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.
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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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!?
Baseball in the Spring. Note the green grass!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.
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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Me and my boy at the top of the Timber Chair in Fernie, BC.
July 19, 2017
Hey Will,
The long, lazy days of summer are upon us and I enjoy the simplicity of these days so very much. Waking up when it feels right is a gift. My morning begins with a big cuppa joe as I contemplate the makings of my day and sometimes another cup to kickstart those contemplations into action. Occasionally, even with good intentions nothing gets crossed off the list and that, perhaps, might just be the very thing that I love the most. Why? Because it’s ok. Because there’s always tomorrow or the next day or the next. I haven’t always felt comfortable with this relaxed way of looking at things…. I guess I’ve mellowed over the years. And, well that’s a good thing.
One of the difficult things that comes with this slower, almost lackadaisical pace, has been slowing down my mind; finding comfort in that space that, since your accident, held so much fear for me. My busy mind kept the very intense, painful feelings of losing you to a constant simmer instead of the gut wrenching pain that would creep into my thoughts whenever my mind was quiet. The “chatter” so to speak became a way for me to cope without you in the physical world; it became quite literally a way to survive. Allowing my busy mind to be quiet has been one of my biggest challenges and it is why I found the practice of yoga so difficult. A sobbing mom was hardly relaxing for anyone.
These days quieting my mind and allowing thoughts of you to reside there have become a beautiful thing. Its taken a long time to get here and as I look back time was indeed my friend. There were days early on when it was just too painful to let my mind wander, too many times where if I allowed myself to do so my tears would takeover. Too many days where once the flood gates opened I could not stop the painful feelings and the scary, guttural cries of a mom in mourning. The fear that I would never be able to make them go away was very real. It’s been a long process, an evolution really, where time became the conduit to what I can now call a beautiful place. I’ve come to realize that you are my breath, my being, my reason to carry on and that my life story is you. I AM a mom who has lost a child and all the pain that comes with that incredibly painful loss has made me who I am now.
For a long time I looked for you, Will. Everywhere I went I looked for signs. I uncovered rocks and searched for butterflies and rainbows and snowflakes that sparkle in a certain way. The beautiful thing is that I’ve come to trust that I needn’t look for you because you are here all the time. All the things that are you find their way to me seemingly without effort — heart-shaped rocks at my feet, little blue butterflies on my path, the chirpiest bird outside my window, the chipmunk that just won’t stop nattering, dew drops on the grass that seem to wink at me in the morning sunlight, the twinkle of a faraway star and in the winter, those Willy white perfect snowfalls. You are everywhere. All the time.
I wake with thoughts of you and close my eyes at the end of each day knowing that you are near. The spirit world has become one where I live more often than not… and I like it there. It is in this realm that I see you, hear you and feel your presence. I have come to trust that the spirit world lives in my mind and when I’m quiet you are all abuzz. Your love, your giggle, your warmth, your silliness, your sensitivity, your crazy boyishness; all that I miss so very much is all there. Of course, there are times when I have to make myself busy, kickstart my mind, get my list-making brain chugging along because if I didn’t, Will, nothing would ever get finished. Or started for that matter.
But here’s the other cool thing. When I’m chugging along you’re there chuggin’ along right beside me. You are my little messenger, the one who guides me and who makes me live in the moment. You have taught me to open my eyes and to believe. You have shown me just how important it is to make memories and to cherish those that mean everything to me. You have taught me to give life the gusto it sometimes requires and to also just stop and let things be.
I miss you here more than anything and I’d be lying if I told you I don’t cry. There are still lots and lots of tears but that’s ok, too. Tears are a part of loss and with deep love there is deep loss and lots and lots of tears. There really are no words for what losing a child feels like here on earth. Only when I quiet my mind can my heart really feel the kind of love that lifts me up. It’s a “Willy kind of love”. A big love where you and I measure big love with big busses.
These long, lazy days of summer are full of you and in the quiet of this morning and in my mind at this moment there is abundant beauty. It will be a good day, Will, because I’m spending it with a million thoughts of you.
Love you like a bus, sweet boy.
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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The change of seasons and October always turn my focus to you. You are a constant undercurrent in my days but when the first snowfall sticks to the ground I think of you a little more than usual. And tomorrow is your birthday. Forever 12. Almost fifteen years of heavenly birthdays is a long time and as I sit in reflection and remember the day you came into our world I think about the immense joy you brought to me and at the same time I feel the constant ache of what it is like to miss you forever. The missing you part of grief is hands down the hardest part and sometimes it’s tough to not dwell in that space. You have taught me though that feeling sad is the price of love and that grief is like love upside down. I do have a choice on where I put the magnifying glass and today I am shifting it to gratitude. Gratitude for you and for all the lessons you taught me.
You taught me how to look at the little things and how to recognize that they, in fact, are the big things. I have learned that if I bulldoze through my days I miss out on all the little celebrations along the way. The smell of coffee first thing in the morning, the way the sun spills from behind the clouds on these cool, crisp days, sharing a belly laugh with a friend, conversations that spark thought and inspire me to be and do better, lazy mornings and baggy sweaters, oh, and the centre of a cinnamon bun. I am grateful for every rock or two that end up in my pockets on my way home after a walk. I am grateful for Dad and your brothers and their beautiful gals and all the times we get to spend together. I am grateful for the gift of every ordinary day and how many you and I shared. I frequently draw from all the memories of those precious ordinary days and, Willy, everything about them and you makes me smile.
One of your biggest teachings and one I am most thankful for is the importance of telling those that mean the world to me that I love them every chance I get. Sometimes we don’t get a tomorrow and I am over the moon grateful that you knew how much you were loved on the day our tomorrows stopped.
In the beauty of this October, Mother Nature has sent a gust of wind, a message to the trees to hunker down for winter, to take a last drink of whatever moisture she bequeaths them through a morning frost, some rain and inevitably a rain/snow mix. And with that gust of wind comes my appreciation for Mother Nature and her reminder that we are small and maybe not as mighty as we think we are on this spinning ball we call earth. Like you, she also has lessons to share.
Happy Heavenly Birthday tomorrow, Willy. I miss you, my forever twelve-year old boy, and I love you more than a bus full of your life lessons.
Momxo
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Happy Times… Will and his friend, NatashaTuesday, March 31, 2015
Hey Will,
I just got home from the dentist and I was there for a long time this afternoon (yuk)! It is no surprise that most people do not like dental work. This was certainly true when it came to you having to visit the dentist. Even regular cleanings and check-ups would throw you into a tailspin. The novelty of the dentist’s treasure chest full of bouncy balls, rings, green slimy sticky hands, and army men in parachutes that got all tangled up in the string wore off quicker for you than others and I remember once having to make good on a promise that I’d buy you a new Beanie Baby after a check-up.
A dental visit for you was rarely a positive experience. More than your brothers you were the one that seemed to have the most uncomfortable dental appointments in our family. When your friends were excited about wiggly teeth you were the opposite because for you it was quite possible that it meant a trip to the dentist. Your baby teeth, Will, just never wanted to come out on their own. Those little buggers might still be in there if Dr. Mike didn’t have to pull them out. Imagine your mouth full of teeth – baby ones and big ones, rows upon rows… It was difficult for me to have to take you when I knew how nervous and upset it made you but it was out of necessity that you needed to go. No mom I know would choose to put her child through that much discomfort if it wasn’t necessary. Necessary was the part that was hard for you to understand.
As I lay in the dental chair today thoughts of you and your teeth were all I could think about. I had taken my iPhone with me thinking that I’d pass the time listening to music but not once did I put in my ear buds. I couldn’t think about music when all I could think about was you. I was remembering all the times when you were small that I sat and held your little hand while you were in the chair and the couple of times when the dental assistant had to ask me to leave because occasionally it was worse when I was there. Sometimes I think it hurt me as much as it hurt you when I had to take you to the dentist. Watching you try so hard to be brave when a tear or two would fall out of your eye and down your cheek all the while knowing that the floodgates were holding back many more was heartbreaking. And most times we hadn’t even arrived at the dental office yet… sometimes we hadn’t even left home.
What I thought about the most though was how happy you must be to not have to worry about seeing the dentist anymore. Heaven knows no pain, Will, so that can only mean there are no dental visits for you up there. When I close my eyes I can see you giving me a big thumbs up for that. And I can also hear you telling me that those big slimy green hands that stuck not only to windows and mirrors, but to carpets, upholstery, and my hair were the best toys in the treasure chest.
Sure do miss you, Willy. Way, way more than you miss not seeing the dentist.
Love you like a bus,
Momxo
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