Brandi Pesina

Brandi Lynne Pesina

Sunrise May 21,1982- Sunset December 20,2025

Brandi Lynne Pesina was a loving mother, daughter, sister, wife, friend, and soon to be grandmother. Her earthly journey ended on December 20, 2025.

Brandi was born on May 21, 1982, in Lockney Texas to Johnny and Penny Gourdon. Throughout her life she was known for her infectious laugh, kindness, generosity, and resilience. She was a family woman, and loved those she considered family very deeply. Above all else she loved her two children Laci Malone, and J.D. Pesina, they were the center of her world.

Brandi had a way of bringing light into even the darkest of moments. She enjoyed crafting, sitting outside, tending her dogs, butterflies, the colors pink and turquoise, listening to music and cooking.

She is survived by her loving husband of 22 years Daniel Pesina Jr.; her son J.D. Pesina, Daughter Laci Malone, son-in-law Sean Malone; her two parents Johnny and Penny Gourdon; sister April Gourdon; father-in-law Daniel Pesina Sr., sister-in-law Sandra Pesina; brother-in-law Randy Pesina; and many beloved Nieces and Nephews.

She is preceded in death by her grandparents, Lizzie Mae Johnson, Neppie Bee Spurlock , Albert Owen Spurlock, Elida Ponce; and mother-in-law Ofelia Pesina.

Butterfly Moon

I see your eyes in mine

when I look through the mirror

your beautiful blue

mixed into my muddy brown,

proof that you are still here,

living behind my gaze.

Our noses match,

and now mine is left here by itself

remembering your scent,

the way home used to smell like you.

Our zodiacs the same—Gemini.

I lost my twin,

my flame,

the half of me that always understood

without needing words.

You were my biggest supporter,

bragging about me like I was your greatest work of art.

Now you are gone,

and I push myself harder than ever

just to make you proud.

I carry your name on my lips—

every word I speak is you,

every action I take is a prayer

that you can still see me.

I was your son.

Now you are my moon,

watching over me when I sleep.

You were my rock,

and without you

I feel like I might crumble—

but I know what you would tell me:

Be rock solid. Stand. Endure.

So I try.

You were beautiful like a butterfly,

gentle in a way that never needed to shout.

I am still in my cocoon,

wrapped in grief,

learning how to breathe without you.

But I know one day I’ll grow my wings,

and I hope—God, I hope—

they’re even half as beautiful as yours.

You shed your wings and grew new ones,

angelic ones—

made of feather, not flesh this time.

You fly where pain can’t touch you anymore.

It hurts knowing you won’t see me

get married,

won’t hold my children,

won’t watch me graduate

and cheer louder than everyone else.

But I promise you this:

every milestone will still belong to you.

I will speak your name at every victory,

and you will walk beside me

even if the world can’t see you.

Your joy—

the happiness and humor you poured into others,

into me—

still echoes in my chest.

I hear your laugh in quiet rooms.

I feel your love when butterflies pass me by,

as if you’re saying, I’m here. I never left.

Te amo mucho, Mom.

Forever your son.

Forever your butterfly—

learning to fly

because you taught me how.

J.D. Pesina