Happy Heavenly 10th birthday, my love. It’s hard not to think of how life would be if that tragic day wouldn’t of occurred. It’s hard to not think of how tall you would’ve been or the type of haircut you would have. I ponder and imagine you at 10, and all I can see is your little feet, your little hands, and your sweet smile with your incomplete teeth. I only see your 21 month self running awkwardly, and allowing me to still carry you when you fall. In a way, life has stopped. My heart, part of me, is still living in those moments. And yet, life has no mercy to shattered and broken hearts. It keeps going and today, you would’ve turned 10. Double digits! I wonder what theme you would’ve picked. I know you are celebrating, living in eternity with Jesus. I know you are happy and safe. I just miss you. One day soon, I’ll get to hug you again, and I may never let you go.
It’s hard to believe it’s been 8 years. Eight long years since I last held you.
If I had known eight years ago that life would have changed this much, I would’ve never believed I could’ve survived it. If someone had told me that I was going to lose my son in September of that year, I would’ve told them that I was going to die with him. There was absolutely no way I could survive my child dying. And in a way, I didn’t. I’m not that same person. Neither is my daughter or my husband. We all had to change. We all were broken, dead, in a way. Tragedy does that to a person. You have to change in order to live. Find your new self, your new norm. My son was our life, our energy, our complete circle, and we had to learn how to live with that circle now being broken. We had to learn how to mend the circle again.
I know by now all that have read my blog know how strong my faith in God is. The only reason we have survived in a sane manner is because of His grace. We are here because He gave us the strength, the peace, the guidance, the perseverance to keep going. We suffered and felt real agonizing and excruciating pain when we lost Pebs. We didn’t even want to live. We didn’t even see the purpose, but my seven year old daughter didn’t deserve such cruelty. Her life was complete, and her brother being called to heaven and seeing her parents in a state that no seven year old should ever have to witness was difficult enough for any child to bear. Amoree deserved her parents to fight for a “new normal” life.
I can’t begin to tell you how this tragedy has affected my Amee. She struggles with self-esteem issues, confidence, and relationships. She has a hard time trusting and getting close to anyone. She saw the devastation and agony in our eyes for years, and she knows true pain. Her struggle in believing in herself, trusting others, and talking about her feelings is an ongoing battle. I pray so hard for her because she is now 16 years old, and self-esteem and confidence are the last things you want your daughter at this age to lack, but then there’s God! I know He’s still working through her, with her, and for her. He is creating a beautiful, powerful woman of God. He turns the pain and hurt into good for us, for her. He is working even though we don’t see it or understand it.
I didn’t know i
I was going to write tonight. It’s been many months since the last time I wrote. Mainly because of life and the busyness of the world, but this was put in my heart tonight. I wanted, needed to thank Him for His goodness, for His faithfulness. I don’t like remembering that day. The day we lost him, but I can now look back at his videos, his pictures, and smile. I know there is a reason and purpose for everything He has planned. I trust in Him. Through every storm, through every tear, every fear, every obstacle, my God will see us through.
Tonight, I thank Him. I give Him the glory. I put my Amee, my Raphee, my husband, and myself in His hands. We are Yours. We are grateful. We are faithful.
“Even in the dark, you have the power to whistle.” -Fredrick Buechner
The thought of whistling isn’t something we think of when in pain. We whistle a happy tune when we are happy, joyful, excited about a new date or a promotion at work. Whistling isn’t anything we think of doing when we are hurled over in pain with a loss of a loved one. It’s almost impossible to gather enough strength to vocalize words much less a whistle. In grief, we muster the strength to just get out of bed, to take on step in front of the other, and make it through another day. Whistling isn’t anything a person who is grieving wishes to do, and yet, if we can conquer the initiative to do the impossible, that is in itself is a major victory. It’s not only a mere tune, it’s a milestone, a step towards moving forward. The road ahead is long, treacherous, and painful, but if you can pull yourself together for a few seconds and push out a little whistle along the way, bit by bit, you will be walking towards the light, slowly walking away from the dark. It may seem impossible, almost unfair, but you will find the joy in a simple song. Allow yourself to grief, but also remember, there are those that miss your tune. They are waiting patiently to hear your whistle again.
September 23, 2017. It was a Saturday morning. I had awaken from a terrifying dream. Rocky, my husband, was still laying in bed, and I had just finished brushing my teeth. I walked over to the bed and just stared at him. Pebs was already downstairs playing with his sister, Amoree. We heard the yelling, laughing, and occasional running as they enjoyed the absence of their parents. As I continued to ponder, Rock asked me what was wrong. I told him that I had had a really weird, scary dream. In my dream, we were playing with Pebble on the bed like we always did. He was jumping and crashing all over us. On one of the crash landings, he missed the bed, and had fallen off. He landed on his head and was crying. Blood started to immerse. Rocky quickly picked him up and handed him to me. He was screaming, yelling for me to fix our son. I calmly and matter-of-fact told him to calm down and call 9-1-1. I was putting pressure on Pebble’s head, where he was bleeding, and all of sudden, right before I awoke, he went limp in my arms. I woke up in a state of disbelief. He had died in my arms. As I finished telling Rocky about my dream, we both had a slight fear in our eyes, but with a nervous smirk, pushed it away. It seemed easier at that moment to ignore something so fearful and unimaginable than to continue talking about it. After all, it was just a dream. I must’ve shared my dream with everyone I encountered that day. I told my stepdaughter, my sister, my parents, and even Amee, but never in a serious tone. It was almost a, “Oh my gosh. You won’t believe the dream I had last night. It was crazy,” kind of tone to it. It wasn’t taken serious and wasn’t discussed further. That Saturday night, I had another dream about death. Our 10 year old beloved dog, Lola had died. I have never remembered the specifics about that dream, but I remember thinking, “Why am I dreaming about death?” Sunday night, someone else died, but I can’t remember who now. Monday, September 25, 2017, my world was changed. My Pebs, full of life and joy, our sweet little Sonny Boy, left this earth. That day, I will write about in details in other time, but for today, I want you to know how real my dream was. He did fall. He did hit head. Rocky did hand him to me. He was limp. He did pass away. He had died. I carried his limp little body to a safe place on the ground where I proceeded with CPR. I heard family members, friends, and specifically Rocky, yelling, pleading to “fix” him. I continued my mission on bringing him back, as I stared at the bruise on his little face. The police tenderly grabbed him from me and proceeded with trying to revive him.
I blamed myself for the longest time just like the enemy wants. He wants you to live in guilt and remorse. I thought God had given me a warning through the dream, and I was too naïve, ignorant, and of little faith to have listened to it. I was so ashamed. I felt myself falling into the pits of misery, depression, darkness. It was my fault. And then, I was introduced to Levi Lusko. He is a pastor of Fresh Life Church in Montana. He wrote a book called Through the Eyes of a Lion that changed my perspective in my premonition. He also lost a child to an asthma attack five days before Christmas. His book speaks about his tragic day and the days leading up to it. What impacted me the most from his book is when he talked about premonitions and his dreams. Two weeks before his Lenya Lion went to be with the Lord, he kept having dreams about death. The only way he could describe his dreams was that it was God’s way of letting him know that no matter what we would’ve tried to do, the tragedy was going to happen, regardless. It wasn’t God trying to warn him, or me, and that we just didn’t have enough faith or that we didn’t listen. It was Him trying to take the “guilty” part out of our mind, our hearts, and our soul. You see, God knew what He allowed was going to try and destroy us. The pain alone would take us to the most darkest, loneliest, unimaginable places anyone could every think of, and He made a way that would deliver us from that guilt. He showed us that even though this horrible thing was allowed to happen, nothing we could’ve done would’ve changed the outcome. The enemy is going to prowl and encourage us to stay in this dark pit, but God is so good. He wanted to protect us from the evil thoughts. If God allowed my Pebs and Lenya to be taken from us, then it was necessary. I don’t understand it. I may not want to accept it, but God knows the needs of all His children. As a child of God, I’m to be obedient and to trust in Him. He has made promises to us, and I have faith that He will provide. He will fulfill His promises, and He will never, ever leave me. I know Pebs is playing in Heaven right now. He’s running, jumping, laughing, and singing up there. I know he feels my love, and he’s waiting for me. I dream of him often. I know when he visits me in my dreams. I thank God for the times he has allowed Pebs to visit me. Most days, I don’t want to wake up, but when I open my eyes, I smile with tears rolling down my cheek. I smile because we were together. I smile and know that one day soon, we will be together again for eternity.
“On the night she went to Heaven, I did for Lenya what a daddy should never have to do. I reached out and closed my little girls eyes. What I never expected was that God used her to open mine.”
–Through The Eyes of A Lion, Levi Lusko
A week before Pebble was born.
My baby boy was born on Christmas Eve.
I’m always mesmerized by the moon.
“Let our faith become a mountain that will rise and never fall, lifted high above the valley, we declare Your kingdom come. We will cling to what You’ve promised ’til the day You call us home. Let our faith become a mountain we stand on.”
Life will never be the same for these family members. Their life, what they knew of it, has now forever changed. The happy family get togethers, holidays, birthdays, and summer vacations will NEVER be the same again. My heart breaks for these surviving loved ones, friends, coworkers, and life partners. They will want to figure out a way to turn back time. They will try to do all the “what ifs” and “I should’ve’s.” I wish there was a magic potion I could give them to ease their agonizing pain, their grief, but all I can do is pray. I can give them support, love, and comfort, and ask our Heavenly Father from above to bring them strength that only the Holy Spirit can bring and peace that He alone can send. I know their hearts are shattered, and nothing will ease their hurt, but I want you all to know that we are fiercely praying for you and all the family and loved ones involved with the tragedy. We will be praying for all of you. May you feel His presence, His comfort, and His arms wrapped around you. Please join me in praying and bringing all the families involved some solace in knowing they have people praying for them during these difficult times.
Losing a loved one is heartbreaking
“So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” John 16:22
“…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 […]
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.”
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.
Pebble's Pond 