Category: Grief

Green

“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.”

Author Unknown

A Sister’s Sorrow

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.

Juan of Norwich

Moon

 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

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My Sweet Pebs looking up.

Even in the Dark

“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.

Favorite memory

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 sing
At church and church function singing with mommy

A Mother’s Courage

“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

In the Clouds

                 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. “
                                                                                                                                            -​Philippians 3:13-14

Footprints

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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.”
                                                                                                                    Through The Eyes of A Lion, Levi Lusko

Pain

My Sweet Pebble

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