The post was not long.
But it carried a weight that pressed down on the heart like a quiet ache.
It was the kind of post that does not shout.
It does not ask for attention.
It simply tells the truth, and the truth is heavy.
When Brittney Roberts wrote those words on Facebook, she did not know how many strangers would stop scrolling.
She did not know how many hearts would pause mid-beat.
She only knew that she was a mother who had already buried one child.
And now she was praying with everything left in her soul that she would not have to bury another.
Jason and Brittney Roberts are not public figures.
They are not celebrities.
They are not people who sought sympathy or attention.
They are simply parents from Ralph, Alabama.
Parents who love their children fiercely.
Parents whose faith has been tested in ways no parent ever deserves.
Twelve years earlier, in 2013, their world had already ended once.
Their baby daughter, Darby Kate, had lived for only 68 days.
Sixty-eight days of breath.
Sixty-eight days of tiny fingers.
Sixty-eight days of dreams that never had time to grow.
There is no manual for losing a child.
There is no order that makes sense.
Parents are not meant to bury their babies.
And yet, Jason and Brittney stood beside a small casket and said goodbye to their daughter before she ever learned to say hello.
Grief does not leave after the funeral.
It settles quietly into the bones.
It becomes part of the way you breathe.
Part of the way you love.
Part of the way you fear.
Time moved forward, because time always does.
Life continued, because life does not ask permission.
And somehow, in the midst of sorrow, Jason and Brittney found the courage to keep living.
To keep believing.
To keep hoping.
Their son, Will Roberts, became their light.
Their firstborn.
The child who arrived after unimaginable loss.
The child who carried both joy and fear in equal measure.
Every laugh from Will was precious.
Every milestone felt sacred.
Every birthday was a quiet victory.
Because when you have already lost one child, you never take another for granted.
Years passed.
Will grew.
He developed a gentle heart and a curious spirit.
He loved animals.
He loved life.
He loved deeply, the way children do when they feel safe and cherished.
And then came the diagnosis.
Bone cancer.
A word that fractures time.
A word that splits life into before and after.
A word no parent ever expects to hear spoken about their child.
Jason and Brittney did not collapse.
They did not turn away.
They did what parents do when the unthinkable happens.
They stood up.
They held their son.
They fought.
Hospitals became familiar.
Treatments became routine.
Waiting rooms became places of prayer.
Fear became an unwanted companion that never fully left.
And through it all, their faith did not disappear.
It wavered.
It bent.
It cried.
But it remained.
They believed in a God who heals.
They believed in prayer.
They believed that love itself can be a kind of medicine.
Then came a small moment.
A simple moment.
A moment that somehow held everything inside it.
Will held a new Bassett Hound puppy in his arms.
The puppy’s name was Rebel.
Long ears.
Clumsy paws.
A heartbeat full of joy.
In that moment, Brittney took a picture.
And then she wrote the words that would travel far beyond her home.
“Thank you God for the love of this puppy.”
It was not a grand prayer.
It was not poetic.
It was honest.
“Please God— I plead for an earthly healing.”
This was not a mother asking for comfort.
This was a mother begging for time.
“Please let Will live out his life to experience his puppy growing old with him.”
The prayer was not about miracles in the abstract.
It was about ordinary moments.
About mornings.
About walks.
About years.
Then came the words that stopped readers cold.
“Just the thought of burying a second child in this lifetime is a pain I can’t describe as a mama.”
Because some pains cannot be measured.
They cannot be explained.
They can only be felt.
“This is my first born.”
The child who made her a mother.
The child who taught her what love truly costs.
“The first one who stole my heart.”
And suddenly, everyone who read those words understood something sacred.
This was not just fear.
This was memory.
This was trauma resurfacing.
This was a wound reopened.
Jason and Brittney know exactly what loss looks like.
They have already walked through it once.
They know the silence that follows.
They know the empty arms.
They know the long nights when grief speaks louder than hope.
And yet, they are still standing.
Still praying.
Still believing that this story does not have to end the same way.
They ask for nothing extravagant.
They ask for prayers.
They ask for faith.
They ask the world to stand with them in hope.
Give your best to the Roberts family.
Hold them in your thoughts.
Speak Will’s name in your prayers.
Because sometimes, love travels farther when many hearts carry it together.
