Tag: love

Unspeakable Pain

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The moment we left the hospital, I left a part of my soul there with my Pebs. I would never be the same person that I once was. I was now a mother who had lost a child. The pain indescribable, unimaginable, unspeakable. My heart was broken into a million pieces. I had no desire to live, to continue. I had never felt rage, sadness, emptiness, and still love all at the same time. I wanted someone to come and make everything normal again. I just wanted to wake up from the nightmare, from this horrible reality.

All of my family and friends worried about me. I could see it in the way they looked at me, hugged me, and talked to me. They saw me when I was losing my mind in agony. I had walked, practically crawled to the place of the tragedy, the place where Rocky had handed me my baby boy’s body. I screamed as I tried to go inside the septic tank. I yelled, wailed, and laid there in pain trying to understand my life. I was surrounded by loved ones, but all I wanted was to go crazy and lose my mind alone. I realized the importance of their presence. Without them, I would’ve entered that hole and allow myself to go in that dark place of death. I felt their loving hands on my back, caressing my head, feeling their touch as they sat their next to my soulless body. I had no desire to live, and my loved ones knew that, and knew the importance of their presence. They tried to get me to stand up, to go back inside, to sit me up but without success. I was not myself. All of the emotions I had controlled during the time we were looking for Pebs, trying to stay calm and collected, had poured out viciously at that very moment. I felt like I had lost my mind. I was screaming, crying in pain. A crying scream from a mother who lost their child is an unforgettable sound. One will know once you hear it, the pain, the hurt in that scream.

Rocky had to come pry me away from the “place.” I yelled at him to put me down, insisted he let me stand up. With tears in his eyes, he set me down. With our loved ones standing around, some with tears in their eyes as well, we just held each other as we wept in pain. What were we going to do? How were we going to move on? My screams were mixed with cries, questions, angry words, and the name of my son. My Pebs. It was a moment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It was night time during this particular, terrible moment. When we finally released each other’s embrace, I looked into Rocky’s eyes. Same eyes that I had. Lost. So lost. There wasn’t much to say right there. Not much you can say when you are filled with extreme pain, but as our friends and family went back inside, Rock and I slowly started to catch our breaths and clear our minds a little bit. As we wiped tears from our swollen faces, we looked up at the clear, star-filled sky. I leaned into his chest as we stood there staring up. I was talking to God, angrily. Nothing pleasant was in my thoughts at that moment, just anger, rage, devastation. We stood there, leaning on each other, slowly calming down, hearing each other’s breathing and looking up at the night sky. We weren’t speaking, just slowly crying and trying to somehow grasp the reality of our life. As we stared at the black, clear night sky, a shooting star flew over us. It was in an instant that it happened. So sudden and quick, but we had both seen it. I felt Rocky squeeze my arm as it dissipated from sight. We allowed the soundless tears just to stream down our faces again. Somehow, to us, that was a sign from our Heavenly Father that He was holding us up.

Rocky said almost in a whisper, “we are going to be ok.” We had to be ok. We had Amee and she needed and deserved both parents sane, healthy, and happy. She deserved a “normal” life. Someway, somehow I had to get it together for my daughter. She still needed her parents. She didn’t ask for her brother to pass away. She wanted her life to be filled with laughter, love, joy, just like before this tragedy, and I needed to find a way to give that to her. But, how? How could I when I was so broken? I had to grieve and heal for her. And at that moment when we saw the shooting star, I knew that God was going to be with us in this new life we were about to discover. A new normal.

During my healing, I had several of my “episodes.” Many were in the shower where I was alone and vulnerable. I had a few at the pond where I would spend every day reminiscing and talking to Pebs and God. One evening, I was at the pond. The night was cool and getting cooler as I sat there at the edge of the bridge. My tears started flowing, the grief of wave was about to hit. In an instant, I was laying on the bridge in a fetal position in pain, wanting it all to end. I had my depressing thoughts that filled my mind. What if I just slowly allow myself to drift into this water? I want to feel my heart stop beating, just like my Peb’s. I want to feel my body shut down, and just let it all go. My thoughts were selfish but real. I just laid there thinking I could end it all right here, and maybe finally see him again. But I heard a voice in the distance, very faint calling “mom, mom, mama.” I sat up, wet from the pond waters. I looked around thinking I would see Amee from the house, maybe she was looking for me. There was no one. As I pulled myself out from the waters, onto the bridge with the tears rolling down my cheeks, I sat at the edge looking up. I heard the voice calling for mama. That’s what I was. I was still a mom. My daughter. My Amee. She was inside while I was thinking of leaving her. How selfish of me. I let the agonizing pain out in screams, in cries, in shrieks. I was disappointed in myself. How could I do that to my daughter? I was ashamed, and grateful that the voice reminded me of my purpose. It was time to get up.

It is true that our children save us. Amee saved me in more ways than one. The episodes still exist. The pain doesn’t go away. Every time I write, I cry. Sometimes, I have to stop and compose myself before I continue. It’s hard reliving those moments. It’s a very scary, painful place I have to return to, but it’s also a part of who I am now. I lost my son. My daughter lost her brother. My husband lost his boy. It’s a reality. Many that don’t know our story, see us and would never know about Pebs. For me, it’s important and necessary to write. Writing my story keeps Pebs and the memory of Pebs alive, and may bring hope to those that may have a similar situation. His life meant so much more than just 21 months. He was meant for so much more than just his life on Earth. It’s beyond those few months. As a mom, I will use the gifts and talents that God has given me to tell his story and ours. It is for a reason. It has a purpose. I pray it will be enough for Him. I pray it reaches those that need it.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.”

Romans 8:28
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“God has Healed”

October 2017. A month after my son left this earth, our softball family and friends went above and beyond for us. They put together the best softball benefit and fundraiser you could imagine. It seemed as if Everyone came together and demonstrated their support. They had raffles, merchandise, multiple teams entered, concessions, and lots of supporters. This day was full of love, support, comfort, and pain. Lots of pain. As much as I appreciated everyone showing us so much love, I would’ve much rather not have been the reason and the cause for such a benefit. The whole purpose of us being there, made my stomach, heart, and soul ache and shatter into million of pieces. I felt so much love and anger all at the same time.

Earlier in the day, I was in my closet getting ready to change when the grief wave hit me. It hit me like a thousand bricks plowing into my soul. I collapsed on the closet floor, screaming in agony. My son was gone. We were headed to a softball benefit in his honor. Why was this happening? Why me? Why my son? I didn’t want a fundraiser, a benefit, a get together. I wanted my son back. I felt like my heart was tearing out of my body. Everything hurt so much. At that moment, Rocky walked in. He picked me up and just held me. He cried with me, but mainly, just held me. We cried and held each other for several minutes. As we pulled away, in between sobs, wet tears, he said, “I think we need to have another son.” If my face wouldn’t of been covered in fluids from crying, I would’ve been able to see his face. I grabbed a towel, and as I dried my face, I tried to process what he had just said to me. Did I just hear him correctly? He wants us to do what? As I slowly started to catch my breath again from all the sobbing, I recall telling Rocky there was no way. “I’m not in the right state of mind right now to think. I can’t think about anything but the pain.” He said he really wanted to think about this idea. I solemnly walked away more perplexed and lost than before.

The day was filled with hugs, tears, melancholy conversations, more hugs and always tears. Rock and I were so grateful for everyone, but we were like some lost puppy dogs. We wandered around the fields helping, and yet, not really doing anything. All the while, hoping and praying this was just a nightmare.

Soon after, I began having my dreams. I kept dreaming of the name Raphael. I never would see anyone, I would just hear the name in my dreams. I had that name in my thoughts throughout the day. I decided to look up the name and it’s meaning. Raphael, means “God has Healed.” When I read those words, of course, I started bawling. The thought of having another child was real, and since Rock had brought it up that day, I kept praying about it. When I was in a fetal position hurled in pain, I’d ask God for guidance. During my Bible study sessions, I’d make that part of our prayer requests. I talked to Him on a daily regarding my husband’s recommendation, and if that was something He really wanted us to do. I NEEDED Him to talk to me. I wanted something from God. When the name became part of my dreams and thoughts, and then when I discovered the meaning, it was overwhelming. I felt Him answer me, even though I was reading it, it was almost as if I could “hear” Him whisper it to me. “God has Healed, Trust me and have this child.”

After that revelation, I decided to make an appointment with my OBGYN. After Pebs, I had tied my tubes. I needed to weigh out my options if we were going to be serious about having another child. My doctor shared with me some IVF options that would be the safest and most reliable option for us. She gave me a referral and hugged me longer and harder that day. She had delivered Pebs and was distraught about the news as well. My Pebs had made an impact on many, many people.

Our IVF appointment would be in 2018, but I wasn’t 100% convinced that God really wanted this for us. I was still angry, hurt, lost, basically still grieving. I always prayed about this because there was no going back if we decided to have another baby. Would I be the same mother? Would I be depressed and always compare them? Would I be a fearful mom? Scared of everything? Would I be obsessed with protecting him? I. Was. Scared. I was confused and so lost. I needed Him to guide me and help us with this decision. I kept searching. I typed in the name again. This time, I found a cite that gave more information than just the meaning of the name. When I saw everything that was associated with Raphael, I stopped for few seconds. I think I stopped breathing. I stared at my phone. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I looked up and wailed. I let it all out. I knew He had finally reached me. He had answered my prayers.

The color associated with the name Raphael is Green, the only color my Pebs was able to verbally tell me. We used green for our shirts, balloons, bracelets, during the funeral. The gemstone associated with Raphael was Moonstone. Moonstone. My Pebs, who loved to look for the moon during the day and night and would love to jump for it. The moon. I felt in that moment that I would try for another son. I knew that He had answered my prayers. He would bless this decision and would be with us throughout this new journey. Many people may think all of this was just a coincidence, the name and the color, the dreams, the name in my head, but I know God moves in mysterious ways. I questioned Him for a long time. I had many battles and angry conversations with Him. He knew my fears, concerns, questions, before I could even express them. He knew what we needed before we could even think of it. I can’t say I was ready, even when I knew that’s what God wanted of us, but I knew I needed to be obedient. The last thing I wanted was another baby, but God knew the plans of our life even when we didn’t. I didn’t trust it right away. I still had my doubts, but I always prayed about it. When I doubted and feared, He would show up with another miracle, another proof, that He was guiding us through these dark times.

Raphael. We started the IVF process in March of 2018. The egg retrieval process was done with no complications. I had a total of 23 eggs. 23. A number that my husband and daughter wear to play softball. This number now represents Pebs who loved watching his daddy and mana play ball. My Pebs, who loved spending his days and nights at the ballpark. The number twenty-three matters to us. A Lot. Once they fertilized the eggs, we had only 8 that matured correctly. We did the chromosome test on the 8 eggs, and 2 did not have the necessary number of chromosomes which meant, we had 6 fertilized eggs available. We did the genetic testing as well. Out of the six mature, healthy embryos, we had one male. Only one. That one was my Raphael. We were scheduled to do the egg transfer in June, but the lab had their semi annual inspection therefore, we had to wait until the following month. July 2018 was the egg transfer. In the room, with doctors, nurses, and Rocky present. I asked for us to pray. I had everyone in tears. I wanted God to know even though the doctor and nurses were doing the procedure, I needed Him to do the miracle. We needed His Holy Spirit to surround us with protection and for the transfer to be successful. August 2, 2018 we had a positive pregnancy test. September 4, 2018 we had a heartbeat. Raphael was alive.

The decision to have another son after we lost Pebs was not by human choice. God was in our hearts, our minds, our souls in order for Raphael to have been born. He knew I wasn’t ready. He knew that’s not a choice I would’ve made without Him showing me His plan. Raphael was God sent. Raphee has healed our hearts the only way God can heal. He was born 3-19-19. In an odd way, I find connections to everything since the tragedy. It might seem odd to you, but adding 3+1+9+1+9 is 23. Even his birth was a sign that he was meant to be born. He was meant to be here. He has a purpose. All of my fears, questions, concerns I had about him being born, about my parenting seemed to fade once I held him in my arms. I had God on my side, guiding me. If He needed Raphee here, then He would be with me every step of the way. I knew I wasn’t alone.

Raphee is now four. I’ve seen and witnessed God moving in him. He is very special. Not just because I’m his mom, but because there is something God is calling him to do. I have seen Raphee during prayer. I have heard him talk about his dreams. He has mentioned things that he shouldn’t even know about. He has talked about stuff that he isn’t supposed to know about regarding Pebs, and yet, he knows. It is very overwhelming just writing about it, but I know he is something special. I don’t know how or what, but Raphee is meant for this world for this time because of God. I can’t explain it but I will write about it someday. For now, Raphael, a name that means “God has Healed” was just a name. It was just a thought, but God allowed His love and power to shine through all the negative thoughts, fears, and doubts. He created a way for us to see His plan, and guided us to be obedient. Raphee is here not because of modern science, but because we trusted in Him, believed in what He was revealing to us, and were faithful to His plan. 

“For with God nothing shall be impossible. ”

Luke 1:37

“Even through the experience of this pain, I am grateful for the intensity of my love for the one I have lost.”

Martha W. Hickman