Hell Found Me! "Not again", I sobbed as I gazed upon the still face of my sixteen year old son. I simply could not quite grasp the fact that I had lost a child for the third time in my life. What made it twice as bad was this was my last and only child. My son, my baby, my best friend. The agony was beyond describing. Only another mother could understand the pain. What started out like any other day on the date of November 30th 1985; turned out to be a descent into the deepest pits of hell.

My son Roy and I had been working on a dairy farm since Roy's father and I had
divorced in 1979. We rather enjoyed milking the cows and doing other farm related work. Besides there was the added plus of being together every day. I never wanted to be one of those absentee mothers who had to have someone else raise their kids while they worked. On this ordinary day we got up at 5:00 A.M. to milk our share of the cows. After finishing the chores we came back home and enjoyed our breakfast. Roy mentioned to me that he would like to go deer hunting with some of his friends that day. "It's the last day of the season and I would like to go over to the Brandt Lake property with Steve and Tom and see what we can scare up", Roy said. I said, "Fine with me just be home before chore time". Now I am sure you are wondering, "What on earth was she thinking of letting three teen-age boys with powerful deer rifles go out hunting alone?" I wasn't too concerned about my son; he was very responsible and extremely careful where firearms were involved. What I didn't take into account was the fact that the other two boys may not have been as well trained or as mature in their thinking as my son was.

It was a warm day so I decided to clean our truck while Roy was gone and then take some well deserved down time to read a book I had started. To this day I remember the name of that book. The title was Find A Safe Place and it was about a home that took in homeless and wayward boys. I suppose you always remember the little things in such traumatic times as that. I was just putting the finishing touches on my truck cleaning job when another hired hand by the name of David came flying into the yard. "Get in my truck", David yelled, "Roy's been shot and he is on the way to the hospital". "No", I cried, "How bad is he hurt". I never imagined for a moment that my beautiful son was gone; I figured he was maybe hurt bad but would soon recover. Someone as vital and alive as Roy could not simply disappear in a moment. When we arrived at the hospital Roy was lying on a table with one leg dangling over the side; he looked perfectly normal. Even his cheeks were a nice rosy color. "Oh thank God", I thought, "Roy is fine'. Sadly, this was not so; Roy was very much dead. The bullet had hit Roy in the hip and deflected into his heart, killing him instantly. The world turned black in that moment and I did indeed drop into the depths of hell.

I don't really remember all the details of the next few days. I do remember looking at coffins and wondering if Roy would like this one or that one; as if he too had a choice in which one his body would spend eternity in. Then there was the funeral to contend with. I don't recall much of that either; only that I was very glad when it was over and I could go curl up in some dark corner and wish to die myself. Mothers are not supposed to have to bury their children, it is meant to be the other way around. In my case it was like reliving the past all over again.

I married my first husband, Roy's father, in early 1966. Although it was a mistake from day one as my father tried to tell me; we did try, and muddled on from day to day. I was happy to find I was pregnant even if I didn't really feel that my husband and I were ready so early in our marriage. We were operating a small riding stable at the time and looking to go into partnership with the man who owned the outfit. There were about thirty horses on the place and one night they all decided to go for a moonlight stroll on the wrong side of the fence. The first we knew about the horses adventure trip was when someone called and said their yard was full of horses. Now the only way to chase these animals down as they ran across the fields and through the woods, was with other horses. Thankfully we kept some of our personnel riding horses in the barn at night. My husband and I saddled up and proceeded to chase those reluctant critters back home. It took most of the night but we did get them back. As I made a sharp turn to head off an escapee; my horse slipped and fell. I hit the ground with spine jarring force but seemed to be basically okay. Just a little shook up and bruised; so I thought. Two days later I was awakened by terrible cramps and lost my first son, who was also named Roy but the middle name was different. The poor little guy hung on for three days before his immature lungs quit working and he passed away. In those days they did not have the technology that they do now. A premature baby was simply put into an incubator and he either lived or he died. This was August 16 1966. I grieved deeply for that sweet little boy even though I never truly got to know him.

Then, happy days, on February 18th 1969 the second Roy was born. He was a beautiful, healthy full term baby. I was thrilled watching him grow and decided that Roy would be happier if he had a brother or sister to grow up with. I came from a large family myself and remembered the joy of having siblings to play with and, yes, squabble with. On January 20th 1971 Mark Leland Kiggins was born. Another beautiful baby boy. Mark was blond, and slender and quiet. So very different from Roy who was dark haired, stout, and definitely not quiet. I loved them both with every fiber of my being. I was very happy with my two boys.

When Mark was two Months old he seemed to be having difficulty breathing one morning. I immediately bundled him up and took him over to the emergency room at the nearest hospital. I remember the name of the doctor that saw Mark was Barker. He examined Mark and assured me the baby would be fine, said he just had a little case of asthma. Dr. Barker gave Mark a couple of shots and told me to take him home and not to worry the boy would be fine as soon as the shots took hold. I took Mark home but he never did settle down or start breathing normally. Around 8:00 that night I was telling my husband that I was going to take Mark back to emergency because he simply did not seem right to me. As I was getting ready to go; Mark suddenly closed his eyes and went to sleep. He was worn out from being awake all day. Mark appeared to be sleeping normally so I laid him down for a few minutes while I started the car and continued my preparations to leave. When I picked Mark up to go he had stopped breathing. I screamed at my husband, "I think Mark is dead". My husband knew C.P.R and did his best to bring Mark around; nothing worked, my baby boy was gone. His asthma was in reality, viral pneumonia.

The next morning little Roy kept asking,"Where Mark, Where Mark". How do you tell a little boy that his new friend and brother is gone forever? That was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my entire life; that and attending the funerals for my three sons.

So you see, hell can find you more than once in your lifetime. I still feel that I am In hell as I must live the rest of my life without my children. I miss them every moment of my life and not a day goes by that I don't think about one or all of them sometime during the day. Hell Found Me in no uncertain terms.