The first time I heard it was when Rock was away at work. It was an unbelievable scream full of fear. It was 4am. I was in a deep sleep when the screams and cries vaulted me from bed. Pebs was in his crib across the room from me. I ran to him. He was laying in his crib. His arms and legs spread out as if he was falling. His eyes were all the way opened, looking up to the ceiling but in a blank stare. I picked him up, but instead of him naturally embracing my hold, his arms and legs stayed opened as if he was falling. I tried to hug him, but his body was stiff. I began to rock him and tried to calm him down. He kept screaming. He kept crying. I felt helpless. I was lovingly trying my best to comfort him, to let him know mama was there, but his night terror wasn’t stopping. It lasted for maybe a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity. When he had finished screaming, his crying was mixed with heavy breathing, some gasps as if the fear was still lingering in his thoughts. He was crying and gasping as I held him, rocked him, and comforted him. I squeezed his little toddler body until his breathing slowed down and became somewhat normal. I pulled him away and looked at his swollen eyes from all the crying. I asked him if he was okay, but he just fell back into my arms ready to fall back asleep. How I wish he could’ve talked to me about his nightmare.
The night terrors started after he turned one. They weren’t very often but usually when Rock wasn’t home. It was frightening to see my baby boy in such fear. I tried to explain how scary it was to Rock, but he couldn’t understand why I couldn’t calm him down. One day, he was finally home when it happened. He was able to see the fear, the true terror in Peb’s eyes. I could see how it affected him seeing his son and being so helpless. He understood what I had been going through. He realized there was nothing at that moment that we could do to help Pebs. I saw the fear in Rock’s eyes when he saw Pebs, his little arms spread out, his back arched, his eyes looking straight up with nothing but straight fear in his eyes, his screams full of dread.
These episodes didn’t just happen in the middle of the night. There were a few times we were in the car and ‘he’d wake up in his car seat in complete horror. I would have to sing, speak to him calmly, until he was out of the nightmare he was experiencing. He would always need a few seconds to catch his breath, calm down, and then, he’d fall back asleep. I discussed it with his pediatrician, but she assured us that they were just night terrors and he’d “grow” out of them. I’m sure you know by now, that’s not what I believed, and he didn’t “grow” out of the nightmares.
Looking back at these episodes, it’s hard not to think about how much he knew or felt. Was this a revelation of what was to come? I know it sounds silly or torturous in a way, but I also had a dream of Pebs passing away in my arms the Friday before the tragedy so it’s not unbelievable to think this could be a possibility. It is hard to imagine this happening to a baby, toddler per say, but if you had experienced just a tad bit of what I went through, this wouldn’t be hard to believe. I know God was with my Pebs when he left this Earth and went to Heaven. I imagine him being welcomed by so many loved ones, Angels, and Jesus! I can imagine them embracing him, loving on him, and all of it making sense all in one touch. But for my human mind and heart, it’s hard to understand the why behind it all. Why did my Pebs have to hurt, to fear? Why did he have to experience that type of nightmare? Did he dream of his fate before it happened? Did he know what was going to happen? So many questions unanswered, and it could drive me insane if I constantly dwell on them because the answers I’m seeking can’t be answered here on Earth.
I know what I experienced with my son. As a mom, we know our kids better than they know themselves. I know Pebs wasn’t just having a nightmare. I saw the terror in his eyes, the fear in his screams, the agony of trying to breathe when it had finally passed. I know what I saw and what he felt. It was real. It was scary. Do I know exactly what it was? Will I ever be able to prove it? Only God and Pebs know, and I’m sure when I see them in Heaven, it will all make sense. I won’t even have to ask. It will all be known. Writing about this was hard. It was another reality that tears me apart. It was part of our nightmare. I write about it for others. I write for Pebs. I write his story so that I never forget. I write because that’s what I feel led to do. I pray that it reaches those that it’s meant to reach.
“As for inflicting our sorrow on other people, one does not want to go around blathering and crying all the time. But perhaps it is our gift to others to trust them enough to share our feelings with them. It may help them deal with some of their own.”
Martha W. Hickman
“I am not mad; I would to heaven, I were, For then, ’tis like I should forget myself. O, If I could, what grief should I forget!”
William Shakespeare
Grief has indeed pushed men and women over the edge into insanity. Sometimes we may have felt this way ourselves.
I have the responsibility-and the power-to keep my life moving. -Martha W. Hickman
The first few days, weeks, and months after a tragic loss, there are loved ones surrounding you. They help keep you going. They bring food, help clean your house, feed your animals, take kids to school and sport functions. They keep you company, hear your stories of the one that just passed away, and bring some solace and comfort during the cloudy, foggy days. However, they, too, have a life they have to get back to and you are left with trying to figure out your new “normal.” When the house begins to be less chatty and silence over comes it, fear and pain grip at your inner soul. How will I live? How can I do this life? You understand that people can’t stay in your home forever, and yet, a big part of you wishes life never keeps moving forward. In a way, you desire this “stand still” of a life rather than it keep moving. Oh, if only there was a way to stop time or even turn it back to when we had our loved ones with us. But reality has set in and you now are required to keep moving with it. You can’t stop time. You can’t reverse it. You have to keep moving. We feel immobilized, at first, but slowly and clumsily, we take our first few steps into this moving new life. You find places and groups that understand your grief. Grief support groups, church, maybe new artistic ventures are all areas where you can share your loved one and keep their memory alive while doing the unavoidable task of moving forward. Living without your loved one seems impossible, almost unfair, but choosing to move isn’t a betrayal to your loved one. It is a necessity for your loved ones that are still present on this Earth to see and experience a different “you.”
“To keep a lamp burning we have to keep putting oil in it.” -Mother Teresa
How will you keep your lamp burning? We need to find healthy, positive sources of energy, love, comfort, strength, and peace. Everyone will have different avenues, but the important thing is to keep fueling your lamp, to keep moving forward. You will never know where it will lead you. Just keep moving. Just Go, Go, Go!
The moment we left the hospital, I left a part of my soul there with my Pebs. I would never be the same person that I once was. I was now a mother who had lost a child. The pain indescribable, unimaginable, unspeakable. My heart was broken into a million pieces. I had no desire to live, to continue. I had never felt rage, sadness, emptiness, and still love all at the same time. I wanted someone to come and make everything normal again. I just wanted to wake up from the nightmare, from this horrible reality.
All of my family and friends worried about me. I could see it in the way they looked at me, hugged me, and talked to me. They saw me when I was losing my mind in agony. I had walked, practically crawled to the place of the tragedy, the place where Rocky had handed me my baby boy’s body. I screamed as I tried to go inside the septic tank. I yelled, wailed, and laid there in pain trying to understand my life. I was surrounded by loved ones, but all I wanted was to go crazy and lose my mind alone. I realized the importance of their presence. Without them, I would’ve entered that hole and allow myself to go in that dark place of death. I felt their loving hands on my back, caressing my head, feeling their touch as they sat their next to my soulless body. I had no desire to live, and my loved ones knew that, and knew the importance of their presence. They tried to get me to stand up, to go back inside, to sit me up but without success. I was not myself. All of the emotions I had controlled during the time we were looking for Pebs, trying to stay calm and collected, had poured out viciously at that very moment. I felt like I had lost my mind. I was screaming, crying in pain. A crying scream from a mother who lost their child is an unforgettable sound. One will know once you hear it, the pain, the hurt in that scream.
Rocky had to come pry me away from the “place.” I yelled at him to put me down, insisted he let me stand up. With tears in his eyes, he set me down. With our loved ones standing around, some with tears in their eyes as well, we just held each other as we wept in pain. What were we going to do? How were we going to move on? My screams were mixed with cries, questions, angry words, and the name of my son. My Pebs. It was a moment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It was night time during this particular, terrible moment. When we finally released each other’s embrace, I looked into Rocky’s eyes. Same eyes that I had. Lost. So lost. There wasn’t much to say right there. Not much you can say when you are filled with extreme pain, but as our friends and family went back inside, Rock and I slowly started to catch our breaths and clear our minds a little bit. As we wiped tears from our swollen faces, we looked up at the clear, star-filled sky. I leaned into his chest as we stood there staring up. I was talking to God, angrily. Nothing pleasant was in my thoughts at that moment, just anger, rage, devastation. We stood there, leaning on each other, slowly calming down, hearing each other’s breathing and looking up at the night sky. We weren’t speaking, just slowly crying and trying to somehow grasp the reality of our life. As we stared at the black, clear night sky, a shooting star flew over us. It was in an instant that it happened. So sudden and quick, but we had both seen it. I felt Rocky squeeze my arm as it dissipated from sight. We allowed the soundless tears just to stream down our faces again. Somehow, to us, that was a sign from our Heavenly Father that He was holding us up.
Rocky said almost in a whisper, “we are going to be ok.” We had to be ok. We had Amee and she needed and deserved both parents sane, healthy, and happy. She deserved a “normal” life. Someway, somehow I had to get it together for my daughter. She still needed her parents. She didn’t ask for her brother to pass away. She wanted her life to be filled with laughter, love, joy, just like before this tragedy, and I needed to find a way to give that to her. But, how? How could I when I was so broken? I had to grieve and heal for her. And at that moment when we saw the shooting star, I knew that God was going to be with us in this new life we were about to discover. A new normal.
During my healing, I had several of my “episodes.” Many were in the shower where I was alone and vulnerable. I had a few at the pond where I would spend every day reminiscing and talking to Pebs and God. One evening, I was at the pond. The night was cool and getting cooler as I sat there at the edge of the bridge. My tears started flowing, the grief of wave was about to hit. In an instant, I was laying on the bridge in a fetal position in pain, wanting it all to end. I had my depressing thoughts that filled my mind. What if I just slowly allow myself to drift into this water? I want to feel my heart stop beating, just like my Peb’s. I want to feel my body shut down, and just let it all go. My thoughts were selfish but real. I just laid there thinking I could end it all right here, and maybe finally see him again. But I heard a voice in the distance, very faint calling “mom, mom, mama.” I sat up, wet from the pond waters. I looked around thinking I would see Amee from the house, maybe she was looking for me. There was no one. As I pulled myself out from the waters, onto the bridge with the tears rolling down my cheeks, I sat at the edge looking up. I heard the voice calling for mama. That’s what I was. I was still a mom. My daughter. My Amee. She was inside while I was thinking of leaving her. How selfish of me. I let the agonizing pain out in screams, in cries, in shrieks. I was disappointed in myself. How could I do that to my daughter? I was ashamed, and grateful that the voice reminded me of my purpose. It was time to get up.
It is true that our children save us. Amee saved me in more ways than one. The episodes still exist. The pain doesn’t go away. Every time I write, I cry. Sometimes, I have to stop and compose myself before I continue. It’s hard reliving those moments. It’s a very scary, painful place I have to return to, but it’s also a part of who I am now. I lost my son. My daughter lost her brother. My husband lost his boy. It’s a reality. Many that don’t know our story, see us and would never know about Pebs. For me, it’s important and necessary to write. Writing my story keeps Pebs and the memory of Pebs alive, and may bring hope to those that may have a similar situation. His life meant so much more than just 21 months. He was meant for so much more than just his life on Earth. It’s beyond those few months. As a mom, I will use the gifts and talents that God has given me to tell his story and ours. It is for a reason. It has a purpose. I pray it will be enough for Him. I pray it reaches those that need it.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.”
“Whoever survives a test, whatever it may be, must tell the story. That is his duty.”
Ellie Wiesel
September 26, 2017 started the beginning of a new “normal” for our family. The sun rose without any remorse that my son was no longer with us. It cared not that we hadn’t slept, that we had spent hours and hours weeping, sobbing, begging, pleading, praying for a miracle with no avail. I have no recollection of where I laid my head down that night. We arrived from the hospital after midnight. I remember collapsing on my couch surrounded by my mom and other family members. My mother, a stronger woman than I could ever be, made the complicated tasks of calling loved ones that hadn’t heard the tragic news. I rested my swollen, drenched eyes on the couch’s pillow. I don’t recall much after that moment. Everything after that comes in vague, obscure pictures. Zombie-like is a what I use to describe myself in those days after the tragedy. The pain makes it near impossible to function rationally, much less think clearly. But death has a funny way of showing apathy towards your feelings. Arrangements still had to be made for my baby boy. I had to plan a funeral.
That day, which was a Tuesday, CPS came to visit. Anytime a child dies, it is protocol to do an investigation. Three employees from CPS talked to me and asked me what had happened the day before. I retold my story. I talked about the events leading up to his disappearance. I recalled the moment we found him. The tears never stopped. The pain in my chest must’ve been felt by all those listening because tears were being wiped away from their faces. I remember hating every bit of that situation. Telling the story of my son no longer being on this earth just made it all too real. I wanted to wake up from the nightmare, not relive it by having to explain what had happened. They wanted to speak to other members of the family that were there especially to Amee, my 7 year old daughter. They gave me their card and asked, “demanded,” that we take her to their facility for a personal interview. I agreed at that moment. I just wanted them to go away. Our family members from Freer had arrived during their interview and all I needed was to be held by them. CPS gave me their condolences, their business card, and said they would keep in touch. I immediately went to grandma and fell into her petite body for a full embrace. I crumbled into a million pieces all over again. I thought I was being strong for her while she wept in my arms, but she was the one holding me up.
I spent most of those days outside, wandering, weeping, and praying it was all a nightmare. I spent many hours in the pond, where my Pebs and I would frequent during our days together. My sister, with the help of my cousins and close friends, had the arduous task of finding a funeral home for our Pebs. I never even had thought about it. The first time I even heard of planning the funeral was when my sister asked me where I wanted him buried. I have no idea of the day we had a discussion about it, but one thing I was adamant about, was that I didn’t want my son buried in a cemetery where I had to drive and visit. I wanted, needed him with me. I was going to get him cremated. I wanted to place his ashes in my home. I was going to have some of his ashes placed in necklaces for me and many of our family members. I’m so grateful that no one questioned my decision. It didn’t feel right to have him buried with strangers where I could only visit him. My brain couldn’t make rational choices at that time, but i was unwavering about having him cremated. My sister began the unbearable duty of calling around for cremation and funeral services. We settled for Clayton Funeral services and went for a visit 3 days after my Pebs left this earth.
My parents, Rock, and my sister were all present as we made decisions about his casket, the different fees, colors, etcetera, etcetera. All I cared about was what necklace options did they have to carry his ashes. It was torturous sitting in that room, talking to the funeral director about how I “wanted” my son funeral service. I DIDN’T WANT ANY OF IT!!! I wanted to wake up from the nightmare. I wanted my Pebs back! I wanted him in my arms. I wanted to see him run, jump, clap, sing, dance, point, smile, laugh, cry, and be alive! I hated it. Every minute of it. And still, we had to make decisions. We had to give them a payment. We had to face the painful reality.
I chose a heart cremation pendant for our family and friends, a baseball one for Rocky, and a moon-shaped one for myself. I was trying to think of a way to show my gratitude to all those who were trying desperately to help us. This was my way of thanking them. I couldn’t buy everyone one, but I tried to give to as many as we could. I knew many, many of our family and friends loved my little boy. I needed to share him. I wanted to try and heal their hearts as well. I wasn’t the only one hurting.
We had so many people help plan for this depressing day. One of our friends made us green shirts with our Pebs face in the front and a beautiful quote on the back. Someone else made us green Pebble bracelets for all to wear. My aunt from down south had photo bins made with my Pebs face and dates. We had our softball family start a gofundme to help raise money for the funeral expenses. It was unbelievable how many people came together to help us survive this awful reality. We had my cousin help with producing a video of my sweet boy. This was nearly impossible for Rock and I to successfully complete without dying inside. Thankfully, we had loved ones that came to the rescue. All the while, I just survived. I wasn’t living. Life, as I had known it, was over. I was going to have to be reborn and live a new life without him. I wasn’t ready to move on. I didn’t have the strength. I hadn’t accepted the truth. I wasn’t ready. So, I just lived. I was on autopilot. I was dead inside but alive for others to see.
One of the pastors from our church directed the service. He had came earlier in the week to speak to Rock and me. He wanted to get to know us a bit better, to get to know more of Pebs, and to pray with us for strength, healing, and peace. Pastor Billy did an amazing job or that’s what I was told. I don’t remember the actual service. They said it was standing room only. That many couldn’t come inside because it was packed from wall to wall. We had one of our friends purchase pigeons to be released for the service, so we walked outside for this special moment. Loved ones were able to release the pigeons while a beautiful song was playing in the background, or so I was told. We walked back inside and have no idea what we said or how it ended but they told me I didn’t want to leave his casket. I was over him, crying, sobbing, unwilling to leave him.
After the service, we had a gathering at the house. We had food, drinks, and releasing of balloons in memory of our sweet boy. The house was packed with cars parked in the front and the back of the house. We had so many people there, supporting us, hugging us, and giving us their love and encourage us to keep moving. Again, a loved one went out of their way to purchase all the balloons and have them ready for this special moment. I have no idea how any of this could of been possible without our great circle of loved ones. I said some words before the release. I don’t know what I said. I’m sure it’s written down in all of my Pebble writings. I wanted to let all of them know, everyone that had traveled for hundred of miles or just a few, that our family will forever be grateful for their support, for their presence, and for their love for my Pebs. Once everyone had a balloon and wrote a sweet note on it, we released them together. The one thing that I had asked was to say “go, go, go” when we let them go. His favorite little phrase that he loved to say. We all said, “go, go, go” in unison as the balloons lifted higher and higher to the sky. The moon being present at the release of the balloons before dusk made it all more emotional yet so perfect in a melancholic but beautiful way. I really missed my son. I would’ve rather had him running in the yard, jumping for the moon instead of a house packed full of loved ones celebrating his life. I would’ve preferred seeing his angelic smile rather than our loved ones tears. My heart ached. It was shattered. Broken. I wanted to be lifted with those balloons. I wanted to leave this earth with them, float away and never feel pain again.
My Pebble shirt from this day is dingy, faded from all the times I’ve worn it and washed it. I’ve made others with a new logo that a sweet friend made for us in memory of our baby boy. The presents, gifts, cards, and intangible objects given to us on this day, before, and after we lost Pebs is impossible to describe. Regardless if I can remember them or not, I know they were a piece of the puzzle that helped us keep moving, to keep trying to “go, go, go.” Every time we had someone send us a message, a card, dinner, a smile, a surprise visit, a hug, a walk in the park, a book, a prayer, a plant, a bracelet, a loving word it gave us a tad bit of strength to take another step forward. Planning my son’s funeral, making decisions during a time that thinking isn’t even an option was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. The service was beautiful because of our loved ones. It was successful because of all of those that were in our lives to help get it done, all those that cared for us. I will be forever grateful for them. We are blessed with such amazing, loving, kind, awesome family and friends.
December 2017 with Amee at her school celebrating Christmas. I had cried every day since I lost my Pebs.
Life didn’t stop just because of my aching heart. The funeral was the first step of acceptance. Many emotions followed from that moment. It wasn’t closure. It was facing reality. It was accepting a truth that was so painful, so awful, so agonizing. The funeral only caused my broken heart to shatter even more, but it allowed the mending to begin. Slowly. Painfully. Tearfully. My son wanted me to go, go, go and that’s what I was planning to do. I had no other choice. I had no other options. I would move forward one day at a time. I would go, go, go.
“Those that sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them. “
Psalm 126:5-6
“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
The day my life changed. It has a date. The day that I always try to forget and avoid. September 25, 2017 was the day my son left this Earth and joined our Heavenly Father. The day I wish we could redo, go back to and make so many different choices. This day happened to be a Monday. It was the previous Friday that I had the terrible dream of losing Pebs. I dreamt of him dying from a fall. I dreamt him go limp in my arms. I dreamt of him being gone. Then, the awful reality happened.
Sleeping, peacefully my sweet boy.
Monday, September 25, 2017 was just another regular Monday. I woke up around 6:45 in the morning. Clumsily, I walked down the stairs to wake up Amoree for school. Rock was home which meant Pebs was going to be allowed to sleep in. On the days that Rocky was at work, I’d wake up Pebs and take him with us to drop off Amee at school. This day, he just rolled over onto his daddy’s side of the bed and continued his restful sleep. Amee and I left for school around 7:45. I don’t remember our conversation that morning, but I know we prayed for the Holy Spirit to surround us with His presence and to help us along the day. Her school isn’t far from our house, however, it took me about half an hour to get back home after battling the morning commuters. When I arrived home, my sweet Pebs and Rocky were already awake, playing, wrestling, giggling, and being boys. We had a full day ahead of us, thanks to Rock’s busy schedule. I made my boys some breakfast and fed Pebs in his high chair. Never in my wildest dreams would I had known that would’ve been his last time to eat in that place. Some of my most precious memories with him were made in that high chair feeding him. Those were some lovable moments. He would scoot his high chair towards me, pat it so I could sit him down, and give me his big, huge smile when I would lift him up to sit him down. I loved seeing his beautiful, brown eyes light up when I would do the airplane sound to feed him some “papa.” or food. We had some great, special moments in the kitchen with his high chair. Thank you for those, my sweet boy. After breakfast, we had some time to clean the house while Rocky was working outside in the yard. Pebble loved being with me, but when Rocky was home, he was his little shadow. Anytime Rock was outside, that’s where Pebs wanted to be. I remember almost forcing him inside a few times to change his dirty diaper or to get him his “agua.” or water. As soon as I’d change him or hydrate him, he’d hurry back outside. I’d open the front door for him and walk him over to where Rocky was so he’d know Pebble was outside with him.
We had to take one of our vehicles to the shop. I followed Rocky in the vehicle while he drove his truck. Pebs, of course, rode with Rocky. He had Elmo on in the truck video screen which was his favorite show at that time. We stopped at a gas station to get gas and some snacks. I captured a picture of the vehicles we were taking to get worked on. One of the few pictures I took that day. I didn’t know what impelled me to take a picture of the vehicles, but it helped me remember the day as I scrolled through my photos after the tragedy. In a way, I needed those pictures to refresh my memory of that terrible, unforgiving day.
When we arrived at the mechanic shop, Pebble was asleep taking his afternoon nap. We dropped off the vehicle that I was driving and climbed in the truck with Pebs while Rocky talked business with the mechanic. I had jumped in the truck in such a hurry, I had forgotten his diaper bag in the vehicle we dropped off. Little did I know, the next time I’d see that bag would be when my Pebs had already passed. It shattered my heart having to hold his bag, with his diapers, snacks, and his balls.
On the way home, my papasito woke up very peacefully and happily. I remember turning around and seeing his sweet face with his big smile. He was just giggling watching his Elmo. We arrived home with about an hour to spare before I had to get Amee from school. I remember being so sore from the day before. If you remember my previous posts, I had played softball the previous day, and my body was feeling every bit of it. I just wanted to lay down for a few minutes before I had to get Amee. My boys had other plans. I laid down on my bedroom’s floor, Rocky was laying on the bed, and Pebs was bouncing on my back and doing forward rolls all over me. Rocky was laughing hysterically because we had never seen Pebs do a forward roll before, and Pebble thought it was pretty cool to see his dada laughing which encouraged his somersaults and wrestling talents even more. I just laid there, hurting, sore, but extremely happy. I felt this euphoria of love in that moment. Unexplainable but unforgettable. I was in a wonderful, joyful mood that entire day. It was 3:00 PM. It was time for me to get Amoree. Two hours away from losing my son.
I asked Rocky if he wanted me to take Pebble or leave him. He told me to leave him. He was going to be doing some work in the garage. We had two of our close friends helping Rocky with yard work. I quickly left to the school while Pebble and Rocky walked toward the garage. I still picture Pebs shadowing his dada. He loved being in his presence, just as much as he loved being in my arms. I returned home around 4, one hour left from losing my son. I was in a hurry to fix Amee’s lunch for the next day, get her started on her homework, and prepare a snack for her before her second day of volleyball practice that would start at 6 p.m. that afternoon. Once I prepared her a snack and made her lunch, I finished some small tasks that I had pending before we had to leave to volleyball practice. I needed to measure my neighbor’s piano across the street that was placed in their garage because they had offered to give it to us. However, I needed to make sure I had room in the living room for it therefore, needed the measurements. I walked across the street with my measuring tape and proceeded to measure this piano that would soon be in our living room. As I walked back home, I saw my sweet Pebs, playing in our front yard. Sometimes, he climbed up the steps of our front porch, and other times, he was running from the steps to the front yard. He was being a boy and loving his play time. Every time I approached him or came close to him, I’d grab him and gave him a kiss. I had this sweet voice I always made when I talked to him. It was my special mama voice just for my baby.
The last time I saw him alive, he was standing on the bottom of the front porch, and I was walking inside the house. He turned to look at me, and I asked him if he wanted to come inside. He shook his head no. I turned to look towards Rock who was standing by the garage. I can still see him shake his head, smiling as I close the door behind me. It was 5:11 PM.
The choice that I made was to close the door with him outside. It tormented me for years. Why didn’t I just bring him inside? Why didn’t I let Rocky know he was going to stay outside? Why did I close the door? Why? Why? Why?
I walked back outside at 5:17 PM with Amee. Six minutes. He wasn’t standing in the last place that I had left him. He wasn’t there. We were headed to volleyball practice. Rocky was by the garage. The first thing that came out of my mouth was asking for Pebs. His response, immediately was, “He was just right here.” Crazy how panic mode doesn’t really set in right away. I’m a pretty calm person in dramatic situations. I was a lifeguard for years, a competitive cheer coach for even more years, and have seen my share of trauma, and I’m not one to think the worst in these type of situations. I would’ve never in my whole entire life imagined what was about to enfold. For the next 10 minutes, Rocky, Amee, our two friends, and myself searched for Pebs. Not frantically at first, but nervously. He never was lost, never out of our sight for this long. We always knew where he was. This was much different. I ran inside the house a couple times. I checked in every closet, in the dryer, under spaces. I remember the knot in my throat and chest building as the moments ticked by. The guys were searching outside in every crevice, under the house, in the treehouse. We have a huge pond in our backyard. Pebs would spend hours by the pond (not alone) throwing rocks into it. So naturally, that was one of the first places we checked. When he wasn’t there, we searched the outside and the inside of our house high and low. Twenty minutes passed by, and I had to make the phone call I never thought I’d ever make. I dialed 911. I didn’t even know what to say. I don’t even remember what I said. I know I was outside walking to the front of the house from the backyard. I thought maybe he had gone back to my neighbor’s house after he saw me measuring the piano. We hadn’t checked there so it was worth a shot. The dispatcher was very rude and accusatory, I felt. She asked me questions that I didn’t see the logic in at the time. All I wanted was for her to hurry up and get the police to my house. It’s surprising how your mind can remember certain things and forgets other incidents. I can’t remember if I spoke to female or male dispatcher or what was said, but I know it was the longest phone call of my life. The police arrived in minutes. I had called my neighbor, my sister, and my other neighbor. It had been 40 min since the last time I saw my son. It was like a nightmare. I felt I would wake up any minute. I made the next worst phone call. I had to call my dad. Peb’s guelo. His whole world. Dad must’ve heard the panic in my voice. I told him we couldn’t find Pebble. He couldn’t believe it and said he was on his way. He demanded I keep looking and not to lose faith. He tried to sound strong for me, but I knew better. I knew I had just broken my dad’s heart. My mom called me next. She’s even a stronger woman than I could ever be. She told me he’s fine. We will find him and he will be laughing, giggling, and everything will be okay. She told me she was on her way. Everyone was on their way to help find my son. It was over an hour since I had seen Pebs. Neighbors started showing up. They put pictures of him on our neighborhood social media. All the while, I knew he was close. I was in almost full panic mode now. I wasn’t thinking clearly, as much as I tried. I tried to close my eyes and hear my Heavenly Father. I tried to sit and pray, but I wasn’t able to calm down. I felt my heart beat going faster and faster. I was on the verge of losing my mind. I went back to the pond for the upteen time. I’m sure I must’ve dove into the pond about 20 times by this point. The police had a skimmer that was skimming the bottom of the pond. Every time I jumped in, I prayed I wouldn’t find him. I didn’t want him to be in that pond. I don’t know what time it was by this point, but our house was filled with caring neighbors and people that were helping us look for our son. I remember one time looking into Rock’s eyes and seeing emptiness, sadness, despair. I had never seen his eyes look like they did that day. He was sitting on the steps in our backyard. His face was in his hands. He said, “I won’t be able to live if something happened to Pebs. I can’t live anymore.” I grabbed his hands and don’t know exactly what I said, but I know that I mentioned Amee and how she needed him. I’m sure I said something about Pebs being ok and we’d find him. Our whole world was gone.
During our search, we used the security cameras to help figure out what could’ve happened to Pebble. At 5:12 PM, Pebble walked to the right side of the house, out of view of the cameras. In the security cameras, we could also see our dogs running back and forth by the pond so we assumed that the dogs were by the pond because that’s where Pebs went. It’s amazing how your brain doesn’t function correctly when you are placed in a dramatic situation. I couldn’t think. I remember trying to think rationally, and I couldn’t. I could see my son go the right of the house, and every time I passed the trampoline that was to the right of the house, I never thought to check under the trampoline. Never did I once think to look under it, where the septic tank was located. Never once.
We had the septic tank company come clean out our septic tank two weeks before Harvey hit Houston. When they came to clean it, they broke off the screws that had the lid screwed down. They were rusted and didn’t have another large size that was needed to hold the lid down. They were supposed to come back and fix it, but then we went through the flood and somehow, the lid came off some more. My husband, in the meantime, moved the trampoline over the septic tank so no one would walk over it. Didn’t think anyone would be able to walk under the trampoline. All of this was unknown to me. I’m not sure if anything would’ve been done differently even if I would’ve known. How would we have known the lid would’ve came off? How would we have known? It hurts me to my core that we didn’t know. Pain that is indescribable. The not knowing.
After I saw into my husband’s eyes, I began walking to the pond again. Pleading, begging, crying to God. Before I reached it, I heard this horrific scream, “Help! Help! We found him. Help!” The voice was my husband’s, and it was coming from the trampoline. Really? I passed by there a million times. I didn’t see him. Did I check under the trampoline? A million thoughts raced through my head as I raced from the pond to the side of the house. As I approached him, I saw our friend on his stomach, arms reaching down into this hole. Did I remember that the septic tank was even there? Why is he reaching into this hole? Rocky had jumped in and he was lifting our baby boy’s body up, out of the septic tank. His body emerged from this dark forsaken hole. It was 7:47 PM. His lifeless body was handed to me. I grabbed my baby boy and still remember seeing Rocky climb out of the septic tank. He had heroically jumped in when we finally had found him. He tried to rescue his Sunny Boy. Rocky was still yelling “help” as he was climbing out. I placed my Pebs on the ground, demanded those around me to pray, and I started CPR. We were surrounded by neighbors, family, friends and police. He was so cold. I don’t think I was performing CPR very long when the police took over. They made everyone get back and gently grabbed him from my arms. I heard my dad dying in pain. He argued with the police because he didn’t want to move. Rocky yelled back at my dad to let them do their job. I heard Rocky plead to me to wake up our son. I could feel the prayers from neighbors and friends. But, in a way, my life stopped. I could hear voices, see people around me, and feel my wet clothes, but my entire world was on pause. I remember being knelt next to my son’s lifeless body, rubbing his little hands and legs, frantically, trying to get some warmth back into his body. I talked to him. I wanted him to know I was there, that he was tough, and I needed him. I kissed him numerous times, making sure I wasn’t in the way of the police officers who were still working on him. I thought if I could just kiss him enough times, my love would revive him, my breath would bring him warmth necessary to live again. I’m not sure when the EMS arrived, but I remember one asking how long he had been in the septic tank. I had my eyes closed, holding my Pebs little hand when I heard the police officer say 2 hours. The EMS repeated, “How long?” And I slowly looked up at him and told him not to give up on my son. It had been two hours, but not to give up on him. They placed him on the ambulance bed. I don’t even remember when they took him from me. Most days in my mind, I’m still lying on that ground, next to the septic tank holding my baby boy’s hand. As they rolled him to the ambulance, my sister arrived. Her first image was of her baby nephew, godson was being rolled on an ambulance bed, lifeless. I heard her scream, shriek in pain, cry, and then, she found me. When she saw me, I collapsed in her arms. I fell into her embrace. Rocky was trying to get in the ambulance with his son, but they wouldn’t let him. He latched himself to the backdoors of the ambulance. fearfully looking through the windows, searching, praying for life to be revived. They were taking him to the hospital and my sis offered to drive us. They grabbed me some dry clothes, which I refused, and we jumped in her car in pursuit of the ambulance with my whole world at stake.
Happiness
My sweet boy and I at the playground.
His brand new cap. I fell in love with his mesmerizing smile.
When we arrived at the emergency room, Rocky went straight in. I stayed in the waiting room with my sister. I fell to my knees, cried, and asked God for mercy. I asked Him to take me instead just don’t take our joy. Don’t take my husband’s shadow, his son. Don’t take my dad’s whole heart. Don’t take our family’s baby, my daughter’s only brother. Don’t take for what we prayed for. There was a cop that soon came to get me, and the look on his face said it all. As I zombie-like walked into the room, I saw a scene from a horror movie. I saw tubes in and out of my son’s body, numerous people working on his tiny, fragile shell. I saw my husband unrecognizable. Rocky was knelt down beside him, but in a way, he was also just as lifeless. My son was laying on his right side. He looked like he was just sleeping, just like he had looked earlier that day when he napped. I reached over to touch him and he was even colder than before. Rocky, again, pleaded for me to wake up our son. I knelt down beside him and kissed his little legs, rubbed his tiny hands. Told him mama was there with him. I was again in a land of no time. Nothing seemed real. Then, I heard the doctor say, “I’m sorry ma’am. We’ve tried nine times. He’s not responding. Do you want us to try again?” I said, “Yes, please. The tenth time will work.” They put some medicine in his IV and started with compressions again. I know we tried to make a deal with God multiple times at that moment like bargaining with Him would change the outcome. I continued to rub him, kiss him, talk to him, but then I heard those terrible words. “I’m sorry. We did all that we could do.” They unplugged him. The chaos and noise of before suddenly went silent. He never moved. He just laid there like a sweet baby boy dreaming. It didn’t take long for Rocky and I to lose it alone in that room with our son’s lifeless body. I laid next to him. I wanted to warm him up, to keep him next to me. If I could just hold him long enough, he would be okay. He would wake up. I could hug him to life. Soon, we had my sister and other family and friends in the room saying their farewells. A room that was silent with immense pain, became a room full of dread. This couldn’t be reality. I don’t know how long we stayed there, but I know they let us stay a long time afterwards. My mom had stayed at my house to watch Amee, but when she heard Pebble went to be with Jesus, she wanted to see him. They gave us all the time we needed to spend with him before they covered him back up and wheeled him away again. As family members entered and said their good-byes, Rock and I were in disbelief, in despair. We were living in a moment that wasn’t real. I saw everyone come in, cry, touch Pebble, hug me, but I wasn’t present. I wasn’t alive. Rock wasn’t alive. We had died that day with our son.
It seemed like it was a short time that I was given to spend with him, but I know it was probably hours. Nurses and doctors gave us their condolences, but they were speaking to someone that had also just died. I couldn’t feel. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t live. When we finally had to leave, we walked out towards the waiting room. I took steps, but didn’t feel like I was walking. I think my sister and mother “pushed” me along. I didn’t want to leave him. When we finally entered the waiting room, I saw something beautiful. In that moment, I didn’t see it. I didn’t see how beautiful that moment was until later. What we were greeted with was a blessing, a light in a horrible, dark moment. The waiting room and outside of the hospital was filled, packed with our family and friends. Friends that lived over an hour away to be there for us. We had family members that had kids of their own who had school the next day that were there for us. We had a room full of love, hope, and support. My son was just taken form this world. My life is completely shattered, but we had love. I didn’t see that at the time, but I know I felt it. I didn’t see the hope, but I knew the support was always going to be there. I had friends and family hug me, hold me, touch me and whisper there love. Every bit of their support helped me take one more step to my sister’s car. I entered my sister’s vehicle as a grieving mother. That morning, I had prayed for the Holy Spirit’s protection, and that night, I was going home to an empty crib.
We live about 25 min from hospital. I don’t remember the drive. I don’t remember getting out of the vehicle. I have no idea where Rocky was. I remember laying on my couch with my family there. It was now 1AM. My mom made a phone call to grandma and Rocky’s dad. They would be there in the morning. I didn’t sleep that night. I still don’t sleep through the night. I wake up around the same times Pebs would wake me up to get him out of his crib to come into my bed. I breakdown frequently. I feared having to relive this day and my pain didn’t disappoint my fears. I dreaded writing about this day, and I pray, I’ll be able to do a better job of it next time. It all is so fresh and vivid with emotions still. Maybe that won’t ever go away, but hopefully, my writing will improve. It still haunts me, tortures me. Mondays will always be a painful day for me. I usually relive every hour on Mondays, counting down the last moments I saw him alive on that porch before I closed the door. Sometimes the torture of the unknown is not as strong as other days. There will always be some sort of guilt. It was my job to keep him safe. My responsibility. This is the main reason I hate remembering this day. I failed. I didn’t do my job. I know my son was welcomed when his last heartbeat palpitated on this Earth. I know Jesus was there, with open arms, welcoming my baby boy to Heaven. I know he didn’t suffer. I know he didn’t have any pain. I know he is safe. I know he is happy. We are sorrowful here on Earth because we love him deeply and miss him terribly, but how much joy will we all have the day we get to reunite with him in Heaven! He has visited me in my dreams on several occasions, and I feel him in my heart and soul. I know God turns all for our good. He allowed my son to be taken from me for reasons explainable to me. I don’t know why, but I believe that God has something special, something good, something miraculous coming from this tragedy. I pray, my tragedy, my grief, my story will bring hope to those that are going through their own tragedies.
“More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” -Romans 5:3-5
“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” -Romans 8:28
This was taken the morning of the tragedy. Last picture of my son. Full of smiles.
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” -Jeremiah 29:11
“I will open my heart to the love that is around me.”
Martha W. Hickman
I felt the wave building. That wave of grief that hits you out of no where, rapidly and suddenly. I quickly put my running shoes on and took off. I began jogging at first, then increased my speed to a run. A mile down. I felt rage. The tears were streaming down my face, as I focused on slowing down my breathing and getting my rhythm in sync. I screamed inside. I used to run with my Pebs. I’d push his stroller as I enjoyed his presence with me. There wasn’t a stroller to push this time. Anger built up again. Rage. I should have my son with me, here. Another mile down. The tears kept flowing like an unstoppable waterfall. My run was now a sprint. My body was on autopilot. It knew the running trail I always took. My mind was elsewhere. I thought painfully and brokenheartedly about my Pebs. The guilt was overtaking my heart. All the what ifs were surrounding my mind. Mile 3 done. My body must’ve ached, but all I felt was anger. Rage. Wrath. Indescribable fury at the reality of my life. I was a mother that had lost her 21 month old son to a tragic accident in her home. Another mile done.
I was back at home. I had little recollection of my run. I was only out of breath because of my screams, my sobs, but my body was still raging in anger. I walked over to my vehicle and began washing it. Angrily. Blindly. I was cleaning the inside, throwing trash away and vacuuming. I had found a balloon from Amoree’s Valentines classroom party the day before. The balloon had fallen out of the car and was floating around while I kept cleaning the inside. Multiple times I came across the balloon, and instead of picking it up to throw it away, I would just stare at it and leave it there. I knew I needed to pick it up, but I would just walk over it. Rock had heard my tears, and walked over to hold me. I allowed myself to be held. And I finally released it all. I collapsed releasing it all. Rock held me. He wanted my pain to disappear. He wanted to fix the problem. “God wants us to have another baby, babe.” There was that subject again. “Why did he take my son away if he just wanted me to have another one?” I didn’t understand any of it. I just hurt. I didn’t want the pain to go away. I wanted my son back. After a few minutes, we released each other. I pulled away to come back inside the house. I was done. I needed to dry my face, my shirt, and sit down to talk to God. Rock stayed outside to close the garage door and put my car wash supplies away.
A few minutes later, he came back inside. I was sitting on the couch, praying, and looked up at him. His face was covered in tears. His eyes bloodshot from sobbing. He hadn’t been crying when we were outside holding each other. Why was his face covered in tears? I saw the balloon in his hands. He stared at me. Then looked back at the balloon that simply said, “I love you.” He said, “Babe, I know God wants us to have a baby. When you came back inside, I looked up and told God not to make me liar. I told Him that if He really wanted us to have a baby, to be with me and not make me liar. As I began walking to the garage door to close it, I looked down. I saw this balloon. I felt Him. I felt Him telling me that He loves me and would never leave me. For me to trust in Him.” Tears rolled down his face as he was telling me this. I cried, but there were no tears of anger this time. They were of hope. They were of love. They were of our Father holding us, guiding us, and giving us strength, answers during the dark times we were going through.
The enemy was working hard to break us, but my God was shielding us with His love, His Holy Spirit, His protection. We felt His presence all around us that day. Even when I was running, He was with me. He was with me when I was washing my vehicle. He was urging me to leave that balloon there because He would reveal it to my husband later. He knew that day would happen before I even started running. He knew. I needed to trust.
It’s at our lowest point that we can see His goodness, if we allow Him to work in us and through us. I would never wish any of this on my worst enemy, but oh the blessing of His love was revealed over and over again. I saw miracles on miracles, blessings upon blessings. I experienced His Spirit in my life, and I will not ever let that go. His goodness will be shared through my pain. His love will be told.
October 2017. A month after my son left this earth, our softball family and friends went above and beyond for us. They put together the best softball benefit and fundraiser you could imagine. It seemed as if Everyone came together and demonstrated their support. They had raffles, merchandise, multiple teams entered, concessions, and lots of supporters. This day was full of love, support, comfort, and pain. Lots of pain. As much as I appreciated everyone showing us so much love, I would’ve much rather not have been the reason and the cause for such a benefit. The whole purpose of us being there, made my stomach, heart, and soul ache and shatter into million of pieces. I felt so much love and anger all at the same time.
Earlier in the day, I was in my closet getting ready to change when the grief wave hit me. It hit me like a thousand bricks plowing into my soul. I collapsed on the closet floor, screaming in agony. My son was gone. We were headed to a softball benefit in his honor. Why was this happening? Why me? Why my son? I didn’t want a fundraiser, a benefit, a get together. I wanted my son back. I felt like my heart was tearing out of my body. Everything hurt so much. At that moment, Rocky walked in. He picked me up and just held me. He cried with me, but mainly, just held me. We cried and held each other for several minutes. As we pulled away, in between sobs, wet tears, he said, “I think we need to have another son.” If my face wouldn’t of been covered in fluids from crying, I would’ve been able to see his face. I grabbed a towel, and as I dried my face, I tried to process what he had just said to me. Did I just hear him correctly? He wants us to do what? As I slowly started to catch my breath again from all the sobbing, I recall telling Rocky there was no way. “I’m not in the right state of mind right now to think. I can’t think about anything but the pain.” He said he really wanted to think about this idea. I solemnly walked away more perplexed and lost than before.
The day was filled with hugs, tears, melancholy conversations, more hugs and always tears. Rock and I were so grateful for everyone, but we were like some lost puppy dogs. We wandered around the fields helping, and yet, not really doing anything. All the while, hoping and praying this was just a nightmare.
Soon after, I began having my dreams. I kept dreaming of the name Raphael. I never would see anyone, I would just hear the name in my dreams. I had that name in my thoughts throughout the day. I decided to look up the name and it’s meaning. Raphael, means “God has Healed.” When I read those words, of course, I started bawling. The thought of having another child was real, and since Rock had brought it up that day, I kept praying about it. When I was in a fetal position hurled in pain, I’d ask God for guidance. During my Bible study sessions, I’d make that part of our prayer requests. I talked to Him on a daily regarding my husband’s recommendation, and if that was something He really wanted us to do. I NEEDED Him to talk to me. I wanted something from God. When the name became part of my dreams and thoughts, and then when I discovered the meaning, it was overwhelming. I felt Him answer me, even though I was reading it, it was almost as if I could “hear” Him whisper it to me. “God has Healed, Trust me and have this child.”
After that revelation, I decided to make an appointment with my OBGYN. After Pebs, I had tied my tubes. I needed to weigh out my options if we were going to be serious about having another child. My doctor shared with me some IVF options that would be the safest and most reliable option for us. She gave me a referral and hugged me longer and harder that day. She had delivered Pebs and was distraught about the news as well. My Pebs had made an impact on many, many people.
Our IVF appointment would be in 2018, but I wasn’t 100% convinced that God really wanted this for us. I was still angry, hurt, lost, basically still grieving. I always prayed about this because there was no going back if we decided to have another baby. Would I be the same mother? Would I be depressed and always compare them? Would I be a fearful mom? Scared of everything? Would I be obsessed with protecting him? I. Was. Scared. I was confused and so lost. I needed Him to guide me and help us with this decision. I kept searching. I typed in the name again. This time, I found a cite that gave more information than just the meaning of the name. When I saw everything that was associated with Raphael, I stopped for few seconds. I think I stopped breathing. I stared at my phone. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I looked up and wailed. I let it all out. I knew He had finally reached me. He had answered my prayers.
The color associated with the name Raphael is Green, the only color my Pebs was able to verbally tell me. We used green for our shirts, balloons, bracelets, during the funeral. The gemstone associated with Raphael was Moonstone. Moonstone. My Pebs, who loved to look for the moon during the day and night and would love to jump for it. The moon. I felt in that moment that I would try for another son. I knew that He had answered my prayers. He would bless this decision and would be with us throughout this new journey. Many people may think all of this was just a coincidence, the name and the color, the dreams, the name in my head, but I know God moves in mysterious ways. I questioned Him for a long time. I had many battles and angry conversations with Him. He knew my fears, concerns, questions, before I could even express them. He knew what we needed before we could even think of it. I can’t say I was ready, even when I knew that’s what God wanted of us, but I knew I needed to be obedient. The last thing I wanted was another baby, but God knew the plans of our life even when we didn’t. I didn’t trust it right away. I still had my doubts, but I always prayed about it. When I doubted and feared, He would show up with another miracle, another proof, that He was guiding us through these dark times.
Raphael. We started the IVF process in March of 2018. The egg retrieval process was done with no complications. I had a total of 23 eggs. 23. A number that my husband and daughter wear to play softball. This number now represents Pebs who loved watching his daddy and mana play ball. My Pebs, who loved spending his days and nights at the ballpark. The number twenty-three matters to us. A Lot. Once they fertilized the eggs, we had only 8 that matured correctly. We did the chromosome test on the 8 eggs, and 2 did not have the necessary number of chromosomes which meant, we had 6 fertilized eggs available. We did the genetic testing as well. Out of the six mature, healthy embryos, we had one male. Only one. That one was my Raphael. We were scheduled to do the egg transfer in June, but the lab had their semi annual inspection therefore, we had to wait until the following month. July 2018 was the egg transfer. In the room, with doctors, nurses, and Rocky present. I asked for us to pray. I had everyone in tears. I wanted God to know even though the doctor and nurses were doing the procedure, I needed Him to do the miracle. We needed His Holy Spirit to surround us with protection and for the transfer to be successful. August 2, 2018 we had a positive pregnancy test. September 4, 2018 we had a heartbeat. Raphael was alive.
The decision to have another son after we lost Pebs was not by human choice. God was in our hearts, our minds, our souls in order for Raphael to have been born. He knew I wasn’t ready. He knew that’s not a choice I would’ve made without Him showing me His plan. Raphael was God sent. Raphee has healed our hearts the only way God can heal. He was born 3-19-19. In an odd way, I find connections to everything since the tragedy. It might seem odd to you, but adding 3+1+9+1+9 is 23. Even his birth was a sign that he was meant to be born. He was meant to be here. He has a purpose. All of my fears, questions, concerns I had about him being born, about my parenting seemed to fade once I held him in my arms. I had God on my side, guiding me. If He needed Raphee here, then He would be with me every step of the way. I knew I wasn’t alone.
Raphee is now four. I’ve seen and witnessed God moving in him. He is very special. Not just because I’m his mom, but because there is something God is calling him to do. I have seen Raphee during prayer. I have heard him talk about his dreams. He has mentioned things that he shouldn’t even know about. He has talked about stuff that he isn’t supposed to know about regarding Pebs, and yet, he knows. It is very overwhelming just writing about it, but I know he is something special. I don’t know how or what, but Raphee is meant for this world for this time because of God. I can’t explain it but I will write about it someday. For now, Raphael, a name that means “God has Healed” was just a name. It was just a thought, but God allowed His love and power to shine through all the negative thoughts, fears, and doubts. He created a way for us to see His plan, and guided us to be obedient. Raphee is here not because of modern science, but because we trusted in Him, believed in what He was revealing to us, and were faithful to His plan.
“For with God nothing shall be impossible. ”
Luke 1:37
“Even through the experience of this pain, I am grateful for the intensity of my love for the one I have lost.”
“Good morning!” I hear mama say. Today, we are going on an airplane ride. We are taking a trip. Mama says it’s very far. Driving our car will take too long. The airplane will get us there much faster. Daddy said we have to pack our bags. My suitcase is a blue rectangle with wheels. It’s my favorite. I can pull it all by myself. I pack all my favorite things. My mama helps me. She said I also need to pack some clothes. I almost forgot those! “Don’t forget your toothbrush,” said Mana, that’s Spanish for sister. She’s older than me. Dada asks, “Are we ready to go?” We all say, “Yes! Let’s go, go, go!”
The airport is very big and full of people. I stay close to mama as we hurry to our gate. There’s lots of people working at the airport. They have blue shirts on and almost look like police. Mama said they are called TSA workers. Dada said they are to keep us safe while we go through the airport. They put our bags through a slide machine. It looks like a tunnel or a cave. Mama said it’s to make sure there are no dangerous things in the bags. It’s to keep everyone safe. I thought that was very cool. We then had to walk one at a time through the silver pathway. It looked like a door but only with no door. It was silver. Dada said I had to be brave because I had to go through all by myself. It was scary. I didn’t want to go by myself. Mama walked through the silver pathway first. Next, it was Mana’s turn. She was so brave. I wanted to be just like her. It was now my turn. Would I be able to do it. I looked at Mama. She smiled at me and said, “You can do it. You are a big boy.” Mana cheered me on. I looked behind at Dada. He said, “You are my brave boy. You got this.” I took a deep breath and stepped forward. I kept looking at Mama. The worker said, “Come on through. Ok, you did it. Thank you for being such a brave boy.” I looked back at Dada, and he gave me a thumbs up. I was so proud.
We all grabbed our stuff that had gone through the tunnel. We didn’t have anything dangerous. Mana handed me my blue suitcase, and I began to roll it as we headed toward our gate. It was a long way. I started to feel tired. Dada saw that I was walking slower. He scooped me up and placed me on his shoulders. Mama helped me and pulled my bag for me. I was very thankful that Dada had picked me. Everything was much easier to see on his shoulders. He was so tall and strong. I know one day, I’ll be big and strong like him. We finally made it to our gate. It didn’t take long before they let us get on the plane. They have you get on the plane in a certain order. Mama looked at our boarding pass and told us the group number we would line up in. We waited for that number and then, we got in line to get on the plane. We had to go through a long hallway that also seemed like a tunnel. It was taking us to the entrance door of the plane! I was so excited! Mana had been on a plane before so she already knew where we were going. She saw my nervous face and told me it was ok. I didn’t have to be scared. The tunnel was leading us to the door of the airplane. We were almost there!
Once we got inside the airplane, we had to walk in between seats. It was very tight. Mama kept saying sorry to the people sitting in the seats. We kept bumping them with all of our bags and suitcases. We had to look on the top of the seats where they had the numbers and letters so we could find our assigned seats. When we finally found them, Dada said we had to place our suitcases and bags in the safe place on top of the seats. They were like cabinets that opened down. They were sort of big for our bags to fit in. We put her suitcases in the bin, and then, we sat down in our assigned seats. I got to sit in the middle in between Mama and Dada. Mana was sitting in the same row but on the other side. We could still see her. There were people sitting in front of us, behind us, and across from us. The plane had many seats, and there were many people in a hurry to put their bags in the bin. The plane had workers that were also wearing blue uniforms, but they didn’t look like police. Mama said they were called flight attendants. They looked very nice. All of them were smiling and being very helpful. They offered Mama to help me with my seatbelt. Mama said she could do it and told them thankyou. They said I was such a big boy because I wasn’t crying. There were other kids on the plane that were crying, but I knew I had to be brave.
There was a man’s voice that came on the plane. Dada said it was the speaker or intercom. “Welcome on board to our airplane. We are so glad you are flying with us,” said the man. Dada said that the man’s voice was the pilot. He flies the airplane. The pilot said we would be taking off in a few minutes. We had to be buckled up and seated for take off. The flight attendants also spoke on the intercom. “Please listen carefully to the following instructions as we get ready for take off.” They were standing in the middle of the seats or the aisle and were showing everyone directions on how to buckle the seatbelts, where the restrooms were, the exit doors, and some other stuff I didn’t quite understand. Mama said it was important to pay attention to them because they were being helpful. When they had finished, the pilot came back and said, “prepare for take off.” I was a little nervous. I looked up at Dada as the plane started going faster and faster. He smiled at me. Mama grabbed my hand. I felt my body push back into my seat as the plane started to come off the ground. We were in the air! I felt us going higher and higher. I was flying!
The plane was really loud. Dada said it was the big engines making that big, loud noise. It hurt my ears a little bit, but I was tough. Mama said it was going to be a long flight so I could take a nap. I rested my head on Mama’s leg and closed my eyes.
I woke up to the sound of the pilot on the intercom. “I have some good news. We will be arriving soon. Please have your seatbelts on ready to land.” The attendants were walking up and down the aisles picking up trash and making sure we were all ready for landing. Dada let me see out the window. Everything down below looked very tiny from high up in the sky. As we started to go lower to the ground, the tiny things started to look bigger. I could see cars and houses and tall buildings, but they all still looked very small from the airplane’s window. The plane’s wings were so big and wide. All the clouds looked so fluffy and close. I pretended to reach my hands out and grab one. It was silly, but they were so close to the window that I felt I could put one fluffy cloud in my pocket. We kept getting lower and lower to the ground. Everything that looked tiny before started to look bigger and bigger. As the plane was getting ready to touch the ground, the plane shook and trembled a bit. It moved me around in my seat. Mama put her hand across me so I could feel safer. I was happy I was sitting next to Mama and Dada. They made me feel safe and brave. The plane was stopping really hard. I started to lean forward in my seat. Mama squeezed me back toward the seat. It felt like I was going to fall forward out of my seat. It was a very scary feeling, but with Mama’s arm across my body, I knew that I was okay. The airplane was now moving very slowly on the ground. We had landed safely! The attendants said we were taxiing or moving slowly towards our gate. We were almost there! They said we had to stay in our seats until the seatbelt sign turned off.
Once the plane stopped in front of our gate, the seatbelt light turned off and we were able to get our bags from the bins. We had to wait patiently for the people in front of us to get their stuff first. Mama said it was good manners to wait our turn. We grabbed our bags and started walking out of the plane when it was our turn. The friendly attendants and pilots were at the exit telling everyone bye and saying thank you. They even gave me a high five, and said I was a brave, big boy. I felt very proud. We walked down a big, long tunnel again until we entered another big airport. Dada said we had to go to the baggage claim to get the rest of our luggage. After we grabbed all of our bags, we waited outside for our ride. They would take us to our hotel.
I was happy we had made it. We walked outside to wait for our ride. Dada put me on his shoulders again. I looked up at the sky. It wasn’t dark yet, but the sun was going down. As I looked toward the evening sky and the sun going down, I saw the moon. I love finding the moon even during the day. This time, it was almost a big circle. It was missing some part. Mama saw me looking at it and said it was not a full moon. She called it “waxing gibbous.” That was a big word for me. I just loved the way it shined even when it wasn’t all the way dark. I was happy.
Dada said he was proud of his “Sunny boy.” Mama said, “Papasito was so brave.” Mana even gave me a high five. I was proud of how tough and brave I was on my first airplane ride. As we waited for a ride to arrive, we said a little prayer. We thanked God for arriving safely. We were safe. We had a good flight, and I can’t wait to do it again.
“He’d begun to wake up in the morning with something besides dread in his heart. Not happiness exactly, not eagerness for the new day, but a kind of urge to be eager, a longing to be happy.”
Jon Hassler
In memory of Rocky Russo Serna aka Pebs. We lost this precious baby boy at only 21 months. In his short life on this Earth, he experienced many different adventures. Pebble’s Adventures are true stories of his many escapades. He was and will always be a beautiful soul. These children’s book help to keep his memory alive, and share his many adventures through the eyes of a child.
His brand new cap. I fell in love with his mesmerizing smile.
Sunday, September 24, 2017, I had a women’s softball tournament that morning. I woke up early because our first game started at 8 am. It was my first all-women tournament in a long time. I was very excited, but disappointed I would miss church. I kissed my Pebs and Rocky good-bye, as they were laying in bed with Pebs in my spot. I dashed out the door in anticipation for the competitive day. I was nervous but exited thinking I would have something I could do for me for a change. I always supported Rocky at his softball tournaments or Amee at her school and sport functions, but this. This was something for me. I didn’t hear from Rocky until close to 1 that afternoon. He was on his way to the ballpark to come see me play with the kids. Ever since Amee was little, we would support Rocky at all of his softball tournaments. Amee and Pebble both had the privilege to basically be born at the ballpark. Between Amoree’s softball games, our coed league, and Rocky’s men tournaments, we pretty much lived at the fields. However, I never had the family come see me play. I mean, not just me. I looked forward to them being there and rooting for me and our women’s team. I just wasn’t sure if Rocky was going to make it until I received that text from him saying they were on their way. I was elated! My babies were coming to see me play! Much to my surprise, they showed up in church clothes! Rocky and I had been together for eleven years at this point. Out of the eleven years, he had never attended church without me. I am the one who gets everyone up Sunday mornings, and many days, Rocky would stay behind and not go to church with us. The kids and I would go, wishing daddy was with us. There were still many Sundays that we attended church together as a family, all four of us, and those memories will never be forgotten. But on this Sunday, Rocky had taken the initiative, dressed the kids, and had gone to church together without mama! What drove my husband to attend church that day, to me, was God. You’ll understand by the end of this writing. My husband decided to take Old Blue, which was our uncle’s old blue truck that was standard. Pebble rode in the middle with the stick in front of him. Rocky, later, described that ride with such happiness, joy, and love. Pebble was so excited to sit next to “dada” and help him shift the gears. He was full of smiles. Rocky said that on their way to church, they had a flat tire, so he stopped to get it fixed. Of course, Pebble had to get down and help daddy. In the process of “helping,” his church clothes were covered in tire grime and dirt. Rocky said he looked so dirty, but was just so happy that day that he couldn’t even be upset at Pebs for getting his nice clean church clothes all filthy.
When they arrived at Grace Woodlands, Amee went to her kids class, but Pebble wanted to stay with dada. Pebs always behaved like such a big boy around his daddy. He wasn’t like other toddlers. He knew he didn’t want to disappoint daddy or make him upset. Rock said that Pastor’s Steve message that Sunday was about the storms in life, going through loss, and dealing with the aftermaths of a tragedy. Harvey had hit Houston less than a month prior to that sermon, and he was preaching on hope, strength, and courage. Ironic that my son’s last church sermon was about loss. Rocky then said Pebs fell asleep on his shoulder, just like he always did on his daddy. We probably had already played our second game and were waiting to play our third. When my whole heart arrived at the ballpark, all three beautiful souls, I was ecstatic! I saw my big girl in nice clothes with her hair all fixed up in a high ponytail, and then there was my Pebs, in his pastel orange and beige suit, now mixed with tire and dirt grime. I can still see him running up to me with his arms opened wide. I ran over and scooped his little body up, kissing him continuously as I held him. I hugged my Amee and kissed Rocky. I don’t think there was a happier woman on this Earth at that moment. My teammates and I laughed at Pebs shirt as Rocky told us the story. I decided to take his shirt off and let him run around the ballpark shirtless. I loved his little belly. How I wish I would’ve taken his picture that day. Him and Amee played up and down the bleachers, with the dogs that were there, and of course, throwing some softballs. As we sat on the bleachers after our last game, I had asked Rocky what made him go to church. I was so surprised and proud that he took the kids to church without me. He couldn’t explain it. He just said he decided to go at the last minute.
Pebble on his oldest cousin’s shoulders.
My Pebble singing to me.
Pebble always smiled for the camera.
Rocky and I become loyal tithers since 2012. We heard a very impactful message from Pastor Steve during that same year that changed our thinking regarding tithes and giving. I would tithe prior to this day but never consistently. Since 2012, we have given our tithes loyally and with giving hearts. I can write several blogs on the blessings we have been given since we became devoted tithers, but that will be on a separate day. Since we had a very slow summer and had taken a family vacation that year with our parents and all the kids, we weren’t struggling financially, but were not in the same financial boat we were used to. I also had decided not to return to teaching after thirteen years, so money was a little tight. That’s why when Rocky told me how much he had decided to give for tithes on this particular Sunday, I was surprised to say the least. It was the most amount of money we had ever given, ever. I asked him what compelled him to write a check for that amount of money for tithes. He said he didn’t know. He couldn’t explain it. Him getting up, taking the kids to church without me, giving so much in tithes, and coming to see me play. It all seemed so unlike him, as if it was someone else that day. Someone, or something else urging him to do these things on this particular Sunday. The last Sunday my Pebs was on this earth.
My heart. Amoree and Pebble at the pool.
Our softball Sunday wasn’t over yet. We had our coed league games in Friendswood that evening, and Rock hadn’t brought any clothes to change into. So, he had to make a trip to Academy where he bought himself, Pebble, and Amee some workout clothes. He also bought Pebs some new tennis shoes that would be the ones he would wear on his last day on Earth. When we arrived at the fields that evening, Pebble was asleep, and so I left him sleeping in the car with Amee. He woke up towards the end of our first game. Amee and him came running towards us, playfully, excitedly, ready to exert some energy. They loved being at the ballpark. There were always kids to play with, and since Pebs was the youngest, all the little girls Amee’s age would take turns playing with him and taking care of him. The ballpark will always be a place where my fondest memories of my Pebs were made. He loved playing. He loved the ballpark. I can’t remember if we won or lost our first game, but our second game we won because the opposing team didn’t show up. Instead of us going home, we decided to BP or hit batting practice. As one person of our team hits several balls, the rest of us are on the field practicing defense. Guess who was on the field with us on this day? My Pebs was running, throwing, and helping us catch the balls. He was standing very close to dada because he would protect him from getting hit when the balls were hit. If I would’ve known it was our last time to have him on the field, I would’ve taken some pictures and video. I thought I was going to have many more of these moments to share with him. Amee was with us, too, with the rest of the girls her age. I often dream about that day. I close my eyes and picture Amee chasing Pebble around the bases, him tripping, his mouth full of dirt, but just kept running until he reached home plate. I see Rocky’s big smile, calling Pebble his “Sunny Boy” and hearing Peb’s laugh as Rocky would occasionally pick him up so he wouldn’t get hit with the ball. If there was anything close to heaven as far as happiness goes, that Sunday had to be it. The amount of happiness, completeness, love, was all felt that day. I know Satan was angry on that day. He sure hated to see a family full of love, full of joy, full of God’s spirit rejoice and live so happily. My Pebs last complete day with us was perfect, full of joy, laughter, and love.
One Sunday before church
My sweet boy and I at the playground.
Grandpa, Amee, and Pebs playing
Amee and Pebble on one of our many outings.
I believe God gave Rocky the motivation to go to church that day with the kids. He knew the importance of him spending that day with them at church was going to mean so much to us, but mainly to Pebs. He gave Rocky the will to write a check for tithes that was so grand for us so that we could know that there is faith in the unseen. We had no idea what was about to happen. We had no idea why we wrote a check for that amount of money, but we were faithful and obedient. God knew why. We just had to have faith. I believe God knew the importance of us playing ball together as a family, and allowed us to be together and do what Pebs loved to do. He gave us that last day with him one that we will never forget, not just us, but all those that shared those moments with us. It wasn’t a coincidence that all of these things occurred on this day. It was His hand. God’s Hand was in all of our actions, thoughts, and words that day. He was blessing us far beyond our understanding, even on this day. He knew what tragedy awaited us before we even had any idea, and He was giving us this last blessing with our son. He was allowing this beautiful moment to occur even without us even thinking of any tragedy. There isn’t a minute that goes by that I don’t thank Him for this special day. Some people may see it as just another day, a day that was just going to happen, but there is so much more to this day beyond our seeing and understanding. There hasn’t been another day prior or since that Rocky gets up on his own to go to church without me. There hasn’t been another day prior or since that we write a check for that amount of money for tithes. There hasn’t been another day prior or since that we have had BP as a team with the kids running and playing. I know God had a plan and continues to have a plan for us. I trust in Him alone. We may not understand it all, but Trust in Him who controls it all. He has your life in the palm of His Hands. He will do good in your life if you can trust in Him. I miss my Pebs, deeply with all my soul. I would give my beating heart to go back to this day, the Sunday before the tragedy, when we were all together, happy, and playing ball.
He loved being at the ballpark
“I have come to believe in the ‘Sacrament of the Moment” which presupposes trust in the ultimate goodness of my creator.” -Ruth Casey
At Grace church with my loves
Jumpy, jumpy, jumpy on the trampoline on the day of the eclipse
The day after the hurricane when the rain wasn’t as strong. We were on the porch enjoying the wind and the light sprinkles of the rain.
That beautiful smile
“Now may the God of Hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing so that you will abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
-Romans 15:13
“Dear departed love, continue to be with me, as I will with you.”
August 25, 2017 was the date that Hurricane Harvey made landfall. That was a Friday. However, we didn’t experience any hurricane winds, rain, or storms until Saturday evening. There was a boxing match Saturday night Mayweather vs. McGregor. Rocky wanted to purchase the fight but was afraid Directv would lose signal in the middle of the fight due to the heavy winds and rain that had been building up earlier in the day. Therefore, when my cousin announced that he was going to order the fight, there was no hesitation in my husband’s decision to travel almost 30 miles with the family despite the increasing winds. We headed over to my cousin’s house. I remember being a little annoyed that we were driving into a hail-like storm, unable to see because of the heavy falling rains, just to see a boxing match. As I sit here today, I don’t regret going at all. We made some wonderful memories at my cousin’s house with Pebs. My parents, my sister’s family, my aunt and uncle, and other cousins were there with all the nephews and nieces. We had such an incredible night filled with laughter and love. Pebble loved to sing, (think in my previous blogs I mentioned our love for signing) and we would do it quite often. This day was no exception. During the fight, he began singing at the top of his lungs a song not understandable coming from his 20 month old voice, but he sang it so loud and strong you would think he was singing it for a congregation of millions. He had everyone at the house laughing and falling in love with him. My dad, who was my son’s number 1 fan, taught him how to hit a punching bag that my cousin had hanging on his back deck. It was so amazing seeing him and my dad punch this bag, making the sound effects “boom” and “pow.” Then, they pretended to fight each other and took turns with anyone who was around to take a round with him in boxing. My cousin had a couple of TV’s on during the fight, but we were all outside underneath his deck covering watching the boxing match. All the while, the storm was increasing in strength by the minute. Every round, the thundering rain would get louder and the wind would get stronger. I was getting nervous because I knew we had to drive in that rain back home, and there was no indication that it was “letting up.” Through the 3 min rounds, Pebs sang, hit the punching bag, fought anyone who wanted to play fight, and occasionally, came to get some food and a kiss from mommy. It was a wonderful night. We have spoken of that night since the tragedy on several occasions. We recall the moments that I mentioned, how funny Pebble was as he sang loudly even when he was told to quiet down because the men were trying to hear the TV. The feeling of joy, happiness, love during a hurricane that was blowing fierce winds and heavy rain seemed almost metaphorical. In a time where fear, doubt, and anxiety relates to the storms in life, one positive, little soul, full of life, joy, and love can change the mood, the attitude of the entire atmosphere. That was my baby boy.
The drive home was one of the scariest drives I’ve ever had to make. Thankfully, we arrived safe and sound at home. All my loves were fast asleep as we exited the vehicle into the house at night. It was way passed midnight by the time we fell into our safe and comfy beds. Pebs was placed into his crib but his usual 3 a.m. waking up call wasn’t far from occurring, and mama, routinely and lovingly, would pick him up out of his crib and lay him on her bed, in her arms to continue their sleep.
It was not much after 6 a.m. when I received a phone call from our friends who lived in Dickinson asking us how we were doing from the hurricane. I was surprised and caught off guard that they had called so early in the morning. It was still raining outside, but what I was about to hear want so unexpected. He stated that they had over a foot of water in their house and that he had his wife and their three kids upstairs safe from the rising waters. I was in shock. Flooded? I leaped out of bed and ran downstairs to check our house and Amee. We were in the clear, so far. I rushed outside, where it was still coming down, and realized our front yard looked like a lake. Our house is on beams and not on a slab, but our little house sits on almost 3 acres of land. From my front porch, I couldn’t tell where my yard started or ended. All I could see was water, and it was still raining.
Front yard before the Saturday rain. Almost all under water.
The roads all under water.
Roads headed towards Dickinson.
I called my friend back and asked how they were doing. He stated that he was taking his family some food upstairs, but the water just kept rising. He mentioned that there were some rescue boats that were supposed to go rescue people in these areas. I immediately tried turning the TV on, but didn’t have a good signal with our satellite connection. I started googling information regarding the rescue teams. In just a matter of hours, our city was on a rescue mission. We had neighborhoods under water, and people were scrambling to get out of their homes into a safe place. I, we, had to do something. I woke Rocky up and told him we needed to get the little jon boat on the trailer and head over to the Dickinson area. He was somewhat baffled, but didn’t take him long to get on board. Anyone that knows us, knows we are all about adventure, action, and helping others. Since we had the boat on the deepest part of our land, getting the boat on the trailer was not an easy task as all of that area was way under water. Juggling the rain and helping Rocky load the boat, our rendezvous to help rescue our friends took us a few hours to prepare and get organized. Through our preparation, I kept in touch with our friends and could hear the desperation in his voice. He said he would walk, in waist high water, to the corner store trying to figure out what others in his area were doing. By this time, no one had power and all were waiting to be rescued. He mentioned there were so many people with boats that were trying to help rescue because there weren’t enough government boats to save everyone. I assured him we were on our way. However, so many roads were flooded and closed, finding the best route to them was going to be an additional challenge. It took us over an hour, all four of my family members, to arrive in their area. As we approached the closest entrance to their neighborhood, we could see numerous trucks with trailers parked on both sides of the road. It was like a boat trailer festival except for the fun part of it. There were so many boat trailers empty of boats but still attached to their trucks, big and small, parked all on the side of the road where we needed to cross. Rocky carefully drove farther, passing up a plethora of parked, empty boat trailers. There were so many boats on the street. We drove up to a stoplight, but were greeted with boats on the water instead of vehicles. It was unreal. It almost seemed like we were in a movie. It didn’t seem real. We were driving on a road that couldn’t be seen, hidden underneath a body of water, where boats were our driving companions instead of other 4 wheeled vehicles. Our truck is a big, jacked up truck with four by four by the way. Rocky drove into the street that entered into our friend’s neighborhood and as we exited the truck, the water was inches from entering the interior. He docked the boat and with the little battery operating motor, took off to our friend’s house who lived at the very back of the neighborhood. I stayed behind with the kids because the boat wasn’t large enough for all of us to ride in while trying to rescue a family of 5. We weren’t going to fit. As we waited, and waited, and waited, we would see boats coming out of the neighborhood with people, pets, and some belongings. Some people were escaping the floods by using their pool floats and even some blow-up air mattresses! After about an hour, I finally saw my husband and 5 other people coming back on the boat with a dog. It was starting to rain again, so the men did their best to quickly unload the family and their half husky, half wolf dog. Pebble was getting fussy and Rock wanted to go back to help others, so he decided Pebs would be a great assistant. The two men, plus my Pebs, headed back towards the neighborhood in search of others who needed assistance. My friend and I stayed behind with her two girls, her son, and Amee as the men did their heroic duty. In the several hours that we were there, they must’ve rescued 3 or 4 other families. They’d have women and children, all smiling nervously, as they were getting pulled out of their flooded homes. As the kids’ appetite increased and their cheerful attitude was replaced by raging fits, we finally had to abort our rescue mission. We offered to take a family down to a gas station where they would get a ride, and our friends would come stay with us. Again, the traveling back home was a challenge because the roads were already flooded, and difficult to travel on. We were all jammed packed in our two row seating truck, so 2 adults and the dog had to ride on the bed of the truck. Normally, this would be illegal in our area, but when you are in a flood, there are a few exceptions to the rules, and this was one of them. Of course, when you have to drive no more than 30 mph, sitting on the back of the truck seems pretty safe, considering the circumstance.
Rocky and Pebs on the jon boat during their rescue mission. Pebs was tired after his heroic day.
Hurricane Harvey devastated our entire city, but it brought memories that were made with my Pebs. It was a such a horrible time, filled with loss and suffering for so many, and we were blessed to have our home and help others during these difficult times. Through the next few days, we continued to be a support system for others in need. Not only did we help rescue them, but also help with the demolition of many destroyed homes. We were there, Pebs included, helping them rebuild their lives. He was present through it all. When we couldn’t drive in and out of our neighborhood because the roads were all flooded, we drove our rzr (sport side by side vehicle) up and down streets to bring food and drinks to those that weren’t able to leave their homes. We did this together, as a family, with our new house guests, as well. He was 20 months but never did he act like a baby. He was such a big boy. He never complained or whined. Everywhere around us, people were learning how to rebuild, how to file claims, how to demolish homes, where to dump their destroyed belongings, and churches coming together to help their communities and their own buildings. So many church buildings were damaged from this hurricane, but were still motivated to come together to help others in need. I had never seen such collaboration and cooperation in a city. I imagine that’s how New York united after 911 or Boston after the marathon bomb attack. I’m sure many cities, after a devastated catastrophe, unite to help all those in need. In my 36 years of living, I had never experienced such unison, such love, such support from human kind. It was so beautiful. I felt immensely proud to be a Houstonian, seeing so many people from my city and surrounding areas, come together for the common good of others. And through it all, Pebs was there. Present. Alive. He was Alive. He was breathing. He was laughing. He was smiling. He was living. I guess that’s why it’s so difficult to approach the year anniversary of Harvey without feeling the pain, the sharp pain of grief that engulfs my soul. We were blessed during Harvey. We didn’t get flooded, didn’t lose our home, and we were able to help others. We reached out, giving what little we had, for others to survive. We were teaching our kids the importance of giving, sharing (our home, our belongings, our time), and to appreciate everything.
I look back during those times and picture Amee and Pebs playing in the rain. It was their first hurricane experience and captured every moment of it. I recall Pebs walking in our flooded yard with his rain boots and getting stuck. He was so upset and kept calling for me to go rescue him. I was video taping him, telling him to just keep walking. He was going to be okay, and that it was just water. He didn’t move until sister went to help him, but the moment was captured. I remember him sitting on my lap while we rode in the rzr. His little arms and legs were cold from the water splashing up on us so I covered him with a towel that we had. He soon fell asleep in my arms. Though this moment was not captured on video, it was engraved forever in my heart. He then suffered from a little cold and runny nose afterwards. I remember feeling bad and thought that I shouldn’t of taken him on that ride in the rzr. Now, almost a year later, I thank God I went on that rzr ride with my Pebs. Him on my lap, us sticking our hands out to touch the water, as we drove right through the flooded streets.
Amee first hurricane.
Pebble was so excited for the rain. His first and last hurricane experience.
My sweet baby boy
We were all on the porch but the wind was blowing so wildly, we occasionally would get splattered with rain.
We don’t ever understand why things happen, but I have learned to trust in my God. He knows why. Even if He told me, I probably wouldn’t understand it anyways. I try to live today with that motto. God is trying to teach me, strengthen me, or wanting me to embrace this moment, and so, I must obey. Living in grief hasn’t been easy to be obey. However, when my moments of sadness comes seeping in, I call out to Him. Let this pain endure for just a little while, and then help me embrace this day. Whatever today brings, help be embrace it. When my heart aches in agony, I pray to Him. I know today is necessary. I don’t know why, but it is necessary if He has me here. Pebs is smiling. I know he remembers all of his adventures that we had, and one day, soon from now, we will reminisce on all of our times we shared together.
My baby boy
“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes and there shall be no more death nor sorrow nor crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
-Revelation 21:4
Our friend and Pebs on the rzr while we continued helping others.
Good morning my sweet baby boy. This was the morning of August 26, 2017. We were headed for an adventure filled with memories.
“As I sit and stare at the shimmering moon, I also sit here and hope to see you soon. Then I realize I won’t be able to see you tomorrow….So I sit here and cry in sorrow. Now I only uphold a dream which I hope to come true and that one dream is to be reunited in heaven with you.”
“For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” -1 Corinthians 13:12
Green. It’s a secondary color, not like blue, yellow or red. Mixed together with yellow and blue, we get the color green. Verde is the word in Spanish. The Mona Lisa is painted with a green dress, and the British House of Commons has green benches. It is the color most associated with nature and wealth. It is a bright, an almost unforgettable color. As of September 25, 2017, green became my favorite. Now and forever.
I was giving Pebs a bath. It was a Sunday evening. School for my daughter was on the next day. Therefore, early baths and bedtime routines were underway. I had set the baby’s sleeping clothes by his crib because sister loved to dress him afterward. We were playing with his bath letters, the ones that come in a multitude of colors and are made out of foam. Pebs could hand me all the colors when I asked for them, in English and in Spanish. I’d say, “Daddy’s, can you hand mama the red, rojo?” He’d reach down and hand me any random red letter. We’d do this every bath time, every color, in English and Spanish. He loved chewing on them, and as he’d reach for a new foam letter to place in his mouth, I’d ask for him to hand that color to me. That night, we were about done with his bath, and he reached down, grabbed a letter, and, as he was handing it to me, he said, “Green, green.” I was extremely excited and cheerfully repeated, “Yes, papasito, it is green. Good job!” It was his first time ever to actually name a color. Unbeknown to me, it would be his first and only color to ever name out loud.
Verde. It is now my favorite color. I wear it all the time. My nail color is usually green. I buy green purses and shirts. If I had more courage to walk around with green hair, I probably would. We had a balloon release with green and white balloons on his birthday, December 24. (Yes, he was my Christmas miracle). I can still hear him saying “green” and handing me the letter. The best part of this grief journey besides me now having a favorite color, is that he left his little, tiny teeth marks on all of those foam letters. All the time that I would tell him to stop biting them, in English and Spanish, and he never listened, I now have a physical imprint of his tiny teeth forever. I still have that same letter that he handed me on that day. The letter W. The 23rd letter of the alphabet. The green foam letter W. I kiss it every day before I step out of the shower. I imagine him kissing me back. I’m blessed to have had a baby boy that would bite his letters and not listen to mama when he was told to stop. I’m blessed to have his little teeth stamped in all those foam letters. I’m blessed to have the memory of that final day when he declared to me with great certainty that the color was green.
Balloon release on Pebs first birthday in Heaven.
We all wore green.
Go, Go, Go shirts for his benefit.
Bracelets in green.
Cute little teeth mark.
His teeth marks.
“When you pass through the waters I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.”
Isaiah 43:2
“We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.”
-Dietrich Bonhoeffer
“When you are being stretched out of your comfort zone, always remember that is the very place God will have the most flexibility to show His divine power through you to those He places in your life.
Embrace these stretching times, never resent them.”
My Amee had just turned 7 years old when Pebs was born. If you could describe the best big sister, she would be it. She immediately took on the role of second mommy. She looked forward to carrying him, feeding him, pampering him, loving on him, and all the other sisterly duties expected of an older sister. She was perfect. They were perfect together.
September 25, 2017 changed her. The day her baby brother tragically and unexpectedly passed away marked her heart and soul with tremendous sorrow. She was there when we couldn’t find Pebs. She saw the fear, the tears, the devastation in our eyes. She experienced seeing adults fall to their knees in agony. She heard screams, the wailing of grown men and women, the terror of that day will forever be imprinted in her young, innocent mind. She was only 8. She saw her parents in disarray as they were driven away to the hospital behind the ambulance that was carrying her baby brother’s lifeless body. She stayed behind full of fear. My mom stayed with her and tried to console her as she herself was in disbelief. The days that followed were of survival for Amee. I was physically present, but emotionally and spiritually, I was dead. She had my sister, my cousin, grandma, and family friends that all came to the rescue. They helped take her to school, kept her fed and distracted in a time where her home was completely changed from what it was before. Her home that was filled with baby laughter, family love, a house of 4, was now shattered. The home she once knew was no more. As an 8 year old, how do you begin to grasp the reality of loss? She would see me every day crying. She saw the agonizing pain in her daddy’s eyes. She felt the brokenness in her once complete and perfect world. Her life was forever changed. She lost her brother to death, but her parents now seemed gone, as well. She had never felt more alone, full of sadness, and so helpless. All she wanted was for everything to go back to how it used to be.
It’s amazing looking back how God truly carried us through. Those days following the tragedy are a blur, but I know He was there every step of the way. He gave me the strength every day to get out of bed and live. He gave me the will to hurt, to grieve, to break so that He could also mend me in His way for my daughter and loved ones that still needed me. I knew that my pain was too much for me to handle, so He helped me get through the hardest part of my life in order for my daughter to witness His love, His mercy, His grace, His peace, His power. He had to work in me and through me for our family to survive. I needed to overcome the brokenness so Amee could have her mother back. Amoree needed to know in this life we will experience the worst pain, but without Him, there is no life to prevail. She saw me at the very lowest, darkest pit of depression and pain. But she saw me climb out, slowly and painfully, but she saw her mother stand back up. She witnessed her parents through tears and sadness, not miss a single holiday or birthday. She experienced her heart get broken in a millions pieces, but was exposed to so much love and affection from all of our family and friends. The thousands of people that showed their support through simple gifts, phone calls, visits, a hug, benefits, and especially softball.
I don’t know how different our lives would be today if we didn’t experience this tragedy. I know Amee went through a very hard and dark time in her life. Self-esteem, confidence, courage, fear are all very real emotions that she struggles with till this day. We did see therapists and counselors for a while but Amee is not one that enjoys talking about her pain or her issues. We turned softball into our therapy. We engulfed our energy into a sport. We chose to spend our days together in a ballpark. Through that journey, we made a team in Pebs honor. Our team was called the Moonshots, and made some great friends and amazing memories along the way. We spent many evenings outside practicing and taking pictures of the moon. We were able to move forward, together, as a family and this sport allowed us to spend so much time with our daughter, who needed her parents to help her overcome her grief. Without words, without medication, without therapist, we watched Amee flourish into a young, smart, competitive, softball pitcher. She is now 15. Today is her birthday. It’s amazing to think it’s been 7 years. Seven years that were crucial to her growth, her mental state, her character, her life.
We have lost family and friends along this grief journey. It changes you and forces you to change your lifestyle. However, we have gained some wonderful friends and loved ones through this path. Amee lost her brother, but she also lost the life she was living. She needed stability again. She needed her parents, her mom to be there for her. She wanted everything to go back to normal, and it was our job to make her life be “normal” again. I couldn’t give her that. I had to mend back together. I had to find my new “normal” in order to give her one. I had to allow God to work in me, as much as it hurt. I had to feel the pain. I had to feel the shattered, broken heart get mended back together. Piece by piece, crease by crease slowly and painfully, God worked in me so that I could be the mother, wife, sister, daughter, leader He needed me to be after this tragedy. We don’t choose grief. Amee didn’t choose it, but in this life, we will experience heartaches, loss, unspeakable pain, but if we allow God to work all things out, He will work it our for our good. If we give Him all of our faith, believe in Him, and ask for His strength, He will listen and will not leave us or forsake us. I experienced His glory. I felt His presence, His peace, His strength. I knew He was carrying me. I am here because of Him. My daughter could be in a completely different place right now, but because of Him, she is not only striving, but succeeding in this life. When all of the odds were against her to be anything but a failure, she became a shining star. Allow God to work in every area of your life. Be faithful and believe in Him. He will never leave you.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose.”
Romans 8:28
Therefore it is not God’s will that when we feel pain we should pursue it in sorrow and mourning over it, but that suddenly we should pass it over, and preserve ourselves in the endless delight which is God.
Thanksgiving has passed. It is now December 1, but it’s never too late to be thankful, especially on a day like today. I walked outside this morning after a long night of thunderstorms and showers. My whole front yard was full of rain puddles, soggy and muddy grass. To my great surprise, not only was it wet and muddy, there was trash littered all over my front yard. My lovely canine companions decided that tipping over the trash can was going to be their new hobby. As red lines filled my sight, I calmly and patiently walked over and began to pick up the trash. This nuisance of a task that I found myself indulging in, involuntarily I might add, forced me to think about how grateful I was for our garbage company. If we didn’t have an organization that came by and gleefully carried all of our trash on a weekly basis, where would we put it? I know in my household, we accumulate trash on a DAILY and we take it out to the big trash cans every day. But where would I take the trash from inside the house once it was filled if we didn’t have the blessings of a garbage company to come pick up on weekly basis? My backyard? Could you imagine how filthy and dirty our streets and houses would be? Filled with critters, unwanted pests, and our homes surrounded with the dreadful smells, stench, and varmint invested critters? I think of how awful it must’ve been prior to a solid waste management company, and I’m so thankful for this endeavor to have been established during my lifetime! I could not imagine having to keep my trash on my property or hulling it over daily or weekly to a dump. I don’t know about you, but I’m so very grateful that I have this service available to us. The next time I want to complain about their prices increasing, I’m going to remember how they are creating a service I could not manage on my own. Thank you to all who are providing services that make our lives cleaner, healthier, and more convenient! Let us not forget they are a necessity so let’s treat them with kindness and gratitude!
He was infatuated with the ever changing Moon. My son loved playing and being outside. There was a day during our evening exercises that he looked toward the sky, pointed to the Moon, and began to leap for the mysterious and distant Moon. He must’ve jumped at least a hundred times trying to reach that celestial object so profound in the sky. Pebs pointed, turned towards me and engaged me to look at the Moon, and then continued to jump for it. He was so proud to have discovered this bright, astronomical “ball” that he apparently didn’t think I knew existed. All of this was during the day when the Moon is “asleep” and not supposed to be seen.
Since September 25, 2017, I haven’t missed a single day or night without searching the sky for the moon. Most days I see it and try to capture it with my phone camera whether it’s during the day or night. Some days, I talk to him. I tell him how much I miss him, and with tears rolling down my face, I ask for strength. Other days, I just stare. I allow my thoughts to roam, to be free. But most of the days, I just thank God. It wasn’t on the first day or a week after. It probably wasn’t even a month after my son’s passing that I was grateful to Him. It was difficult to feel anything but brokenness for the first few months. Being grateful was not even a feeling I knew how to have in those days. Searching and discovering the Moon brought me solace in the first few months after his passing. It was almost our connection, my therapy. A time where I could release my anger, my questions, my brokenness. The Moon. How could something that brought my son and I so much joy, bring so much pain now? We jumped for it. We admired it. We learned about it. La Luna. It brought tears, agony, and happiness all at the same time.
One day, I’ll be able to write about that tragic day. I’ll magically script the horrific nightmare that tortures me and strengthens me all at once, but today isn’t the day. One day, I know I’ll relive that moment through words and know that projecting them on screen isn’t for my grief journey, but for others who will need to hear the story for their own grief and hope.
My Pebs. I often think what he would be doing now. What new words he would be speaking, and how far would he be hitting the baseball with his bat. Those thoughts tend to haunt and torture a grieving mother. I don’t allow myself to stay there long or too often. I spend time on our pond that we have in the backyard. I lay on the pier and look up into the sky. I spot the Moon and stare. I talk to him. I tell him how much I miss him. I let him know how much I love him. I express, with my tears and words, how much I wish he was here. I stare long and hard at the moon. The ever changing Moon. Then, with the tears flowing, I thank Him. I thank God for allowing ME to be his mom. What a blessing to have had the privilege to be Pebble’s mama! He chose me. He gave us 21-months with our sweet baby boy. He filled our hearts with so much joy, love, laughter, and a plethora of blessings! He blessed me with my son. He blessed me then, he blessed me on that horrible day, and he continues to bless me, now and forever. I walk through faith. I am a child of God.
The Moon will always be something that connects me with my Pebs. Now and forever. I have moon décor, jewelry, clothing, even our softball team was named Moonshots in honor of our sweet boy. It signifies his life, his love, his joy, his energy, his heart, and our connection. I think of how wonderful the Moon is, its significance to our world. The Moon on it’s own doesn’t shine, but it reflects light. Without it, we wouldn’t have the gravitational pulls of the Earth, helps with climate control, and allows the sun’s light to reflect off of her to give us illumination in the dark nights. When I was in the darkest time of my life, the Moon would be there shining brightly and reminding me that there was still a life, a world, that needed to be shined upon. My Pebs was that light to others, but especially to me. That same Moon that brought me agony during my darkest moments after I lost Pebs, also illuminated my heart out of that pit of blackness. In order to keep my son’s memory alive, to fulfill my purpose, I must be like the Moon. I can’t be useful in the dark. I have to climb out of the pit to the light in order to shine for others, just like my Pebs did. We all have a purpose and it can’t be discovered in the darkness. You can only shine in the light. The Moon will always be there, whether we can see it or not. It is there. Just like our pain, but we are allowed to live and help others while we are on this Earth.
I will continue to admire the Moon everyday of my existence and everyday, I will have my Pebs there with me.
“When the storms rage on, I look back and remember, how you’ve been my rock. You’ve been faithful to me. And I know I’m loved, I can stand on this promise. Through it all and say You’ve been good to me. ” -Faithful To Me worship song (Grace Houston Worship)
“Love the moment, and the energy of that moment will spread beyond all boundaries.” -Corita Kent
“Even in the dark, you have the power to whistle.” -Fredrick Buechner
The thought of whistling isn’t something we think of when in pain. We whistle a happy tune when we are happy, joyful, excited about a new date or a promotion at work. Whistling isn’t anything we think of doing when we are hurled over in pain with a loss of a loved one. It’s almost impossible to gather enough strength to vocalize words much less a whistle. In grief, we muster the strength to just get out of bed, to take on step in front of the other, and make it through another day. Whistling isn’t anything a person who is grieving wishes to do, and yet, if we can conquer the initiative to do the impossible, that is in itself is a major victory. It’s not only a mere tune, it’s a milestone, a step towards moving forward. The road ahead is long, treacherous, and painful, but if you can pull yourself together for a few seconds and push out a little whistle along the way, bit by bit, you will be walking towards the light, slowly walking away from the dark. It may seem impossible, almost unfair, but you will find the joy in a simple song. Allow yourself to grief, but also remember, there are those that miss your tune. They are waiting patiently to hear your whistle again.
September 23, 2017. It was a Saturday morning. I had awaken from a terrifying dream. Rocky, my husband, was still laying in bed, and I had just finished brushing my teeth. I walked over to the bed and just stared at him. Pebs was already downstairs playing with his sister, Amoree. We heard the yelling, laughing, and occasional running as they enjoyed the absence of their parents. As I continued to ponder, Rock asked me what was wrong. I told him that I had had a really weird, scary dream. In my dream, we were playing with Pebble on the bed like we always did. He was jumping and crashing all over us. On one of the crash landings, he missed the bed, and had fallen off. He landed on his head and was crying. Blood started to immerse. Rocky quickly picked him up and handed him to me. He was screaming, yelling for me to fix our son. I calmly and matter-of-fact told him to calm down and call 9-1-1. I was putting pressure on Pebble’s head, where he was bleeding, and all of sudden, right before I awoke, he went limp in my arms. I woke up in a state of disbelief. He had died in my arms. As I finished telling Rocky about my dream, we both had a slight fear in our eyes, but with a nervous smirk, pushed it away. It seemed easier at that moment to ignore something so fearful and unimaginable than to continue talking about it. After all, it was just a dream. I must’ve shared my dream with everyone I encountered that day. I told my stepdaughter, my sister, my parents, and even Amee, but never in a serious tone. It was almost a, “Oh my gosh. You won’t believe the dream I had last night. It was crazy,” kind of tone to it. It wasn’t taken serious and wasn’t discussed further. That Saturday night, I had another dream about death. Our 10 year old beloved dog, Lola had died. I have never remembered the specifics about that dream, but I remember thinking, “Why am I dreaming about death?” Sunday night, someone else died, but I can’t remember who now. Monday, September 25, 2017, my world was changed. My Pebs, full of life and joy, our sweet little Sonny Boy, left this earth. That day, I will write about in details in other time, but for today, I want you to know how real my dream was. He did fall. He did hit head. Rocky did hand him to me. He was limp. He did pass away. He had died. I carried his limp little body to a safe place on the ground where I proceeded with CPR. I heard family members, friends, and specifically Rocky, yelling, pleading to “fix” him. I continued my mission on bringing him back, as I stared at the bruise on his little face. The police tenderly grabbed him from me and proceeded with trying to revive him.
I blamed myself for the longest time just like the enemy wants. He wants you to live in guilt and remorse. I thought God had given me a warning through the dream, and I was too naïve, ignorant, and of little faith to have listened to it. I was so ashamed. I felt myself falling into the pits of misery, depression, darkness. It was my fault. And then, I was introduced to Levi Lusko. He is a pastor of Fresh Life Church in Montana. He wrote a book called Through the Eyes of a Lion that changed my perspective in my premonition. He also lost a child to an asthma attack five days before Christmas. His book speaks about his tragic day and the days leading up to it. What impacted me the most from his book is when he talked about premonitions and his dreams. Two weeks before his Lenya Lion went to be with the Lord, he kept having dreams about death. The only way he could describe his dreams was that it was God’s way of letting him know that no matter what we would’ve tried to do, the tragedy was going to happen, regardless. It wasn’t God trying to warn him, or me, and that we just didn’t have enough faith or that we didn’t listen. It was Him trying to take the “guilty” part out of our mind, our hearts, and our soul. You see, God knew what He allowed was going to try and destroy us. The pain alone would take us to the most darkest, loneliest, unimaginable places anyone could every think of, and He made a way that would deliver us from that guilt. He showed us that even though this horrible thing was allowed to happen, nothing we could’ve done would’ve changed the outcome. The enemy is going to prowl and encourage us to stay in this dark pit, but God is so good. He wanted to protect us from the evil thoughts. If God allowed my Pebs and Lenya to be taken from us, then it was necessary. I don’t understand it. I may not want to accept it, but God knows the needs of all His children. As a child of God, I’m to be obedient and to trust in Him. He has made promises to us, and I have faith that He will provide. He will fulfill His promises, and He will never, ever leave me. I know Pebs is playing in Heaven right now. He’s running, jumping, laughing, and singing up there. I know he feels my love, and he’s waiting for me. I dream of him often. I know when he visits me in my dreams. I thank God for the times he has allowed Pebs to visit me. Most days, I don’t want to wake up, but when I open my eyes, I smile with tears rolling down my cheek. I smile because we were together. I smile and know that one day soon, we will be together again for eternity.
“On the night she went to Heaven, I did for Lenya what a daddy should never have to do. I reached out and closed my little girls eyes. What I never expected was that God used her to open mine.”
–Through The Eyes of A Lion, Levi Lusko
A week before Pebble was born.
My baby boy was born on Christmas Eve.
I’m always mesmerized by the moon.
“Let our faith become a mountain that will rise and never fall, lifted high above the valley, we declare Your kingdom come. We will cling to what You’ve promised ’til the day You call us home. Let our faith become a mountain we stand on.”
From September 26, 2017, I have lived in the state of dysphoria, depression, and darkness. It is an amazing thing that God developed in which our brain can place our mind in a sort of shock in order to cope with the reality of terrifying, horrible, and awful things that occur to us and continue living. The day after the accident, I felt as if my mind ascended to the clouds, but my body remained on earth. I remember Child Protective Services coming and interviewing several members of our family that day. I remember crying, uncontrollably, and trembling as I recanted our events of the previous day. The day that he was still with us. I remember retelling it, being physically present, but my mind was somewhere else. I couldn’t tell you where, but it was as if it wasn’t me talking to the investigators. We reviewed our security cameras, the timeframe matching our stories, the family members confirming our events, and reliving each and every dreadful moment from my son’s last moments alive. I couldn’t tell you if I ate, but my house was never empty. I had a great support system with family and friends. They set up a dinner schedule to bring us food for every night of the week for over a month. I don’t know what we would’ve done without them. I know that we were never alone. My home was full of family members and friends who chose to spend those awful first weeks with us. They were there every day. I can’t remember what my daughter, Amoree, was doing. I can’t even recall her in my memories during those first few days. I know she was taken care of between my family and Rocky’s family and friends. I just have no idea what she did or how she felt. I have pictures that we took together, but can’t recall those moments in the picture. It’s if I’m seeing some other woman standing there, taking pictures and making memories with my daughter. I’m sure I spent time with her, held her, kissed her, but I just cant think of any of it. I can’t even remember sleeping. However, for the first few days after Pebs went to Heaven, I remember taking Z-quil to help me sleep, and then, a prescribed medicine from my doctor called Lorazepam. After those nights of assisted sleeping, I’d wake up in a dream-like state, believing that Pebs was still in his crib. I’d look for him, expecting to see him standing and smiling, then jumping excitedly until I’d go pick him up. It took a few moments for reality to hit me, and when it did, it was the most devastating pain I have ever felt. It was like a freight train would come out of no where and hit me head on. The tears, the sobbing, the despair, the agony, the reality would all come crashing down. Rocky would just cry with me some days or just hold me. The pain I felt in that moment is so indescribable, it can’t be put into words. I, honestly, didn’t know how I could continue living when everyday of my life, I would have to wake up with the reality that he was gone.
The days and weeks proceeded with me living in the clouds, metaphorically speaking, but it was my God’s way of protecting me, of keeping me going and facing the painful reality. I don’t remember a lot of things that I did or didn’t do the first few months after the tragedy. I do know that I found myself a couple of nights over the last place he was in the yard. The place where the accident occurred was the first place I heard myself scream in torment. I didn’t even recognize my own voice. I had never in my entire life ever screamed like that, but it didn’t even bother me at the moment. My pain was so great that I relented to care who heard me or who was even there. Family and friends later told me they had to drag me away from the site and back into the house. I don’t remember that, either. I was later told that they had never heard such a horrible, dreadful scream before, but I didn’t even realize that others were even around. I thought I had walked away, unaware that I was being followed by my loyal and loving friends. I remember parts of my initial grief journey, but I think those parts that I’m allowed to remember are for my safety and protection. God knows what He is doing. I’m slowly able to remember and recall more than what I was able to in the beginning. I guess God trust me a little more now. There are moments that I still find myself laying on the floor, in a puddle of tears. I gradually pick myself up, wipe the tears off, and continue with my day. They are less frequent, my episodes, and don’t last as long, but they are still there. They are a part of me now. I sleep, eat, drink, live, and fall apart, daily. I can live with this new itinerary in my schedule from here on out because there was a part of me that was taken to Heaven on that day. I hope that I may smile in the future while I’m breaking down, anticipating that it won’t hurt near as badly as it did those first few months, but the tears will always be there. The pain will always be there. The memories will always be there, and so will the Holy Spirit. He will be there, willingly and lovingly, ready to assist me and carry me through. We aren’t on this journey alone. Family and friends are willing to help us get through the unimaginable. And our Heavenly Father is walking alongside us, pushing us, carrying us, and loving us along the way. Grief is a journey that doesn’t have any shortcuts. In order to fully go through the pain, we have to go the long way, through the valleys and tribulations, but thank God we are not alone. He is always with us.
“Those who grieve find comfort in weeping and in arousing their sorrow until the body is too tired to bear the inner emotions.”
-Maimonides
He was sitting up all by himself
At the ballpark, supporting mommy and daddy with auntie Yesenia.
At the ballpark, supporting daddy and learning to drink from a straw.
How I wish I had these moments with him again
His cousin holding Pebs tightly, wishing it would never end
“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
-2 Corinthians 4:18
Sweet baby boy of mine
Pebble with his loving grandparents on his first Easter celebration.
My loves on an early morning before work and school
My little Rocky jr.
I wish I had more moments like this with him.
I will be able to smile like this again. Wish his little fingers were entwined with mine again.
Our family moments full of happiness. Complete joy
“Brothers and sister, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. “
My little Pebble’s feet. His sweet little footprints.
I remember reading the poem “Footprints” when I was young. My eyes would start to well up with tears, even at the age of nine, reading the part where our Heavenly Father never leaves us, but it’s during our most troubling times that He carries us. ( Footprints, Author Unknown). When my son passed away on September 25, 2017, I know that God would carry me through, maybe even drag me through, life. As his year anniversary of being in Heaven is nearing, He has graciously set me down and allowed me to take a few steps on my own. At first, it was just one step, and then I would collapse and fall into the dark pit of darkness, agonizing pain, and suffering, but He was always there, ready to lift and carry me on. Slowly, I began to take a few more steps. He would patiently hold my hand or mostly, hold me up and walk alongside me. I felt His whispers, “It’s okay, my sweet daughter. I am here. I will never leave you. I know it hurts, but we will walk this painful journey together.” I’d collapse again, and He’d be right there, lifting me and carrying me through. My walks with Him are moments of peace and comfort. Everyday, it’s a stroll along the path of life. I speak to Him more calmly now, not like those few months after the accident. I mostly ask Him how I can make Him proud, what is He like, and how can I be more like Him. I used to think I wanted my Heavenly Father to answer my questions, and I would get frustrated when He didn’t respond. I asked the questions of, “Why, What ifs, How come, What is my purpose?” and I never heard Him answer me. I have a prayer group that meets every Wednesday. We finished a study from Priscilla Shirer called The Voice of God. It wasn’t until we completed the 7 week session that I realized that God was answering my questions by letting me know that I just needed to “seek” Him, to get to “know” Him in order for me to know the answers I was begging for before. My mother never had to ask me if I wanted mayo or mustard on my sandwich because she knew I hated mayonnaise. She understood what I liked because she was my mother. She spent time with me. She learned my likes and dislikes. It is the same with our Heavenly Father. If I get to know Him, I won’t have to ask Him what He needs of me or what He wants me to do. I will already know because I will know Him. I stopped asking those type of questions after I made that realization. My intention has matured into wanting to get to know my Heavenly Father more. I know He loves me. I know He will never leave me. I know He wants the best for me. I know He is a Father full of grace and forgiveness. I know He has a purpose for my life. I know that He intends to guide me and lead me along my earthly journey as long as I allow Him. I know He is the beginning and the end, the Alpha and the Omega. I know He sent His only Son to die for me so I can have eternal life. I BELIEVE and KNOW all of this. Before my son went to Heaven, I knew it. I attended church all my life. I knew what I was told to believe, but I hadn’t truly believed it until I was made to believe it. When my life felt as if it had ended, when my heart was broken and pain and suffering entered my soul, that was when I truly had to believe all that I was taught to believe. It wasn’t until I was down on my knees, humbled to the agony of desperation, lost to the life of this world, did I have to reach deep within my soul the belief that God, His Holy Spirit was present and willing to carry me through the darkest valley of my life. Nothing in this life could’ve prepared me for the pain that I felt on that horrible day and will continue to feel for the rest of my life, but my faith was put to the test on that day. Was I going to believe and trust in Him? Did I believe He was a God of mercy and of promises? Would I allow Him to lead me to the purpose He needs me to fulfill? I have had many sleepless nights. I have had days where I can’t take another step. I have a memory of my Pebs and it drops me to the floor in shattered pain. I know I’ll have many more of these moments for the rest of my earthly life. But I also know and believe that He was there on that day, September 25, 2017. A day that was filled of happiness, laughter, and love until 5:17 P.M. He was there to welcome my baby boy into Heaven. He was there with open arms, welcoming my Pebs home. I know my God was there with me when I fell down to my knees in that hospital room, and heard the doctors say, “I’m sorry ma’am. We’ve tried nine times to revive him. Want us to try again?” “Yes, please, ” I responded in shock, not believing this was real. “On the tenth time, it will work.” I held his little, cold foot. I yelled at God in that hospital room, and yet, I know He was shedding tears and crying right there, kneeling besides me. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. He’s gone.” My Father knew those words would come before they were spoken, but I believe He still screamed right next to me as I yelled in torment. He felt every bit of torturous pain, and I know that’s when He first placed me in His arms. I don’t know how I ever managed to walk out of that room except that it was Him who carried me out. The waiting room was filled with our family and friends who had rushed to be by our side when they first heard the news. Every single person in that room was crying. Not one person had a dry cheek. Not one. I know my God sent the Holy Spirit to that hospital room and to our support system from that day forward. That was part of Him carrying us through. Our family, friends, friends of friends, all came together to help get us through the most awful thing a parent could ever go through. That was the beginning of my God placing me in His loving arms. Like I said earlier, He has put me down a couple of times throughout this journey. I have taken a few steps on my own, but I never have let go of His hand. When it seems as if I am going to fall again, He is there, reminding me that He has a hold of me. When I’m in despair, lost, needing to hear my baby boy’s footsteps or voice, He is there to remind me, I will soon be with him again. I know my journey will always be painful. I know that on this earth, my trials and tribulations are yet to come. I know that from September 25, 2017 and until I die, I will cry every single day. Every. Single. Day. I’m perfectly content with this because pain and tears are temporary, but my walk with God is eternal, and that is something to be blessed about now until forever. Let God carry you through.
“Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word about Christ.”
-Romans 10:17
My sweet boy
Papa time
Favorite place to be
Happiest in sister’s arms
“God has taught my heart to sing again, and tucked away in the minor key, I hear His promise of all that is yet to come.”
September 23, 2017. It was a Saturday morning. I had awaken from a terrifying dream. Rocky, my husband, was still laying in bed, and I had just finished brushing my teeth. I walked over to the bed and just stared at him. Pebs was already downstairs playing with his sister, Amoree. We heard the yelling, laughing, and occasional running as they enjoyed the absence of their parents. As I continued to ponder, Rock asked me what was wrong. I told him that I had had a really weird, scary dream. In my dream, we were playing with Pebble on the bed like we always did. He was jumping and crashing all over us. On one of the crash landings, he missed the bed, and had fallen off. He landed on his head and was crying. Blood started to immerse. Rocky quickly picked him up and handed him to me. He was screaming, yelling for me to fix our son. I calmly and matter-of-fact told him to calm down and call 9-1-1. I was putting pressure on Pebble’s head, where he was bleeding, and all of sudden, right before I awoke, he went limp in my arms. I woke up in a state of disbelief. He had died in my arms. As I finished telling Rocky about my dream, we both had a slight fear in our eyes, but with a nervous smirk, pushed it away. It seemed easier at that moment to ignore something so fearful and unimaginable than to continue talking about it. After all, it was just a dream. I must’ve shared my dream with everyone I encountered that day. I told my stepdaughter, my sister, my parents, and even Amee, but never in a serious tone. It was almost a, “Oh my gosh. You won’t believe the dream I had last night. It was crazy,” kind of tone to it. It wasn’t taken serious and wasn’t discussed further. That Saturday night, I had another dream about death. Our 10 year old beloved dog, Lola had died. I have never remembered the specifics about that dream, but I remember thinking, “Why am I dreaming about death?” Sunday night, someone else died, but I can’t remember who now. Monday, September 25, 2017, my world was changed. My Pebs, full of life and joy, our sweet little Sonny Boy, left this earth. That day, I will write about in details in other time, but for today, I want you to know how real my dream was. He did fall. He did hit head. Rocky did hand him to me. He was limp. He did pass away. He had died. I carried his limp little body to a safe place on the ground where I proceeded with CPR. I heard family members, friends, and specifically Rocky, yelling, pleading to “fix” him. I continued my mission on bringing him back, as I stared at the bruise on his little face. The police tenderly grabbed him from me and proceeded with trying to revive him.
I blamed myself for the longest time just like the enemy wants. He wants you to live in guilt and remorse. I thought God had given me a warning through the dream, and I was too naïve, ignorant, and of little faith to have listened to it. I was so ashamed. I felt myself falling into the pits of misery, depression, darkness. It was my fault. And then, I was introduced to Levi Lusko. He is a pastor of Fresh Life Church in Montana. He wrote a book called Through the Eyes of a Lion that changed my perspective in my premonition. He also lost a child to an asthma attack five days before Christmas. His book speaks about his tragic day and the days leading up to it. What impacted me the most from his book is when he talked about premonitions and his dreams. Two weeks before his Lenya Lion went to be with the Lord, he kept having dreams about death. The only way he could describe his dreams was that it was God’s way of letting him know that no matter what we would’ve tried to do, the tragedy was going to happen, regardless. It wasn’t God trying to warn him, or me, and that we just didn’t have enough faith or that we didn’t listen. It was Him trying to take the “guilty” part out of our mind, our hearts, and our soul. You see, God knew what He allowed was going to try and destroy us. The pain alone would take us to the most darkest, loneliest, unimaginable places anyone could every think of, and He made a way that would deliver us from that guilt. He showed us that even though this horrible thing was allowed to happen, nothing we could’ve done would’ve changed the outcome. The enemy is going to prowl and encourage us to stay in this dark pit, but God is so good. He wanted to protect us from the evil thoughts. If God allowed my Pebs and Lenya to be taken from us, then it was necessary. I don’t understand it. I may not want to accept it, but God knows the needs of all His children. As a child of God, I’m to be obedient and to trust in Him. He has made promises to us, and I have faith that He will provide. He will fulfill His promises, and He will never, ever leave me. I know Pebs is playing in Heaven right now. He’s running, jumping, laughing, and singing up there. I know he feels my love, and he’s waiting for me. I dream of him often. I know when he visits me in my dreams. I thank God for the times he has allowed Pebs to visit me. Most days, I don’t want to wake up, but when I open my eyes, I smile with tears rolling down my cheek. I smile because we were together. I smile and know that one day soon, we will be together again for eternity.
“On the night she went to Heaven, I did for Lenya what a daddy should never have to do. I reached out and closed my little girls eyes. What I never expected was that God used her to open mine.”
–Through The Eyes of A Lion, Levi Lusko
A week before Pebble was born.
My baby boy was born on Christmas Eve.
I’m always mesmerized by the moon.
“Let our faith become a mountain that will rise and never fall, lifted high above the valley, we declare Your kingdom come. We will cling to what You’ve promised ’til the day You call us home. Let our faith become a mountain we stand on.”
When will the pain cease to abruptly attack whenever it chooses. It comes with no warning or sympathy. It doesn’t care if you are at church or at the store. Pain is deceiving. It tricks you to believe that it will never come again because the last time, it hit with such intensity that it knocked you down, took your breath away, and emptied you of all your tears. But here it is again. Smoldering over your heart, your memories, your past, and the distant future. However, Pain makes me stronger. It brings suffering, but just like every great and thundering storm, the rainbow is followed with great Hope and Promise. Pain is temporary. It is a state of mind. It is not who I am or who I choose to be. It is a necessity in this life. I have a purpose. In order for me to fulfill that purpose, I must build strength, perseverance, endurance, trust, and believe with all my heart and soul that God will keep His promise if I will allow Him to work through me. Pain will continue to find it’s way into my inner soul, but with my Heavenly Father’s help, it won’t linger as long. It won’t torment me as hard. I will be able to get up faster, stronger, and maybe even with a smile because I know that He is with me. He is there to hold me, comfort me, and whisper, “I will never leave you. We will walk this painful journey together, my daughter. You will soon see your Pebs again. Trust me.” Thank you, Lord, for your mercy, grace, and love.
“Out of every crisis comes the chance to be reborn, to reconceive ourselves as individuals, to choose the kind of change that will help us to grow and to fulfill ourselves more completely.” –Nena O’Neil
“I know that I shall walk out into the sunshine again.” – Martha W. Hickman
Happy Heavenly 10th birthday, my love. It’s hard not to think of how life would be if that tragic day wouldn’t of occurred. It’s hard to not think of how tall you would’ve been or the type of haircut you would have. I ponder and imagine you at 10, and all I can see is your little feet, your little hands, and your sweet smile with your incomplete teeth. I only see your 21 month self running awkwardly, and allowing me to still carry you when you fall. In a way, life has stopped. My heart, part of me, is still living in those moments. And yet, life has no mercy to shattered and broken hearts. It keeps going and today, you would’ve turned 10. Double digits! I wonder what theme you would’ve picked. I know you are celebrating, living in eternity with Jesus. I know you are happy and safe. I just miss you. One day soon, I’ll get to hug you again, and I may never let you go.
It’s hard to believe it’s been 8 years. Eight long years since I last held you.
If I had known eight years ago that life would have changed this much, I would’ve never believed I could’ve survived it. If someone had told me that I was going to lose my son in September of that year, I would’ve told them that I was going to die with him. There was absolutely no way I could survive my child dying. And in a way, I didn’t. I’m not that same person. Neither is my daughter or my husband. We all had to change. We all were broken, dead, in a way. Tragedy does that to a person. You have to change in order to live. Find your new self, your new norm. My son was our life, our energy, our complete circle, and we had to learn how to live with that circle now being broken. We had to learn how to mend the circle again.
I know by now all that have read my blog know how strong my faith in God is. The only reason we have survived in a sane manner is because of His grace. We are here because He gave us the strength, the peace, the guidance, the perseverance to keep going. We suffered and felt real agonizing and excruciating pain when we lost Pebs. We didn’t even want to live. We didn’t even see the purpose, but my seven year old daughter didn’t deserve such cruelty. Her life was complete, and her brother being called to heaven and seeing her parents in a state that no seven year old should ever have to witness was difficult enough for any child to bear. Amoree deserved her parents to fight for a “new normal” life.
I can’t begin to tell you how this tragedy has affected my Amee. She struggles with self-esteem issues, confidence, and relationships. She has a hard time trusting and getting close to anyone. She saw the devastation and agony in our eyes for years, and she knows true pain. Her struggle in believing in herself, trusting others, and talking about her feelings is an ongoing battle. I pray so hard for her because she is now 16 years old, and self-esteem and confidence are the last things you want your daughter at this age to lack, but then there’s God! I know He’s still working through her, with her, and for her. He is creating a beautiful, powerful woman of God. He turns the pain and hurt into good for us, for her. He is working even though we don’t see it or understand it.
I didn’t know i
I was going to write tonight. It’s been many months since the last time I wrote. Mainly because of life and the busyness of the world, but this was put in my heart tonight. I wanted, needed to thank Him for His goodness, for His faithfulness. I don’t like remembering that day. The day we lost him, but I can now look back at his videos, his pictures, and smile. I know there is a reason and purpose for everything He has planned. I trust in Him. Through every storm, through every tear, every fear, every obstacle, my God will see us through.
Tonight, I thank Him. I give Him the glory. I put my Amee, my Raphee, my husband, and myself in His hands. We are Yours. We are grateful. We are faithful.
It has almost been a year since my Pebble went to Heaven, and I’m still struggling to climb out of the darkness, the black pit that grief shoves you in. At first, I didn’t even realize I was in this sorrowful hole. My life was a complete daze, blurred, and unimportant. I wasn’t living a reality. I’m not sure when I came to, but when I opened my eyes, pure darkness surrounded me. A faint light from high above shined into this tiny, gloomy pit. I didn’t care at the beginning, that I was trapped in this god-forsaken place. My son was gone. My whole world was shattered, but I slowly and faintly, began hearing voices. Voices of my loved ones calling for me. I heard my daughter’s sweet voice calling for her mom. My husband, in a very distant cry, heard him needing me. I, eventually, opened my eyes and looked up. I couldn’t see anyone, and the pain of not having my baby boy in my arms tortured my soul. I laid in a fetus position again, surrounded by darkness, hoping I would soon see my baby again. As I laid there, cold and miserable, my father’s voice came to me. He, too, was calling for me, needing me. I closed my eyes, praying it was just my imagination, but then, I heard my mother. Her cries of desperation, searching for her daughter’s return home. I could hear my sister, my nephews, my cousins, and my friends. The voices increased in volume, and my daughter’s would usually be the loudest. She sounded desperate for me. The whispers of my name, faint at first, but something in the voices that caught my attention. It wasn’t just the calling of my name, it was the love that emerged from their voices. My eyes sprung open, and yet, I could see nothing in the dark besides the faint light from above. I managed to pull myself up into a crawling position. For the first time since my son’s death, I decided to move. I began to hear another voice, but this one didn’t sound like the other familiar voices I had been hearing. It wasn’t an external voice. It was almost coming from my own heart, coming from within. I heard the sweet, soft sound of my Pebs telling me, “Go, go, go…” His famous words when we would race together. His three little words he would yell when he would run the bases. He was telling me to go, to move, to live. I sobbed, not wanting to move. I wanted to stay in that hole with him, in my grief forever, but he knew that my loved ones up above needed me, and I knew that too. I began to move, reluctantly, painfully. The darkest pits, filled with pain, suffering, and anguish are dark and steep, but once they feel movement, it’s almost as if they adjust to the person’s emotions. The steep slope began to adjust as I began climbing. It was extremely difficult at first. I slipped, fell, but I kept trying and kept climbing the slope and it began to not be so steep. There were many times I wanted to just slide down and return to my hole that I once laid in, but the voices were constant, “Mom,” or, “Sis.” Some voices I heard were of my name or my husband calling for me, “Babe,” but the loudest one was of my Pebs. “Go, go, go,” and so, I did. Every fingernail claw that penetrated the dirt, I felt myself getting stronger. Every step, slip, or every tear, I felt life seeping into my soul again. I allowed myself to look up every once and a while, and I would inch closer to the light. I could see more of the hole, and from up above, I began to see things in a completely different perspective. I never had been so close to dirt or mud before or really looked up at things from the very bottom of a pit. Everything looked different. The tree branches and their leaves looked majestic, swaying gracefully in the breeze. I would look at these things before but never really saw them. Grief has a way of revealing things to you that were always there but never really been seen.
I believe I’m still climbing. One day, I will be free from the pit that we call grief, but, as for now, I’m still trying to get out. I’m still moving forward. I get to communicate back to the voices now. I interact with them, and we occasionally laugh, sing, talk, cry, but I’m not completely out of the darkness yet. I’m being renewed through this journey, trudging, crying, and struggling. Every step I take forward, God is renewing my soul, my spirit, my heart. I believe this is why I see things in a different perspective. I’m not the same person I once was a year ago. When I fell into the darkness, I had a choice. I was going to be changed regardless, whether I wanted this change or not. Life had dealt me a new set of cards, and there was nothing I could do about it. My only choice was to stay in the darkness or to live. When the choice was made to move forward, His Holy Spirit took over because of faith. I believed He was with me. He would make all things for my good. As I moved forward, I prayed like I’ve never prayed before. Called onto Him every step of the way because I needed His strength to move me. He lovingly and full of mercy has stayed by my side throughout this entire journey. “You are so strong,” I hear people tell me, but they don’t know I’m still climbing. They don’t know my breakdowns. They don’t know my emotional battles. They don’t know it is His strength and not my own. They don’t know the mental war that is constant, day in and day out. They don’t know how many times I want to give up. They don’t know how weak I really am. They don’t know how there wasn’t another choice. They don’t know.
My handsome PebsMy first plane ride.He loved this day! Surrounded by balls!
Grief will take you into depression, unbearable sadness and agony, and unless there is a stronger power than our own flesh, our human nature will start searching for worldly “medicine” to make the pain go away. Parents that I have met who also lost a child, found temporary relief in anti-depressants, alcohol, drugs, and an abundance of worldly, sinful things to take their minds off the agonizing pain. My life would have been the same if I would’ve stayed in the dark pit of grief. Thank God I was already a believer. Thank God I had people praying for me. Thank God I was able to still see all of His blessings before it was too late. My Heavenly Father is not done with me yet. I know if I keep climbing, one day, I will exit this hole as a new person ready to fulfill his purpose for my life. I will stay faithful, believe in His promise, and live once again. I will continue to listen to the voices that early on urged me to start moving. I will hold them dearly to my heart and know that I am needed and loved. I will, especially, keep listening to me sweet Pebs as he tells his mama, “go, go, go.” I am son. Mama is moving. Mama is going to leave this dark pit soon. Mama will live happily and joyfully again, and one day very soon, we will be together again.
“There is no way out, only a way forward.” -Michael Hollings
We were going for a run. He doesn’t look that excited, but he really was happy.
“The relationships of our life are a system, an interlocking network, and when one element is affected, so are they all. The death of a loved one will unbalance the whole lot….It is a good time to pay attention, to make these relationships as good as possible. If we are buoyed and fed by satisfying relationships now, there is less other-directed energy floating around, trying to attach in unrealistic ways to the one who is gone.” -Martha Whitmore Hickman
Had taken Pebs to the pool with his cousins the summer before the tragedy. He loved it.
“He gives strength to the weary and increases power of the weak.” -Isaiah 40:29
“Where there is great love, there are always miracles”
Pebble's Pond 