will-billy-048

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

 

Hey Will,

 

This morning I woke and as I lay in my bed, the first thing I did was turn over my pillow… to the cold side.  I smiled to myself remembering that this was one of your favourite things in the world…. Ahhh, the cold side of a pillow.  True, for me as well, though it was always an unspoken thing.  Now, whenever I flip over my pillow I always think of you and the beauty of that small pleasure.

 

Hope the pillows in your new world are perfect… I’ll bet they are except for one thing… I wish you were sleeping in your bed here at home, your sweet head full of hair on your favourite pillow here… where it should be.

 

Love you little sun,

 

Momxo

My beautiful boy

 

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

Will and I at the park

 

 

Saturday, September 24, 2011 (4 months, 1 day)

 

Good morning, WillBilly,

 

This morning I woke early and went and crawled into your bed.  It feels so … here I go again, bittersweet, to lie under your duvet and as I write this it occurs to me that all of my days seem to be measured by the number of “bittersweets” that it holds.  Your room is a precious time capsule; everything preserved; your things placed just as you’d put them on May 22nd.  Of course, I picked up the towel that you’d “placed” on your floor along with the dirty t-shirt and shorts that to this day I still can’t throw down the laundry chute.  It’s not the right time yet and so they hang on your wall hooks; reminders of that day that started out so “ordinary”.  The only thing moving are the blades on your ceiling fan and the up and down of my chest inhaling and exhaling and the tears that are spilling from heart, through my eyes and down my cheeks.  I ran my hand through my hair and thought that your hair would have felt the same.  And I wish more than anything that you were laying beside me and that we were reading a book together, taking turns reading out loud – you a page, me a page, (you looking ahead to see who’d get the shorter pages) like we used to.

 

Your bedroom, one of your favourite places (and still one of mine), is sacred to us, just as it was for you.  It is a room full of WILL, full of you in every nook and cranny from the posters and pictures on the wall to all your things on the desk and makeshift night table, to your favourite stuffies lined up on top of your armoire, to the shelving unit that holds your sticker box, your ski helmet, your gloves and mitts, your ribbons, and trophies and medals and on and on.  Your book report, completed the day of your accident still sits on your desk ready to have been handed in on the Tuesday after the long weekend.  Those reminders are sad and difficult to look at and at the same time they remind me of the fragility of life, of how you can be here one minute and gone the next.  It reminds me that life should be enjoyed moment to moment and so I try.  But for now I cannot get out of your bed, I cannot put one foot in front of the other and so now I am sitting, propped up on your four fluffy pillows with my laptop on my lap writing you this letter; my daily love letter; my time with you.  The chores I had planned, the yard work, the laundry, all can wait.  … For right now I will live in this moment with you.

 

I miss you Will.  More than anything and everything.  And, so let’s just sit for a while longer, here in your bed… just you and me.

 

Love you like a bus,

 

Momxo