A safe place where parents can express their grief after losing their beloved child.
Author: pebblespond
I lost my 21 month old son in a tragic accident. I've never felt so lost in my entire life. I learned deeply in my faith, my family, and friends. I desired to know God deeply, in a more intimate way because I knew that if I was still on this earth, I still hadn't fulfilled my purpose. I had so many questions that I needed Him to answer, and seeking God was my way of staying sane during my pain and suffering. I know what it feels like to lose a child, and this is one way that I know will heal some wounds. I wish to be a light to others, inspire those who are hurting, and help those who have lost hope.
My Pebble was only 21 months old when he was called to Heaven, but he made an impression in all who met him. There wasn’t any room inside the funeral room to fit any more people, so they opened it up into the foyer and even outside. I can’t pinpoint one specific memory that I can truly say is my favorite, but I loved it when my Pebs would sing. He loved singing, and I would like to believe it had to do with me being part of our church choir while I was pregnant with him that helped him have a love for singing. We would worship in the car, in the shower, at get togethers, in every opportunity, we would sing! He was my singing partner. When he passed, it was impossible for me to hear music, much less sing. This tore me apart. If you know me, you KNOW how much singing was a part of me. It felt as if I would never enjoy doing this again in my life. When I first gave it a shot, I did it with such pain. It was singing through shrieks and agonizing screams. The next time, it wasn’t as bad but still painful remembering my little singing partner wasn’t going to chime in with me. I don’t know how many attempts it took before I was able to finish a song without breaking apart, but it happened. I can sing, worship, praise Him for hours again because I know that even if Pebs isn’t singing with me here on earth, he’s joining me in melody somewhere close. He’s always singing with me, and soon, we’ll do it again together face to face. I can’t wait!
What is your favorite memory of your loved one? I’d love to hear from you.
My Pebs loved to singAt church and church function singing with mommy
“…and it was gray, and grayer the deeper he went. What if it was deeper than he had figured? But soon the light changed, the muck brightened, and he was headed out, towards clear sky and sun again. He said that was the best sight in the world: the world.” -Josephine Humphrey, From Healing After Loss
Those first few days, weeks, even months into years, you seem to go deeper into the darkness, and it seems like there is no hope. Depression, loneliness, sadness, and despair make a home in the center of your heart. But if you allow yourself to open your eyes, just for a second, you will see a faint light in the distance. You will go back to the darkness quite often, but if you can challenge yourself every day, at least once a day at first, to look for the light, one day, you will discover that you see the light brighter and closer. Then, you’ll see it for longer times throughout the day, until one day, you will be able to see what the bright light was when you were in the pit of darkness. That faint, distant light that seemed so far and unreachable will soon be so close that you will notice that it was the world you once lived in. The beautiful, joyful world you had fallen from. It will take time. It will not be easy. It will be painful. But there is hope. The light is there, and it will be waiting for you until you are ready.
“I will be open to the possibility of joy in my life, and I will not be afraid.” – Healing After Loss, Martha W. Hickman
“Then Pharaoh gave this order to all his people: ‘Every Hebrew boy that is born you must throw into the Nile, but let every girl live.’” Exodus 1:22 Moses was born in a time where oppression, slavery, poverty, injustice, and an unimaginable life was being lived by his Hebrew people. He had a death sentence […]
“Then Pharaoh gave this order to all his people: ‘Every Hebrew boy that is born you must throw into the Nile, but let every girl live.'” Exodus 1:22
Moses was born in a time where oppression, slavery, poverty, injustice, and an unimaginable life was being lived by his Hebrew people. He had a death sentence before he took his first breath. Hate surrounded his being without even his first cry was heard. The misery, fear, sadness the Hebrew nation must’ve felt during these times is inconceivable. How could anyone have hope when they are surrounded with evil? Jochebed, Moses’ mother, witnessed her friends, her cousins, maybe even her sisters get their infant son’s yanked from their loving arms and thrown into the river. She saw the devastation, the agonizing pain of the murder of their babies. I imagine her running to the them, holding them up as they cried in helpless torment. She could’ve been their support as they struggled to continue living in such a cruel world. This, however, could’ve been her motivation, a sort of inspiration for preparing a way to save her own son’s life. Having to witness such murders, she devoted her time to pray and plan a way to escape this faith for her child. I imagine this in itself wouldn’t of been an easy task. She had to be conspicuous around all the Egyptians, as she continued her usual routine of slavery life. The courage she must’ve had in order to create the master plan of survival for her unborn son is unspeakable. When Moses was born, she had already weaved him a papyrus basket to place him in for escape and protection. I wonder how many times she started over because the basket wasn’t big enough, or safe enough, or comfy enough. I wonder how many tears she shed as she carefully weaved each piece knowing that she wasn’t making this basket for future embraces, but for the survival of her baby. She had to keep this basket hidden somewhere in her humble home where the Egyptians couldn’t find it and continue the work during hours that were safe from view. The courage, energy, and love she must’ve had for this task to be completed by the time Moses was born is just incredible. The hours spent thinking of where to place him, how to keep him alive in the basket, the moments of fear if he would be discovered. She knew that was the only way to keep him from being killed so she continued weaving, through the fear, the unknown, the sleepiness nights, the impossible circumstances-she continued letting her courage and love guide her. I know she talked to God through every piece, every thought, every tear, she talked to her Heavenly Father, and she knew His hand was all over her and her son. He would be the only way her plan would succeed. Moses was born and when she couldn’t hide him any longer, placed him in the basket she had weaved for months, maybe even redone multiple times, and finally, set him in the river. She had evaded the destruction of her son. She courageously defiled the Egyptian law and chose LIFE for her son! Moses, in his carefully weaved basket, floated up the Nile with his older sister cautiously watching him from afar until he reached the riverbank close to Pharaoh’s daughter. His sister watched as Pharaoh’s daughter had her slaves open the basket where Moses was laying. He was crying. The Pharaoh’s daughter felt sorry for him, is what the bible says, and that’s when Moses’ sister comes out and asks if she should find someone that could nurse the baby for her. The bible doesn’t go in detail, but I can imagine how difficult this must’ve been for Myriam, Moses’ sister, as she came out of hiding and approached the Egyptian royalty. All of this was God blessed. Only He was able to soften the heart of the Pharaoh’s daughter to want to keep a Hebrew baby, and allow Myriam to find a woman to nurse her newly adopted son. Jochebed’s hard work for all the days and nights she spent weaving, praying, crying and being faithful to her God allowed her son to live. That was a miracle that can’t be unnoticed. Moses was not supposed to be alive, much less get nursed, hugged, kissed by his Hebrew mother. We don’t know how long Moses was in the river, how long he had to travel up the Nile before he was discovered, but he was crying. We could assume he was hungry, maybe even hot, wet and dirty, and needed a lot of attention. Can you imagine how Jochebed was feeling during this time of unknown? Myriam was following and stayed close to the basket the entire journey until he was discovered. No cell phones. No way of communicating to Moses’ mom. She was in the dark about her son and his whereabouts. It wasn’t until Myriam comes to deliver the news of Moses being found that she finally realizes her son has lived, and she gets to continue to nurse him! Hallelujah! The average age a child nursed was 3 years old during this time. The bible is unclear how long Jochebed was able to spend time with Moses, but it is clear that she saved his life and was able to witness him live. “When the child grew older, she took him to Pharaoh’s daughter and he became her son.” Exodus 2:10
Moses grew and became a monumental figure in the Hebrew’s survival out of slavery and Egypt. God needed him to be born. To be protected. To be adopted. To be raised. To be groomed. To be God-fearing. To be a man of God. If Jochebed wouldn’t of been obedient and wouldn’t of been courageous, Moses’ story would’ve been different. We may not even of known a man named Moses. A man that saved his people from slavery. A man who God handed him our commandments. A man who, with God’s help, parted the Red Sea. A man whose story is too long to tell in one page, but should be known throughout eternity. No matter how amazing and important Moses is to history and the story of the bible, we can’t ignore his mom. Jochebed is even more crucial and relevant. Without his mother’s courage, her obedience, and her faith, his story wouldn’t of existed. Mothers, we are God’s stewards. Our children are on borrowed time. As much as we want, need, and desire to have them for ourselves, they are not our own. God has blessed us with them during our Earthly lives, but He is the ultimate decider on how long we get to be with them. We must be obedient on how we raise them. We must obey God’s plan for their life. It may not be the path we want for them, but God has given us the responsibility as their parents for a reason. He knew you were the perfect mom for his child, therefore, we must be obedient to His plan. We won’t understand it. We won’t even accept it at times, but we must have faith that His ways are better than ours. We must be courageous. God has given us the responsibility to raise our children for His glory, and that may not be the safest route, but it is the route with God’s Holy Hand and Spirit. What could be a better route?
Today, I encourage every mother to be courageous. Spend time with Him. Allow Him to speak to you, guide you, and bring you wisdom and courage to step out in faith. We are raising children of God, and that will take all the courage and strength in this world, but we have our All Mighty God who will never leave us or forsake us. Be encouraged. Be courageous. Be a Jochebed.
My Pebble, my Lil Rocky, when he first born. His first day outside my womb. We nursed him soon after. December 24, 2015-September 25, 2017
It was a typical Thursday morning. Pebs and I had dropped off Amee at school and were headed to the park for our morning jog and play time. We had the radio blasting to our favorite worship songs and were singing and praising Him. It brought such great happiness when I would sing to our Lord and Pebs would “sing” right along with me. All through my pregnancy, I was part of our church’s choir team. I always knew he was going to be my singing companion from the moment he was a baby because when I would sing him lullabies, he would move his little lips and just be mesmorized at the sound of the music. Anyone that knows me knows I do not have a good singing voice, but I love to sing and am not ashamed to sing out loud. Singing, to me, regardless of how I sound, brings such pleasure to my soul. Whether I would be cooking, cleaning, bathing, feeding babies, or driving, we would often listen to our worship music and sing for Him. It took me a while to listen to worship music in the car after the tragedy, and even longer to start singing again. My fondest memories of my Pebs was of him singing. So, this particular day, our usual routine of praising and worshiping the Lord was on full throttle. When we finished a song, he’d clap his hands and yell, “Yay! Mas?” and the next one would come on and we’d start singing, clapping, raising our hands, and praising all while we were on our way to the park.
My singing partner
All smiles when we listened to Christian music.
This was taken on that last Thursday we went to the park. We were getting ready to leave the park, and he wanted to help me drive.
I haven’t smiled that big n a while. I feel His spirit surrounded us on this day.
I had joined an exercise group that previous Tuesday and was given the rest of the week to try it out. I knew that I would love it but wasn’t sure if I would want to make the financial commitment. I unloaded the baby’s stroller, his sippy cup, his snacks, toys, and my water and towel. We were on our way to get fit. Pebs allowed mommy to get her workout on, very patiently I might add, but was ready after almost an hour to go to the playground. Sweaty, exhausted, and thrilled I had completed the class, Pebs and I walked over to the playing area. I had taken Pebs to this particular playground since he could barely walk. We made many memories there, and needless to say, I haven’t returned there since September 21, 2017. I miss it. It was such a happy, cheerful place that I shared with him. I pray I can go back one day and make more memories.
Making memories with my Pebs.
Pebble loved the playground
Blue,,,Azul
New adventures, new discoveries made forever
His smile
On this particular day, it was full of little kids, all excited about the green slides, blue bridges, yellow steering wheels, brown steps, and colorful see-saws with adoring animal figures. Pebble loved it. His smile and laughter completed me. I would be exhausted from my run or workout, but his smile would give me the energy I lacked to play with him. I would go down the slide with him, run after him while he crossed the bridge, tickle him as he climbed the steps, hold him as he went across the monkey bars, and sit across his beautiful face as we went up and down the see-saw. We had just ran across the bridge and were playing by the steering wheel. I was recited the colors he was touching because I never let a good learning opportunity pass me by, and I remember that this cloud of sadness just washed over me all of a sudden. I was staring at him, still playing with the steering wheel, making the vroom, vroom noise, and I recall thinking, “Oh daddy’s, I’m not going to have these moments with you much longer. You are going to leave mama, and all I want is to hold you close forever.” In my mind, I was thinking that he would leave me by growing up and starting school. I began to feel melancholy and tears welled up in my eyes, but just as quick as the sadness loomed in, I forcefully shoved the gloomy feelings out. I made myself snap out of it and continued to enjoy that moment with him.
Couldn’t walk yet but still loved to climb and play.
I know that moment was real. I don’t know if it was a premonition of what was to come, if it was a way of preparing my heart, or just motherly instinct, but looking back at that moment, I know it wasn’t a coincidence. The following night is when I had my dream of him dying in my arms. The following nights, I had all those dreams of death until the day he went to Heaven. I know, I truly believe in my heart, that these thoughts and dreams were not a coincidence or just something that happened. I know I was given these thoughts by Him. He allowed me to feel this for a reason that I may not be able to understand. Maybe I was just meant to share my experience, my story to the world in hopes that someone else has gone through the same and needed to hear this from me. I can’t explain why I had these premonitions, but I don’t think I’m supposed to try to explain them. I believe I’m meant to share them, just like I believe I’m meant to share my Pebs. My premonitions, to me, were special, just like my Pebs. How do I explain such a special little boy? I can’t. All I can try to do, as best as I can, is to share him with the world. I can share all of his stories, our adventures, and our memories with others. I believe that’s what I’m meant to do. The premonitions were a special part of our story. They are a small part of what made him special. He is, was, always will be my special baby boy. Who taught me to seek the moon during all hours of the day, sing at the top of our lungs whenever we wanted, and to never stop. He loved to say, “Go, go, go,” and that’s what mama is doing.
Cheeze! All smiles
Never a dull moment
Happiness
“…you will not be cured, but….one day-an idea that will horrify you now-this intolerable misfortune will become a blessed memory of a being who will never again leave you. But you are in a stage of unhappiness where it is impossible for you to have faith in these reassurances.”
-Marcel Prolist
Taken on the last Tuesday we attended this park.
His excitement melted my heart.
“I don’t have to know all the answers because I know Him. So my heart’s cry isn’t, “give me facts,” but “give me faith,” because even if I did have the information there isn’t much I could do with it. Even the tiniest measure of faith, on the other hand, can move mountains.”
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.”
I never thought of memories to be painful, hurtful, sorrowful. They were just that, memories. Whether they were good or bad, regretful or satisfactory, they were just part of our past. Memories didn’t start attacking me until the day after September 25, 2017. It was as if my life was not real. I would see pictures of my son and instantly fall to me knees or to the ground. I couldn’t believe I didn’t have him anymore. The memories of carrying him in my belly, nursing him, all the sleeplessness nights were vivid, real, but yet, he wasn’t in my life anymore. I would remember carrying him in a Moby baby wrap around the house or when I spontaneously mowed the lawn. The memories of him running a fever, taking him to the doctor, and meticulously caring for him were real. I found myself quite often asking why wasn’t my baby with me? I remember all the battles we would have when nap time came around. The baby sign language we enjoyed “speaking” together. The adventurous days we would fill with playgrounds, jogs, food, naps, races, and laughs. And now, his laugh, his cries, his voice wasn’t present anymore. All the visits to the park were gone. The feet races we used to do were a distant memory.
I remember us walking down the stairs. He’d reach for my hand and say in his baby voice, “down, down.” We’d hold hands and count each step as we stepped down, one half in English and the other in Spanish. We’d reach the bottom step together and he’d clap his little, precious hands together as if he had accomplished an impossible task. He would always be so proud. In this real world that I live in without him, going up and down the stairs in the lack of his presence is utterly meaningless and oh so very painful.
Breakfast was also one of my favorite times with him. He’d run to his high chair and again tell me, “down, down.” He’d scoot his high chair all the way into the kitchen instead of the dining area, where he would see me cooking him some eggs. He’d tell me, “papa,” or food, and we’d sing, smile, watch Elmo, and enjoy the presence of life with each other. But I enter the kitchen, and it’s empty of what used to be there. There isn’t any singing while cooking. The airplane sounds that I used to make as I fed him. The noises of him banging his plates and spoons together. The bang of him dropping his sippy cup and yelling “uh, oh.” The silliness of a spoon full of food flying through the air into the mouth of a baby boy is just a memory.
Riding the lawnmower with my Pebs.
Oh, but how beautiful and joyful are those memories. The beauty of feeling his first kick when I was pregnant. No pain could ever hurt more than the love of feeling that kick inside of me. The fun way we tried to learn how to use the wrap to carry him on will always be more precious to me than the pain of not having him here. It allowed me to hold him close, right next to my heart. I would never exchange that for anything in the world. The feeling of his little fingers wrapped around mine as we walked down the stairs, the sound of his baby voice as we counted the steps, and the cheerful sound he made when we arrived at the bottom will forever be treasured in my heart. The mornings filled with Elmo’s World theme song, the smell of eggs, and our contagious laughter and numerous amounts of surprised kisses, are the mornings that will forever live in my thoughts, my soul, my heart. As I write these memories down, the tears haven’t stopped flowing. I have had to take several breaks and have used a multitude of kleenex, but how could I not want to remember those precious moments with my sweet boy. However more painful it will be to continue reliving moments with him is worth every tear because those times were real. He was with me. It is excruciating, devastating to acknowledge and accept the reality. I will not be creating anymore memories with him, that’s reality. He isn’t living in this world, physically, with me anymore. He is now in heaven, safe, happy, and waiting for me. Yet, the time that he was with me was full of love, happiness, peace, joy, and so many other words of love that can’t be described with ink, paper, or fonts. It’s a feeling so profound, so in depth that it has no adjectives strong enough to bear it’s meaning. I slowly and cautiously venture down memory lane. There are videos and places that I still can’t see or visit, but I am patient and know that one day, I will be ready. Time doesn’t heal the pain, but it gives Strength, Endurance, Peace, and Joy the necessary duration they need to survive this empty world without our child. I live every minute, every second, every beat of the day with a memory of him. Not a moment goes by that he isn’t with me. Most days, I can smile. Every day, I still cry. In all the days, I thank God.
Riding the lawnmower with my Pebs.
“Real grief is not healed by time…If time does anything, it deepens our grief. The longer we live, the more fully we become aware of who she was for us, and the more intimately we experience what her love meant for us. Real, deep, love is, as you know, very unobtrusive, seemingly easy and obvious, and so present that we take it for granted. Therefore, it is often only in retrospect-or better, in memory-that we fully realize its power and depth. Yes, indeed, love often makes itself visible in pain. -Henri Nouwen
He loved the playground.
Papa time. He loved his food.
More papa!
Pebs was very observant and curious. Wonder what he was looking at?
All smiles after eating some delicious papa.
Our many outdoor adventurous in our yard. Angus, our pony, hiding behind the tree. He was camera shy.
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
Pebble's Pond 