06/11/2025
My name is Heaven, the education coordinator for Judah Brown Project. The reason I’ve dedicated myself to the education is because thats what could have saved my son, today three years ago his accident took place, followed by a very long painful experience in the hospital. Please let Bodhi’s story be the reason your child stays safe.
June 11, 2022.
The day I tried everything in me to save my baby boy, Bodhi. The day my soul broke in a way it will never heal. The day I died with him.
We were house-sitting. I thought we were safe. I thought we were in a childproof home. I thought I could finally breathe. But the animals were loud that night, and my kids weren’t used to it. Like any mama would, I let them crawl into bed with me for comfort. That would be the last time I’d ever hold my son while he was still alive.
Early that morning, I woke up to barking then silence. My bed was empty. Panic flooded my chest. I started screaming their names, running blindly until I saw it: the door wide open.
And in that instant, I knew.
I knew before I saw.
I knew before I screamed.
I knew before I jumped.
Audrey was standing at the edge of the pool. And Bodhi… my baby, my everything… was already under. I ran. I jumped in. I pulled him out. I called 911 while doing CPR.
Twenty-three minutes.
I gave him breath after breath, praying, screaming, begging God to take me instead. “Please just let him breathe. Let him live. Let this be a nightmare I can wake up from.”
When EMS arrived, they found a heartbeat.
For a split second, I believed we had a chance.
They stabilized him at HCA and then transferred him to the children’s hospital.
I remember the car ride like I’m still in it. My daughter in her car seat, sobbing. Me, driving and screaming at God. “Please save him. Please don’t take him. Please don’t let this be the end.”
But it was.
Because what should’ve been a safe home wasn’t. Because the pool wasn’t fenced.
Because no alarms went off.
Because of one door did not have the proper child proofing, a world of pain followed.
This could have been prevented.
Fencing the pool would have saved Bodhi’s life.
One lock. One alarm. One barrier.
He would still be here.
But instead, I’m left with silence where his laughter should be. I’m left with flashbacks and trauma and a heart that will never beat the same. I am not who I was. I never will be again.
Bodhi should be here. My baby should be alive.
And every day since that moment, I carry the weight of a loss that never had to happen.
Please—if you have a pool, fence it. If you think your home is safe, think again. Don’t wait until it’s too late. Because no mother should have to live like this. Because I shouldn’t have to say was when I talk about my son. Because I’m still screaming his name into the silence, hoping someone, somewhere hears me.
đź’”
