September 25, 2017

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.

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

“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