It’s been a tough couple of weeks. It’s always tough, but these two weeks have just been tougher. I know that Kathleen’s high school graduation was part of it… gosh, you knew so many of those kids and they just seem so grown up now. And that’s it. They are grown up and you, little Blue, are still 12 ½ in my mind.
When I look at your friends I think to myself, “where’d the time go?” and in the next breath it feels like eternity. I’ve said many times to many people that it seems like forever and yesterday all at once and the only thing that separates the forever and yesterday is a moment. Our good friends lost their 19 year old son 5 weeks ago and when I think of them as I often do it feels like yesterday that we were beginning the horribly sad road that they have just found themselves on. It all comes back to hit you again when you wonder if you would even have the strength to have to begin again.
Today, it feels like I’ve been on this road forever with no end in sight. 1,509 days have passed and I still wish it was all a bad dream or that you’ve been at a sleepover or at camp for 1,509 days and tomorrow maybe you’ll be back. Of course, that’s not true. No one does that. Sadly, I can’t book a trip to come and see you and I can’t put a circle around a day on the calendar that I can pick you up from the airport from a long trip. The reality is that I don’t know when I’ll see you again; I only know that one day I will be at the end of my life here on earth and you will be the first person I see on the other side. The visual I have of our sweet reunion is the most beautiful vision I hold. It is quite literally what keeps me going.
Oh, Willy. I miss you like yesterday and forever and love you like a bus on its way to there.
Momxo
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November 11, 2013
Dear Will,
Today is Remembrance Day. The day we wear a red poppy and remember all who sacrificed their lives so we can live in a country free of war. I think of the families and the sadness they have had to endure, the loss of their loved ones… fathers, sons, grandfathers, daughters, etc. and the choice they made to serve our country so we can enjoy freedom. Freedom that sometimes I think we take for granted and shouldn’t.
I think about the Remembrance Day assemblies at school and how touching and beautiful they were and continue to be. I remember when you were here and how the school assembly would sometimes bring me to tears as I watched you and your friends, and your brothers when they were still at Banded Peak, pay tribute to our Canadian soldiers. I remember explicitly how you could go from being a rambunctious, fun-loving boy who needed to be “gently” reminded at every assembly to settle down, to be quiet, to listen… to needing no reminders at the Remembrance Day assembly. How you’d sit on the gymnasium floor with your eyes and ears wide open taking in the words, the music, the message. I remember how proud I felt of you and of everyone in our school for being attentive and respectful when it was so important. This assembly is still one of my favourites, Will, as it renews my sense of faith in people, young and old, and gives me a chance to really appreciate the country we are so fortunate to call home.
You must know, Will, that at every school assembly my eyes always find their way to your school jersey (your favourite number, 8) that is framed so beautifully above the volleyball banner that the school team you were a part of won the year you were taken from us. It hangs there with the words “WillPower” above it as a tribute to you. Each time I look at it I am reminded of the good in people, of the love that is abundant in our community but also of the fragility of life. At the Remembrance Day assembly I shed a tear for all who had lost their lives fighting for freedom and I shed a tear for you knowing that you lost your life having the time of your life. Now, if that’s not an oxymoron…
I miss you, Will; all day everyday, and all the soldiers in heaven have loved ones who are missing them too. Can you do me a favour? When you see a soldier up there, please take their hand and say “thank you”. I can just imagine you up there sporting a big, red poppy today. Just like me down here. And that makes me smile.
Hugs and busses,
Momxo
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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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Boy, oh boy. Turning the calendar to not only a new month, and to not only a new year but to a new decade sure magnifies how long it’s been since my worst day ever and how much I miss you still. I know I will miss you forever, sweet boy… that is just how love works. The minute to minute, moment to moment, day to day; the ebb and flow of every sunrise and every sunset from days to weeks to months and years just seems like too much to process at times. It still surprises me that a minute can feel like forever and forever can feel like a minute. I guess that, too, is how love works.
I remember years ago (it doesn’t feel good to even say that) I used to count the days since your passing and when those days went from the hundreds into the thousands I stopped. I had to stop. Instead, I focused on all the precious moments and memories. It feels better to recount all the lovely treasured moments and memories instead of counting the days without you. Perspective. Whoa. It can sure change things. Again, staying in the beautiful moments is how love works.
Perspective is an interesting thing. It can be profound to say the least. One of my biggest enlightenments and something that has been perhaps the most helpful since your passing was when the boys offered their perspective on grief. They said, “Mom, Dad, instead of trying to figure out how to live without Will, how about figuring out how to live for him.” Two words… “FOR Will” instead of “WITHOUT Will”. What a profound difference it makes. Those words and that message changed things in such a profound and healthy way. Love is a complicated thing but living in the positive feels so much better than living in the negative. It doesn’t change that you’re still not here, but it sure changes how I choose to live and honour you every minute, moment, day, week, month and year. That, my sweet boy, is also how love works.
I read recently a post that a grieving mom made after losing her young son – a boy just a little older than you – and her message resonated so deeply within me. She talked about perspective… how the little things in life outweigh the big things. She said:
“You arrive one day at a place and look back on your life and realize that the little things in your life, weren’t so little after all. They were big things. Those random moments spent talking while you make supper or swinging on the back porch in the late afternoon, talking while you went down to pick up the mail, those “little” conversations after school, those “little” messes, those “little” texts, those “little” goodnights shouted across the hall…. those are not so little to someone who is missing the person whose time on this earth was…. too little.
Losing someone you love instills great perspective when you allow it to. Appreciate the “little” moments with your loved ones, because one day, you may find those moments were not so little after all.”
Perspective IS everything. Love works in such magical ways if your heart is open. Good things will come if you let love in. The reason I miss you so much, Will, is because I loved you so deeply. Grief is love upside down and yet still it all comes back to love.
You continue to be my compass, Will. My barometer for all things good and pure. You are the light in my darkest days, the hand I hold when I’m scared. To smile and cry in the same breath is love. It’s you. It’s “for” instead of “without”, it’s a whole lot of little things instead of a handful of big things, it’s being better instead of bitter.
I love you, sweet Will. I always did and I always will. More than and bigger than a million little buses. You and I both know that’s how love works.
Momxo
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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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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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Will’s Friends Ride For Will!
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Dear Will,
On Saturday, your Third Annual Ride For Will was held here in the community that was (and still is) your home. It was a beautiful day sandwiched between two rainy ones and my fingers were crossed, hopeful that you’d help out by keeping the rain away…. In the back of my mind I was preparing for a ten minute down pour at some point during the event, your signature “gotcha!” way of wanting to always have the last word, and in the end I was thrilled that you waited until we were safe inside.
Three years and three rides have yielded almost $150,000 to your Foundation and I am still awestruck at what happens on this day each June that we call The Ride For Will. People, young and old, show up with smiles and pledges, with hugs and support, not only to benefit your Foundation, but to honor you and show their support for Dad and I and your brothers. It is a memorable and most beautiful bittersweet day that renews our hope that you will never be forgotten. To me, there is something timeless about a bike. The simple pleasure it provides and the freedom it symbolizes is a right of passage in our neck of the woods for each and every child that grows up in this community. I will always remember the excitement that precluded any bike ride into Bragg Creek for icecream or candy and when you and your friends could do it without an adult ride-a-long, quite frankly, you’d hit the big time. Now, Will, your friends are driving to the city in their cars instead of packing their pockets with loose change to buy candy and icecream and that alone is difficult to accept at times. The passing of time is indeed a tough pill to swallow and I am quite sure it always will be.
What is magical about your Ride is that your friends and people who didn’t have the chance to know you show up with their bikes, adorned with WillPower bands, and I Ride For Will stickers on their helmets and bikes. They ride and stop at the refreshment stations and fill up on free candy and freeze pops, pedal to the school and back passing all of the familiar landmarks that were second nature to you. When I see your buddies on their bikes they magically become twelve again and though you aren’t there, YOU ARE. I am hopeful that you will always be with them in some way. Whenever I see a boy on a bike, I am immediately thrown back into the many memories of you ripping out of the cul-de-sac with your pant leg tucked in your sock (if you weren’t wearing shorts!) in a hurry to meet a friend or two at the bike jumps or the soccer field or at a friend’s house to play. Those were the gifts of an ordinary day growing up here and memories that I will always treasure.
The Apres Ride BBQ and Silent Auction/Raffles that follow your Ride are amazing too. The love and support that shows up at our community Redwood House in burgers and icecream, in items donated for people to bid on and the lure of a raffle item is also magical. The entire day is beyond anything that I can describe and when I think back to three years ago how a few friends suggested and asked if they could organize a family bike ride for us in your memory I am overwhelmed at how it all started and how it has evolved and how it has continued…
It is no secret that you are in my thoughts every minute of every day, Will. My days begin and end with you and on Saturday, June 14th it was evident that you were on the minds of many who were there to support and remember and celebrate your life cut short. I know you were looking down on all of us with your big Willy smile and bluer than blue eyes. Since your tragic passing, it has always been our hope that something good could be born of something so tragic. There is healing for us knowing that in your memory what began as the simple pleasure of a bike ride has grown and taken on an identity of its own. The Annual Ride For Will allows us through your Foundation to make a difference in the world and that just feels right and feels good.
Now as I bask in the afterglow of Saturday’s Ride For YOU my heart feels a little lighter and oh, so full. You, little Blue, are quite a boy.
Love you like a bus on a bike, (and only you could make sense of that!)
Momxo
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0 Comments
Hello to my friend, how can it possibly be high school graduation time for Will and where does the time go? I can see the man face showing in this picture of Will with Kathleen, maybe because I didn’t see him frequently, the last couple of years he was here.
You don’t need me to remind you that you and your family should take some solace in the good work you have done over the last 1509 days. You have not sat with your head in your hands, rather, You have helped many through the Will Power foundation and you have also helped many people deal with horrific loss in their lives. You may even have helped more of us deal with future losses we will all experience. As always, my heart goes out to you when I read this letter though I find instead of a sad start to my day, one of your letters read first thing with my coffee makes a more thoughtful start to my day, and that is a good thing.
Thank you for your words, Lori. They have made me smile as I drink my morning coffee! Am trying to see the positive in everyday even when I’m feeling down. Honoring Will through his Foundation has been an amazing venture. It is a place to put our energy and our love and through that help others. It keeps his memory in front of us instead of behind where some may forget the boy who will always be a part of me. Man oh man, I miss you Lor. I want to catch up as soon as I get home from Maui at the end of the month! Again, thanks. I’m still smiling…
Beautifully written Joni. You are the strongest and most amazing person I know. I look up to you in every way. I know that each day is a challenge for you but still your ability to help others through your letters, your Pajama program, Will’s foundation and mostly just being there when someone needs you is incredible. I’m honored to call you my very best friend. Loads of love and hugs, always, M.
Mary, I don’t know where I’d be without you. You are the safe place I need when I falter and the soft place I need when I fall. Murray is grateful for you too cause he’s glad you’re there for me too. It’s difficult for him to hold me up when he is struggling to hold himself up. I am lucky to have you. And oh so grateful. You are the best Thelma in the world!!
Hi.Joni I don,t know if you got my first message, your letter to your little boy was just so beautiful. My many thoughts are with you. Along time friend Evelyn.
Hello Evelyn! Thank you for your note. It’s been a long time but of course I remember you. How could one forget the many, many figure skating costumes, etc. Those were fun times alright. Hope you are well “my longtime skating Mom”! XO
Hello to my friend, how can it possibly be high school graduation time for Will and where does the time go? I can see the man face showing in this picture of Will with Kathleen, maybe because I didn’t see him frequently, the last couple of years he was here.
You don’t need me to remind you that you and your family should take some solace in the good work you have done over the last 1509 days. You have not sat with your head in your hands, rather, You have helped many through the Will Power foundation and you have also helped many people deal with horrific loss in their lives. You may even have helped more of us deal with future losses we will all experience. As always, my heart goes out to you when I read this letter though I find instead of a sad start to my day, one of your letters read first thing with my coffee makes a more thoughtful start to my day, and that is a good thing.
Thank you for your words, Lori. They have made me smile as I drink my morning coffee! Am trying to see the positive in everyday even when I’m feeling down. Honoring Will through his Foundation has been an amazing venture. It is a place to put our energy and our love and through that help others. It keeps his memory in front of us instead of behind where some may forget the boy who will always be a part of me. Man oh man, I miss you Lor. I want to catch up as soon as I get home from Maui at the end of the month! Again, thanks. I’m still smiling…
Beautifully written Joni. You are the strongest and most amazing person I know. I look up to you in every way. I know that each day is a challenge for you but still your ability to help others through your letters, your Pajama program, Will’s foundation and mostly just being there when someone needs you is incredible. I’m honored to call you my very best friend. Loads of love and hugs, always, M.
Mary, I don’t know where I’d be without you. You are the safe place I need when I falter and the soft place I need when I fall. Murray is grateful for you too cause he’s glad you’re there for me too. It’s difficult for him to hold me up when he is struggling to hold himself up. I am lucky to have you. And oh so grateful. You are the best Thelma in the world!!
Hi.Joni I don,t know if you got my first message, your letter to your little boy was just so beautiful. My many thoughts are with you. Along time friend Evelyn.
Hello Evelyn! Thank you for your note. It’s been a long time but of course I remember you. How could one forget the many, many figure skating costumes, etc. Those were fun times alright. Hope you are well “my longtime skating Mom”! XO