still possible in that forever to find a reason to smile. You were just that kind of boy. You gave me a million reasons to smile and today I will play those reasons over and over and over in my mind. Something that is not possible though is finding the words to describe how much I miss you. Even though I know you know, Willy. 

    Our bus full of love is bursting and just when I think it is impossible to load one more love you like a bus into it, it lets me. Over and over and over, just like the million reasons you give me to smile today.

    I love you, beautiful boy. Like our big forever bus bursting at the seams.

    Momxo

    willposter 1

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  • 365 Days Without You…

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    My sweet Will

    May 22, 2012 (… one year)

    My dear little Will,

    One year ago today and it feels like minutes and forever all at once.  Flashbacks, tears, trembling, it all comes back to these moments and the impact of the two little words… “I’m sorry”.  Those two words reverberate over and over in my head.  The two words every mom and dad and brother never, ever want to hear, nor should they.  The natural order of things is that it just should never happen this way; you Will, the youngest were supposed to outlive us all.  If only that were true.  As soon as those words left the mouth of the paramedic, there were unfamiliar sounds that came from deep within me, guttural really, and then panic, shock, disbelief and tears that I would not, could not stop and still cannot a year later.  At that moment, all of those emotions hung in the air while I realized that the world as I knew it only moments before was forever changed and forever gone.  I immediately began to miss you more than anything.  All the hope that I was clinging to while the two teams of EMS workers and the STARS ambulance doctors worked on you were replaced by sadness, devastation, emptiness, and a pain deep within my very being; feelings that I cannot even fully describe.  Oh Willy, when I heard the STARS helicopter in the distance, it’s whir coming closer and closer until it was above us and then landed, I thought, “OK.  Now it’ll be good.  STARS is here now.  They’ll take you and dad and me to the Children’s Hospital and it’ll all be good.”   Oh, my dear little boy, I cannot describe how that hope turned to the worst feelings of sadness that I could ever imagine and then questions and numbness.  Unbelievable numbness.  And a hole in my heart that I suddenly realized was never going to mend.  Losing you meant a part of me was lost too.  My life here will never be the same without you.   My heart still so broken.  The pain still so real.   I love you, Willy, more than one could ever imagine, more than a million buses.

    Help me get through this, little blue.  Keep watching over me and Dad and your brothers.  Send us signs and smiles, and know that we will never forget you.  Always remember this, Will; you are forever a part of us and never alone.  We love you and we miss you; from the bottom of our hearts and to the very tips of our toes and then like a bus.

    Momxo

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  • Can Boys Really Be Super Heroes?

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    Batman Will on the trampoline

    August 22, 2017

    Hey Will,

    I cannot stop thinking about a conversation I had a couple of weeks ago with an 8 year old boy in Fernie. This boy, the youngest child of friends of ours, and whose older siblings you would remember, is an unforgettable kid. Like you, his eyes were full of wonder and at his young age he is already quite an athlete. Also like you, he has two older siblings whom he idolizes and it feels like he might be on that same mission you were on to out-do, out-wit, and out-shine them whenever you thought you had a chance. You must remember, Willy, that this didn’t always work in your favour… sometimes the pecking order did rule. Me saying, “be patient, little man” over and over seemed to feed your little fire!

    It was a beautiful, warm evening and we were at a fundraiser for Avalanche Canada up at the Resort. While chit-chatting with this boy’s mom I think he must have overheard us talking about you. He came over – a wee bit shy at first – and whilst climbing all over the chair and the railing and whatever else he could grasp onto while balancing on one leg he was at the same time hanging onto our words. His mom asked him to tell me what the name of his favourite ski run is and without hesitation he said, “Wills Run”. I looked into his full-of-life eyes and told him that you were my son; that I was the mom of the boy who Will’s Run was named after. He looked at me like you were some kind of super hero. He already knew much about you, Will, and he lit up when I told him that he reminded me of you. We talked about freestyle skiing and how the naming of your run came about. He listened with such intent, never interrupting, like he was hungry to hear more. So, of course, I told him a story or two or ten. Then he asked, “Would Will like me?” I felt my heart skip a couple of beats — his question full of so much feeling and a question that caught me off guard. I took his little hands into my own and told him that you’d have loved everything about him. He was so happy to know this. His Mom told me that he’d asked her the same question earlier in the day. It goes to show that acceptance is a huge thing no matter how old we are. And it also goes to show that no matter how old we are we seek out those who make us feel good in this world. This 8 year old boy made my day special because of what you mean to him. It was such a cool conversation we shared and I am so grateful to have had it.

    That night was yet another time where I wondered to myself then and over and over these last couple of weeks if you really get how big you are, Will. For a 12 year old boy with a slight build and big feet you seem to have this super hero aura. And I think to myself that if you can be that kind of example to another boy then I am the proudest mom in the land. I am over the moon proud of who you were and what you stood for. I am proud of how you brought out the best in people, young and old alike. The goodness you held in your heart and the kindness you showed to others was beautiful. And guess what? Perhaps the most astonishing thing of all is that you continue to do so still…even from the other side.

    My heart grew that day because that boy reminded me of you. I am glad that he knows your legacy and that he asked the questions that many are afraid to ask. And I hope that because he knows that you’d have liked him he’ll enjoy his turns down your run more than he did before. You’re quite something, Will. Something bigger than life in this little mountain town.

    I love you, little big man. Bigger than a little big bus in a little ski town in the big mountains.

    Momxo

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  • Enough of the Snow Now!

    snowman
    Kathleen and I and YOU (the snowman!)

    April 15, 2017

    Hey Will,

    It’s April.

    It’s Spring.

    And it’s snowing.

    Again.

    Even though living in Alberta all of my life I know that I shouldn’t be surprised to see snow this late please, please, enough of the snow now. I know that the snow you are bestowing upon us is you letting us know that you are here with us. I get that you’re messing with us and that you’re up there laughing yourself silly. You’ve made all that abundantly clear but I’m begging you to please put that snowmaking machine away and give us some blue sky and some green grass!  Sigh…. oh how happy I would be. The first few times I saw snowflakes after a big melt I did laugh and think it was funny (kind of?) but it is becoming less funny now.  I get how much you loved having the last word and how much you love snow but how about you get out your soccer ball now!?  Or your baseball mitt?  Or your bike!?

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    Baseball in the Spring. Note the green grass!
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    Soccer. Note the green grass!

    This weekend is closing weekend for the ski resort in Fernie and though the base is still big and healthy thanks to you it IS time to put away your skis. I’m pretty sure I’m speaking for the masses (other than maybe your brother, Ben, who also loves winter).  Last week was brutal. Waking up to 8 inches of the white stuff when just the week before Dad thought it safe to take my winter tires off while I was happily getting used to wearing my shoes without socks. I couldn’t help but think how that was pretty darn nice.  The birds were singing in the early mornings – a joyous cacophony of the sounds of spring waking up the world after a long season of winter.

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    Please, little Mr. Blue Sky, hang up your skis now. Put the snow machine and all your magic snow potion in the back of your big heavenly closet up there and work on making the grass green.  You’re a funny one, Will. Always were and still are but it is time for you to send those wee blue butterflies down for a visit.

    As you know I love you more than anything and I miss you every minute of every day. Each new season brings me a season closer to being with you and once my days down here on earth are done and I’ve joined you up in heaven I promise we can go crazy with that snow making machine and I won’t complain…. but until then sweet Will, please put that sucker away.

    Love you like a bus, Willy. Parked on a patch of really green grass.

    Momxo

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  • My Heavy Heart

    Wednesday, May 17, 2017

    My Heavy Heart

    Dear Will,

    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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