Debi Tibbles - Ollie Tibbles: The Boy Who Became a Train

For Ollie.
Love you always and forever.
Mummy

Special thanks to Metra
and the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

Published 2012 by Medallion Press, Inc.

The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO

is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.

Copyright 2012 by Debi Tibbles

Cover design by James Tampa

Edited by Emily Steele

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro

ISBN# 978160542491

We are sitting on the deck attached to the small home in Michigans Upper Peninsula as the late summer evening begins to descend on our conversation. It has been all about life lessons, how they show up and perhaps why, and other events in our lives that leave no explanation and even fewer clues. I study the impending sunset that is painting the last clouds of the day in a hue from the palette that only the architect of the universe can claim as Debi sits back and says, Even with all the bloody pain in the world, life is still worth it.

She would know.

My mind races back three years to the first time my path crossed with Debis. I was attending a fund-raiser at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago, and after a full day of rain the evening promised to be glorious. As I made my way past the silent auction tables and toward the main dining room, I noticed a woman standing near the bar area. She appeared to be a female version of rocker Billy Idolher hair was spiked up and snow-white, various tattoos adorned her formidable arms, and she was in all black.

Two weeks later I came into my office in Chicago, and sitting in the foyer was Billy Idol from the event!

I said, I know you!

She countered, The bloody hell you do?

Debi and I have been friends ever since.

Ollie Tibbles: The Boy Who Became a Train is not just a book its a miracle in the making. Its a story that will test every belief you have about what is possible, how unbearable pain can be transformed into incredible possibility, and what it takes to live your truth. Through the loss of her son, Debi found her voice by taking a journey that no parent wants to embark onever.

Having a front row seat to the Debi Tibbles Experience, I have watched her move in directions no one could have predicted, standing up when so many sit down, and moving ahead when it would be so easy to sit back. Courage can be defined in many ways, but for me it means listening within when all around you seem to hold you back and breaking through the walls youve built so one day you have the satisfaction of finding your true self.

When my day gets heavy or my thoughts of my own losses are too much to bear, I think of Debi plowing through the darkest days imaginable and my load seems much lighter. If I need more of a kick I will ring her up, and all it takes is that Hello, Big Man, how are you? and I am back on track.

I pray that someday after reading this book you, too, have a chance to meet this very special person who carries on a promise she made to her young son Ollie, whom she misses more than life itselfa promise Debi shares with you as you embark on this journey. Its a ride you will never forget.

John St. Augustine
Rapid River, Michigan
August 2010

John St. Augustine has been called the voice of America by veteran broadcaster Charles Osgood and the most influential voice on radio by best-selling author Cheryl Richardson. He was the creator and host of Power!Talk Radio, a nationally syndicated radio show, and executive producer of The Dr. Oz Show on Oprah & Friends on XM Satellite Radio. He is the best-selling author of Living an Uncommon Life (2006) and Every Moment Matters (2009).

My name is Debi Tibbles, and I am English. I love Marmite and fish-and-chipsold style, newspapers and all with malt vinegar and a big, fat Wally, please! I say, Bloody hell, a lot and possess a saucy sense of humor. I share this with you now, especially if you are American, so that you are prepared for the onslaught of all things British in me as you turn these pages.

I am also the proud mother of Jessica, George, and Ollie, my greatest achievements.

Despite generous words to the contrary from those who have already read my story, I never considered myself a writer, never imagined Id actually write a book, yet I believe theres a story in all of us. Some of us get to see it come alive within pages, while others of us see it only in our dreams. This story is not a work of fiction; it really happened. And while I know I wont receive any literary prizes, I stand firm in the belief that what you are about to read is the greatest prize I could ever receive and share with you. Through the eyes of a child, my child, you will be afforded heartache, joy, and inspirationand an opportunity to meet a clown in a white coat.

I could say to you that this is a mothers story, my own story, and it is. Yet it is more than that. It is everyones story. Its the unwritten story we all have embedded within but have forgotten about or perhaps ignored. For me, its a story that was all of these things and more, and it was certainly not my idea to share it. Credit for that goes to my son Ollie, who strongly felt it should be sharedand he always was a persistent little bugger. With that cute, cheeky monkey grin of his, how could I refuse?

The mellow tones of The Eagles Tequila Sunrise drifted through my headset as I climbed another torturous mountain of pain, my labor reaching its peak.

I was amazingly calm as I wondered for the umpteenth time about the child within me: a boy or a girl? I had no clue and was not one of those mothers who liked to know during pregnancy. I had relished the not knowing, the guessing, the talks in the bathtub with my yet unborn child. Well, hello, little manor are you a little girl? Id say, mesmerized by the faint outline of a little fist pushing toward my voice.

Id been spot-on with Jess, our first, and with George, our second. Jess had been almost ladylike as shed squirmed and wriggled, stretching like an elegant ballerina. She had entered the world crying pitifully. George had enjoyed the occasional game of soccer in my womb, throwing in a bit of boxing just for the hell of it. He had entered the world yelling his head off. Who knew a pair of lungs just a few seconds old could project so?

Teetering on the edge, I knew my climb was over. I could feel the urgency and desperate need to push as my body succumbed to its natural state. It was time. I could hardly believe I was there already. It had only taken me two hours to climb that mountain. With a gut-wrenching scream, I pushed and my newborn child silently and calmly entered the light and the waiting arms of the midwife.

I eagerly reached for my child and held him close, savoring each minute, adoring the tiny being with a mass of dark hair. As my warm, wet baby squirmed on my chest, I beheld his tiny perfect fingers and toes, his adorable little bottom, and his delightful pert nose. As he attempted to open his eyes, he did not yell or cry but merely whimpered, screwing up his beautiful, wrinkled face. He was offended, it seemed, to have been evicted from his lovely, warm place inside my belly.

Smiling, I felt a surge of overwhelming love, my soul speaking to his: Oh, precious child, my beautiful son, so this is who you are. Oh, how I love you. Welcome to this wonderful world and all that awaits you.