He Sits Beside Me

By Shannon M. Hicks

"JOURNEY THROUGH THE VALLY: UNVEILING GOD'S REDEMPTION IN THE DEPTHS OF LOSS"

In the depths of unimaginable pain and loss, He Sits Beside Me offers a profound testament to the power of faith and divine presence. In this compelling memoir, Shannon Hicks shares her heartfelt journey through the wilderness of grief, grappling with th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890413451

Shannon M. Hicks

Introducing Shannon Hicks, a seasoned and compassionate licensed professional counselor with over two decades of experience. Her profound expertise shines through her work in private practice based in Lone Tree, Colorado. Shannon's academic journey led her to a master's degree from Denver Seminary, equipping her with a rich foundation for supporting individuals and families facing various challenges.With certifications in Hypnosis for Survivors of Sexual Assault, Emotionally Focused Couples Therapy, Crisis Intervention, and Play Therapy, Shannon brings a versatile toolkit to her practice. Yet, it is her unwavering faith and connection with God that truly sets her apart. In her own personal moments of solace, Shannon finds strength and inspiration through spending meaningful time alone with the divine.He Sits Beside Me is Shannon's remarkable debut, chronicling her heart-wrenching journey through her son's addiction and untimely demise. This transformative memoir reveals how her unyielding faith served as a beacon of hope during the darkest of times. Drawing upon her specialties in marriage, family systems, eating disorders, trauma, and substance abuse, Shannon passionately guides her clients toward healing, fulfillment, and renewed purpose.As you delve into the pages of He Sits Beside Me, be prepared to embark on an emotive and enlightening voyage, witnessing Shannon's unwavering commitment to her profession and her deep spiritual connection. With profound empathy and wisdom, she invites you to discover the transformative power of faith, love, and resilience within the beautifully woven tapestry of her narrative.

Book preview

A Letter for the Reader

This is my story of how I have journeyed my way through the traumas of life and the unspeakable loss of my son. God not only prepared me for his death, but He has shown Himself to me and blessed me in so many ways throughout my life, whether it was through prophetic dreams, visions, hearing His audible voice, or through visiting angels. I know God has called me to author my story in hopes of bringing some form of healing to others who have gone through similar experiences, such as loss of a child or loved one, divorce, traumas, codependency issues, and life-plummeting addictions. Not only has this been a challenge to write since I do not possess the talent or love of writing, but it has also brought healing as I process the pain I have felt throughout my life. After reading my story, my prayer is that you will be challenged to process your own grief. I pray you will find healing as well. While it has been hard, there has been a release of pain while writing it.

It is my prayer for you to start writing or journaling, even if you think there are no words in the human language to describe your pain. Just start from the beginning with the joy of having your child or from the beginning of your own life and describe the pivotal moments that changed you. Just start writing. I know God wants us to share our pain in hopes that we can commune with others who are hurting. The world is in deep need of God’s love, and through God’s love, we can learn to show compassion toward each other. Let us hold our pain together. We are a tribe, a sacred one.

As a therapist, I sit writing this book, wondering how many parents out there are grieving in silence like I have been for so long. I hope as you continue reading, you will reflect on your own pain and find a way to grieve with me. There is a saying in therapy: You cannot take people where you have never been. This is the main reason it was difficult for me to consider sitting in front of a therapist who has not experienced trauma like mine and the loss of a child. This is a common feeling among grieving parents, so as I write, I am pretending I am sitting with you, the reader, and we are holding each other in a sacred place. I do not know about you, but the only sane way through all of this for me is my faith. I feel that God has loved and supported me through it all, causing me to experience certain things so that I could author this book. My hope is that if you have not grieved with someone who knows how you feel, you can read my story and find strength to let yours be known. My hope is we can laugh and cry together. One thing I do know: God loves you as much as He loves me. He wants nothing more than to care for your broken heart and meet you right where you are in your grief journey.

I think it is important to note that as you read, you are aware this is my perception of my reality. As Gustave Flaubert famously states, There is no truth. There is only perception. Sincerely and with all humility, I want to express that I do not wish to hurt anyone I love or have loved as I have forgiven and deeply hope that I have been forgiven. I do not wish to condemn but to tell the story of how God rescued my son and me, bringing redemption and restoration back to this broken-hearted girl. It is my prayer that when you read, you read with spiritual eyes to see past the trauma and into God’s healing power.

I pray for every person who has lost a loved one or who has experienced any type of anguish. I pray you can understand that God can and will turn everything that is meant for evil into something precious and good. This book is my loving obedience to You, Lord. May my story bring about Your purpose to the reader. I include questions at the end of each chapter to help you on your writing or journaling journey. I have also excluded or changed the names of important people in my life, except for my son, to protect their identities.

Thank You to Those I Love

I want to give a special thank you to my sweet son Johnny; you are my angel of joy. We are still the three musketeers, even if it feels different now. My love for you is never-ending, and I know your grief is as deep as mine; God blessed my life so richly when He gave me you! I love you eternally.

I want to thank my loving father and stepmom for allowing Frankie to live with them and for loving and caring for him for the final nine years of his life. I want to thank my mother and stepfather, as well as my two brothers, along with my sisters-in-law and the rest of my family, for all the support and love they have provided. I know you all loved Frankie dearly, and I could not have walked this journey without you. Thank you, friends, for your compassion and prayers, and those who walked through the fire of my hell—I am eternally grateful to you. You know who you are, and I have no words about what your love has done for me. To Grant, thank you for adopting Frankie and Johnny. You were a good husband and a good and loving father. We were blessed to have you. Please know you are loved beyond measure by us.

Lastly, as I saved the best for last, thank You, Abba, my God, my rock, my comforter, my redeemer. Thank You for all Your mercy and for bringing me back home to You. It took me a while to understand, but I know now You had a purpose and a promise that went way beyond my understanding. I pray Your will be done in my life.

Part 1

The Heartbreak

Chapter 1

Life Will Never Be the Same

When your son dies and you are faced with making funeral arrangements, you quickly realize that you do not know how to honor your child’s life and death. It’s not like you had a conversation about death or what they wished for when they die. I mean, how do you ask your child at twenty-four years of age: Hey, just in case, would you like to be buried or cremated? Where do you want to be buried? or, If you want to be cremated, where do you want your ashes spread?

No, the thought of this kind of conversation never comes into your mind—even if you’ve spent the last nine years of your life fearing how his addiction may kill him. Why? Because the fear of losing a child is the worst and biggest fear there is in life, and so you think that it’s better to pray and hope than to have a plan and ask the hard questions.

The Shock Sets In

On November 26, 2016, two days after Thanksgiving, I woke to a phone call at 7:00 a.m. from my dad. It was weird since the phone was switched to silent, yet somehow, I instinctively opened my eyes and looked over at the windowsill where my phone was charging. I saw the phone light up and answered immediately with, If you are calling me, Dad, at seven in the morning, this cannot be good!

He responded, Frankie is dead.

I thought I was still dreaming; I do not know if I just said or screamed at least three times,

"What?! What?! What?!"

Fully awake, feeling as if someone had pushed me off Mount Everest and I was in free fall. I remember saying, Dad, I am alone. You cannot tell me this when I am alone!

He hung up the phone, and I sat, paralyzed. All I could think was, How am I going to tell my son Johnny? While my father called my brother to send him to my house, I called my other son, Johnny, a sergeant in the Marine Corps stationed at Camp Pendleton. He answered, but I do not remember the conversation. I do remember the sinking feeling in my gut when I realized I had to tell him about the terrible news over the phone, understanding how my dad must have felt when he called me. The day was a blur, and I still cannot remember much of that day. All I remember was I spent it sitting on the couch, not moving, while my brother, sister-in-law, and niece sat with me. They helped me pack a suitcase, and the next day, we left my home to drive 600 miles to where Frankie was living with my dad and stepmom. I remember looking out the car window, dealing with a gamut of emotions—mostly shock and unbelief. Occasionally, I would place my head between my knees, crying out to God,

I can’t do this; I can’t do this! Please help me get to KC so I can wake him up! Somebody wake up my son!

Johnny was at my dad’s house when we arrived. All I could do was hold him and think about how we are missing the third musketeer now and it would never be the same. We were changed forever. It took a long time to come out of the shock. To be completely honest, I am still in denial at times, even as I approach the sixth year of Frankie’s death.

A Nightmare Coming True

I remember sitting in the funeral home, being asked what I wanted to do with Frankie’s body. I had not considered cremation prior to that moment, and I know my father did not want him to be cremated, but we do not have a family plot. I did not want to bury him where he was living with my dad since it would be difficult for me to visit his gravesite. But I also did not want to bury him where I was living at the time since it was possible that I would not live there forever. Therefore, for the first time, I was contemplating cremation. The thought of my baby burning and turning into ashes was enough to torture me. Even now, as I type these words, I am shaking, and my heart is racing. I still cannot believe it all happened. I asked Johnny what he thought I should do. He said he wanted to be cremated when he died, and he thought Frankie would have wanted the same. He added,

Mom, Frankie was too free of a spirit to be in a box.

Finally, having direction on how to honor my son’s death gave me relief I desperately needed.

We decided to have a visitation the night before the funeral/memorial service. I was overwhelmed by the love and support of the number of people who came to support us and pay respects to Frankie. I remember thinking I needed to put on a strong front and look put together the day of the memorial; therefore, my niece helped me get ready. I held strong as I walked into the funeral home. I was struck by how strange it was in that moment, remembering all the years I had been petrified I would get a phone call indicating my son had been found dead. Nothing could have actually prepared me for the actual moment, even though God attempted to prepare me through prophetic dreams a few years prior to Frankie’s death.

Walking into a funeral home, noticing the carpet was reddish-purple, I walked towards a black casket. Every step was like walking in wet cement, a real heaviness that made my pace incredibly slow. My heart knew, with absolute certainty, my son was in the casket. Right before I reached the casket… I would wake up.

The morning of the funeral, white French doors shut behind me as I walked through the funeral home, looking down at the reddish-purple carpet and then looking up towards his black casket, I knew the dreams were from God to prepare me for that day. My knees were shaking. I was alone as I approached. This time, unlike my dreams, I saw him lying in the casket in a blue shirt that my stepmom picked out. I grabbed him and began to shake him. I could not wake him up. No matter how hard I shook him, he would not wake up! It may seem crazy, but I remember thinking, What is happening? I really thought I had the power, as his mother, to wake him up and that somehow, he truly was not dead but just asleep. I fell to the floor, crying uncontrollably.

My dad came over, and I told him, Somebody needs to wake my Frankie up! Dad just held me. I don’t remember what he said to me to try to soothe me. I just remember thinking I needed my supermom powers to wake my son. But no matter how hard I tried to will him to wake, he just laid in the casket—cold. In that moment, my heart physically broke.

After the service was over, I found myself sitting next to the casket, alone. It was the last time I would sit next to his physical body. I closed my eyes and remembered the last time I had seen him. It was the previous month, on his twenty-fourth birthday. With my eyes still closed, I remembered the last time we danced to our song, Into the Mystic. The song played in my head as I stroked his hair and said to him, Frankie, I was alone when you came into this world, and now, I sit alone as you leave this world. How am I going to live without my heart? How? I cannot wait to see you again. Later that day, still trying to process that Frankie was truly gone from this earth, I asked my dad, Why did he die?

He said, God rescued Frankie. I think God knew trouble was on the way.

Back at my dad’s house, I decided to go into Frankie’s bedroom. It had been my room growing up. Knowing he had slept in this same room was somehow comforting. I remember shaking and holding my breath as I opened the bedroom door. I needed to smell him. I wanted him to still be alive. There was a piece of white notebook paper on his pillow. In his handwriting, it said:

Psalm 34:6–9

This poor man called out,

And the Lord Heard him.

He saved him out of all his troubles.

The angel of the Lord stand guard

Around those who have respect for him

And he saves them,

Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Blessed is the man who goes to him for safety.

You people of God, have respect for the Lord.

Those who respect him have everything they need.

I took this piece of paper into my dad’s office and said, Look, Dad, look what I found on Frankie’s pillow! We both sat in shock. Did Frankie know? Did Frankie ask God to take him? Did Frankie want to die?

The Numbing

I spent the next two months not wanting to live. I drank so much to numb the pain and fill the void that I refused to acknowledge. As I think back, it may have appeared that I had a death wish. I was coping; I was barely