The toughest weekend of the year is in it’s final hours and as I sit here in my pajamas in the mid afternoon staring out at our WillBilly tree, I see the green ribbons from your thirteenth birthday still tied to your branches and am reminded how much your tree has grown in three years. Its another day of intermittent sun, rain, sun, rain and in many ways mirrors the ups and downs that come with the long weekend that will always be defined as the weekend that our world changed. It has been a weekend of attempts at distraction; a dinner out with friends, a movie date – just Dad and I, of quiet times and withdrawal, of bike rides with Finn and Dad, of naps and tea and a hot bath, and of many tears. It has been a weekend of intense memories, of flashbacks, and reflections of how yesterday three years ago, began so happy and ended so tragically. This long weekend is also another reminder of the passage of time and how missing you gets bigger and bigger and bigger.
As I skim the tops of the trees, searching for a break in the overcast sky for a patch of blue and for signs of you, I think about the many ways love has found its way to me over these last couple of days. Friends and family have shown their love and sent their hugs via text messages and emails and voicemails. Love also came in the form of a heartfelt letter attached to a written poem from a woman I am beginning to realize is magical. Yesterday morning, before Dad and I got out of bed, love found its way to our doorstep in the form of a loaf of freshly baked cinnamon bread. There was no note, but I knew where it had come from and I hope that this special friend knows that her simple gesture was so much bigger than that. It was love. Love came in the form of a friend offering the simple distraction of a ride to Bragg Creek in her new car. Love appeared when Justin came for dinner last night and it came in a loving text exchange with Ben as I crawled into bed last night. Love has come in the form of quiet embraces from Dad and from wet nose kisses from our big, brown dog. Part of Finn’s morning routine is to jump up on our bed and wiggle his way in between Dad and I like you used to do. He has so much of you in him, which explains why we frequently refer to him as the FinnWilly (knew you’d like that, Willly). Some of the most important people in my world are away this long weekend and yet I feel their love as if they were sitting here beside me. There is a string of texts from my most special friend that is like an invisible chain of paper hearts from her to me. Of course, it is love.
Not surprisingly, this weekend is full of a heaviness that I can’t shake off and hard as I try I think it’s just easier to succumb to it, to accept that it is just that — a weekend to be sad. Today, I gave myself permission to have a pajama day and to cry. I’m in my pajamas because there isn’t anything more comfortable and I cry because I am missing you so very much. Soon Will, I believe that a rainbow will fill the sky and I’ll know it’s you sending big love my way.
I love you from my toes up to the stars and, of course, like a bus.
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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You and I have a new and improved home online! After publishing our story in my memoir I felt that we outgrew my blog so I acquired the most wonderful website designer and she did some website renovations. Same address, just a new, bigger space with a couple of extra rooms so we have some more room to grow. All the letters I wrote to you and posted to my blog are now unpacked and settled into their new room and you’ll see there are some familiar bits that I just couldn’t leave behind. My book, however, needed a room of its own which was the real reason for some renovations. And, because life’s little things bring me so much joy and are a reminder for all of us to slow down, to pause, and to find awe in the little moments I thought it would be super cool to have a room to celebrate and share life’s little blessings.
For now, Will, I just wanted to welcome you to our new online home sweet home and to let our friends and visitors know that while loveletterstowill.com has a new look and some new features, at its core it still honours where love has always lived and where it continues, still.
As always, my sweet boy, I love you like a Willy bus oozing with love parked in the middle of our new online home sweet home.
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
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Handmade Love from my Will
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Dear Will,
Today is Mother’s Day and my heart is heavier than usual. This is my third Mom’s Day without you and I miss you as much as the first one — it certainly doesn’t get easier. I am sitting on my bed in my own little world staring out of the window at the blue sky I’ve waited days to see, and my head is swirling with thoughts of you. Mother’s Day holds such special meaning; a day where moms are universally celebrated and appreciated for all they do for their children and families. When I think of Mothers Days past my heart smiles at the extra love that would find its way to me via breakfast in bed, crafty gifts made at school and handmade cards that oozed love in their heartfelt and sometimes misspelled words; the drawings, the “coupons” that promised jobs sometimes too big to be true, but with intent so large – all a sign of how big that love was. Those cards will always be treasures for I have kept them all and the gift of all those uneven folds of paper are so incredibly priceless now. I feel sad knowing that today, again there will be one card missing.
Mother’s Day will never be the same without you here. I am so thankful for the big box of handmade cards, the table you made for me in grade 7, and the countless memories of cold toast, cereal, watered down coffee and smoothies in bed; of clay creations, glittery picture frames, yarn weavings, tissue paper flowers…
One thing will never change, Willy — I will always be your mom and you will always be my son/sun.
Lulab and missing you so very much,
Momxo
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Willy at Elbow Falls… on the Elbow River
Friday, June 28, 2013 (768 days)
Dear Will,
So much has happened since I last wrote to you, but that didn’t mean that you were not in my thoughts. On the contrary actually, for through the tragedy of the flood that ravaged much of Bragg Creek and the rest of Southern Alberta, we miraculously dodged it. For those days when we weren’t sure if the berm would hold and save our homes, it was you that consumed me, you that gave me hope, and most of all, you that sealed my belief that you really are looking out for us, and that it was you that kept our home and us safe.
When we were served with the mandatory evacuation order last Thursday evening, the first thing I packed was you (your ashes), your favourite plaid shirt, and my macbook that holds all of our treausured photos. I couldn’t imagine leaving you behind with all the uncertainty that lie ahead. As I watched others in our community anxiously trying to move things up from their basements to higher ground and listened to their stories and watched their stress levels climb, it was clear to me that what I left behind was just “stuff” and that I didn’t have the emotional energy to put into things that were replaceable. Losing you has given me a different perception on life events and what is truly important. It is the people that I love, that I cherish beyond anything else that matter the most. What was most important was that I had you and that Dad and I and Ben were on our way to the Schneider’s home in Elbow Valley where the threat of the river was nil. I knew Justin was safe at his home in Calgary and what I drove away from last Thursday evening was just stuff.
I have said it before – that what I know for sure is that nothing in my life going forward will ever be as difficult as losing you. Of course, I felt a huge relief when we were given the go ahead to return to Redwood on Sunday and to see that things here were good. We were lucky, Will; our home was dry and all of the reminders of you were still here; dry and intact. Some of our friends and neighbors were not so lucky; wet basements and lots of work to remove wet carpets and drywall and “stuff”, negotiations with insurance companies and the inconvenience of cleaning and rebuilding and the stress that goes with that, but no loss of a loved one. We all have much to be grateful for in the aftermath of what happened in our part of the world last week. Some lost their homes, their businesses, their financial security now in jeopardy, but all those that we know have each other and that is most important. We are ever grateful, Will; to a God that heard our prayers, to ALL that worked tirelessly to repair and reinforce our berm when the river was relentless, to the miracle that kept our community safe and to YOU for keeping it all in perspective and keeping me sane.
I love you more and more each day, little one. So very much and like a bus. That’ll never change and no one or no thing or no river can ever take that away.
Momxo
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I cannot even put into words how to describe what this momentous passage of time, this significant marker, really feels like other than to tell you that you are still so sadly missed and immensely loved as much as ever. I imagine you are proudly touting your 10 year wings and I’ve no doubt they are bigger, brighter and sparklier than ever. Tonight I will look for you in the nighttime sky… pretty sure you will be the brightest little light up there tonight and before I retire to my bed I promise you I will find a reason to smile for you and because of you. This day feels heavier than usual for me but as I learned all those years ago deep grief is the price of deep love.
I miss you more than ever, sweet boy, and the big bus love is as real to me now as it was when you first said it to me when I tucked you into your bed when you were a toddler. The beautiful and cool thing is that the bus gets bigger and better with every passing hour, day, week, month and year and just when I think that bus cannot hold one more ounce of love it just does.
Ten years. Sigh…
Momxo
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0 Comments
Dearest Bouchard family,
Our love, hugs, and friendship are sent your way as another may long weekend comes and go as we remember the tragic loss of your Will. Your love letters Joni are a beautiful tribute to the incredible love that will never die or disappear for your son.
Thank you Giddens Family. Your thoughtful words and your hugs are helpful, especially during this May long weekend. It was really tough. Writing to Will is therapeutic and necessary for me and I am happy to share them with both moms who have lost children and with moms who are lucky they haven’t. My hope through your reading my letters to Will is that you’ll hug your boys a little longer than usual… because you can and because they are precious gifts.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Dearest Bouchard family,
Our love, hugs, and friendship are sent your way as another may long weekend comes and go as we remember the tragic loss of your Will. Your love letters Joni are a beautiful tribute to the incredible love that will never die or disappear for your son.
Hugs to all,
The Giddens Family
Sent from my iPhone
Thank you Giddens Family. Your thoughtful words and your hugs are helpful, especially during this May long weekend. It was really tough. Writing to Will is therapeutic and necessary for me and I am happy to share them with both moms who have lost children and with moms who are lucky they haven’t. My hope through your reading my letters to Will is that you’ll hug your boys a little longer than usual… because you can and because they are precious gifts.
Sending lots of love and hugs your way Joni. xoxo
Thank you, Kayley. Means so much to me. Xo