Pamela Petson
Of course my worst tragedy was the loss of my baby boy, Eric (every mother's nightmare, losing a child). He was an angel, it is impossible to describe him and how much he was loved. He was my last child, had beautiful light brown eyes and very golden blond hair. When he was born he never cried and in the morning I would find him lying in his crib just looking around. When he was 3 weeks old I took him to the doctor as I was sure there was something wrong with him since he didn't cry, but the doctor told me "he is the healthiest child I have ever seen, just enjoy him". He was a chubby baby and everyone wanted to hold him. All his brothers and sisters and everyone at church would fight over who could hold him. When I would go into town the people in the stores all knew us and would come over to me and would want to hold him while I shopped. In the small market they would set him on top of the cash register while I shopped and he would just sit there and look around. Really this little guy just never cried! When he was two weeks short of his 1st birthday (October 17, 1979- his 1st birthday would have been Nov 2nd) he died in a tragic manner by drowning in a diaper pail. I was teaching school and came home for lunch. When I pulled into the driveway I found some neighbors there at the house and my youngest boy, Steven, was sitting on the step with his hands in his face, crying. My second oldest adopted girl, Maria, came out of the house with a strange look on her face. She just blurted out "Eric is dead". I went into the house and my neighbor from across the street had Eric in her arms, he was just like a rag doll, just no life in him, and I took him from her. She ran from the house in tears. My oldest adopted daughter was crying in her room on the bed. I went right away to her and told her she wasn't responsible. She felt responsible because she was taking care of him and was using the pail to mop the floor, but I couldn't blame her, I knew it was just an accident. She said the pail was leaning against the wall outside under the faucet which had just very little water in it because the water pressure was very bad that day. She was mopping the living room and Eric was right beside her when suddenly she noticed he wasn't there. She went into the backyard looking for him and calling his name. We had a large backyard and after calling him with no answer and walking to the end of the property she began to walk back to the house when she saw the diaper pail against the wall with some plastic pants floating on top (in those days we didn't have disposables so would put plastic pants over the clothe diapers), and she wondered why they were floating there when the pail didn't have much water in it, when she realized it was Eric. She ran over and had to pull him out as he was wedged tightly into the pail. She says he was doubled over with both his head and both legs down inside the pail. She says he threw up some water but he was dead. Of course police came to investigate but realized it was an accident. In those days in Mexico most bodies were not taken to funeral parlors nor would they be embalmed. I lay for several hours on the bed with my son and a time on my knees seeking comfort, and then my husband and I went to buy a casket and I prepared Eric and laid him in it. A friend, who had experience with such things, came and showed me how to prepare his body and assisted me. She too had lost a child. I didn't leave his side all night, and the next day we had his funeral at the church. The funeral directors attended as they transported the body to the chapel and then to the cemetery. They were so impressed with the service that some of the children of the director joined the church, so I realized that already Eric was a missionary! When we sang at the cemetery the grave digger had big tears streaming down his very dirty face, so Eric was still having an effect on people even in death. To this day I don't really know if he drowned or suffocated. There was only very little water in the bottom of the pail and the way he was wedged in so tight it appeared that he was bending over into the pail to drink the water from the bottom and fell in and in trying to free himself he wedged his little legs in. He was a big boy and we figured there was no way he could have stood in the pail and then bent himself over and got stuck, as the top of the pail was only about 10 inches in diameter (about 30 inches tall) so we feel somehow he fell in. The mystery is why the pail did not fall over, something I still can't figure out. To this day it haunts me still not knowing exactly what happened, but it was just a freak accident. I was especially traumatized by the fact that he might have suffered but his oldest brother (Mike) received a revelation that he was taken immediately, that there was no struggle. I hope that was the case. For many years I would wake up trembling with that dream-a struggle and him gasping for air). Both Mike and Jeff were in the US at the time going to high school and staying with friends. I had to call them by phone and let them know their brother was gone. Since Eric had to be buried the next day (due to no embalming) there was no way they could come home in time, something that bothered them both as they felt they were never able to say goodbye. I always have felt that little Eric was just too pure to be in this world and that he just came for his body and show us true love and tenderness and then leave after his very short stay on earth. He never had to experience a harsh word, or see anything ugly, or know of any evil, he just knew nothing but love during his short time on earth.
One of the hardest things was going into town and everyone asking where their little angel was and me having to tell everyone he was gone. Also at church the next Sunday, the young girls ran out of the chapel as they always did, prepared to fight over who was going to get to hold Eric and so that was very hard. We had no phone, nor did any of our friends (that's the way it was in Mexico back then), so everyone was shocked to hear the news.
Anyway, Eric is our little angel, waiting in heaven. There is no doubt in my mind that he lives with our Heavenly Father, and I have to live worthy so that someday I can be with him!
Oh, one more thing I want to add, the night before he passed we had gone to a festival and I'd taken pictures of him. So one of the first things I wanted to do was rush the pictures to be developed. Lo and behold, on his shirt were the words "I love you", his last message to me!
--------- Pamela Peterson served a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Columbia for two years with her husband, Clyde Peterson. She does her best to help and serve others. She loves life, wishes for more time to read, loves meeting and talking to people, dancing, and serves all who come into her life. She has an overwhelmingly and constant desire to help and serve others and fill their lives with love and compasion. She speeks only for herself.
