The Worst

Hello, this is a story about the worst time in my life. I haven't told anyone all of this, not really. This will be the hardest story I have ever told. You can call me Danni, and no, that is not my real name.

So, to tell this story, you will need a little bit of background. Bear with me. I got married to my soul mate, Sean (not his real name) at a very young age. Also at a young age, we had children. 4 of them. Thank you for your sympathy.

No, actually, they are wonderful. This story is about my youngest. She was born in 2012, and 6 months later, she died.

At the time of her birth, we lived with my brother and his wife. For the next 6 months, our new baby never left my side. Neither did her siblings. One day, my brother and his wife told me I could walk with my husband to his work. He walked to work every day. They also said I should visit a couple friend of ours on my way home, since they only lived about 3 and a half blocks away. Both of them agreed it was time for me to have a break.

I didn't know it at the time, but they were also planning on surprising me with some fall cleaning.

I agreed. When we left, the older three were playing a game, and our youngest was sleeping. I walked my husband to work and stopped at my friends' house. I was only there for about 10 minutes when my brother came running up, out of breath and red faced.

He was gasping out, "Your daughter...not breathing...blue."

I asked which one as I was pulling out my cell phone and turning to run. He said my youngest's name and I took off, calling 911 as I ran. I was by no means fit at this time. I am an asthmatic, plus I've always been on the heavy side. Well, that didn't stop me. I ran non-stop the few blocks back to my house, still on the phone with the dispatcher, who told me people were on their way.

When I got ran up towards our house, I saw the police and ambulance outside of our neighbor's house. Apparently, my sister-in-law had taken her over there for help while my brother ran to get me. At the same time that I arrived, huffing and puffing but there, I saw one of our neighbors drive by with my husband in the passenger seat. She had left to go pick him up.

A lot of this information was told to me later, but to keep the story simple, I will go ahead and tell you all that happened.

When I got to the door, there were several police officers that stopped me from going in. I caught sight of my daughter lying on the floor with an EMT over her, and I blacked out.

They didn't manage to stop my husband. He tore right through all of them to get to her. He stopped by her, not impeding the EMT, and eventually the police officers were able to get him back outside. I finally came to, with my throat and chest hurting. I don't remember speaking, or recalling what the people around me were saying.

Some time later, it might've just been a minute, one of the paramedics carried her out in one arm. She wasn't moving and she was a devastating purple/blue color. I blacked out again, and started screaming.

Right after that, an officer told us she was being rushed to the ER, and the doctors would do what they could. He offered to take my husband and I to the hospital, since we didn't have a car. At this time, I had no idea where my other 3 children were. I couldn't think properly, but thankfully my brother took control. We were told they couldn't stay at home, not until they searched, so he got them set up with a overnight daycare run by a close friend's mother.

At the hospital, we had to wait in the ER waiting room to hear word. The secretary told us the doctor was working on her. I went outside, lit a cigarette and called my mother. I told her what happened and that we were waiting to hear word. I kept begging her to tell me that my baby girl was going to be alright. That it wouldn't be taking so long if there wasn't something to save, right? My mom said she hoped so but wouldn't say the words I wanted to hear.

I will say this, regardless of the panic and fear, it never actually crossed my mind that she wouldn't be okay. That she wouldn't be coming home with us alive. What seemed like hours later, but was only around 30 minutes, we got called and brought back into an office. When the doctor walked in with a carefully calm look on her face, I knew. She told us they tried everything, but there was nothing more we could do.

I started screaming no, and told her she has to bring my daughter back, she HAD to. I was crying and gasping, and still trying to insist she had to be okay, and to bring her back. My husband, who later told me he knew since he saw her at the house that she was gone, wrapped me in his arms as I started shaking. He was crying too, and I broke down completely, wailing.

When I had managed to stop screaming, I went into a weird, calm state of mind. I couldn't really speak. The doctor told us to give them a little time to clean her up, and we could come in a say goodbye.

I went back outside, lit a cigarette, and called my mom again. I managed to choke out 'she's gone' before I started crying again. I heard my mom say 'What?' in the most broken tone of voice I had ever heard from her. I broke down again and couldn't talk. My husband took the phone, and later told me my mom had dropped the phone and fell to her knees when I told her. My dad had picked up the phone and they talked about what had happened. My husband then called his mother to let her know.

Everyone told us they were going to be there as soon as they could. The only family we had in the state we lived in was my brother and his wife. We went back in once we were allowed, to see her. She still had a tube in her mouth from when they tried to resuscitate her and her skin was cold and that awfully purple/blue color. Besides that, she looked like she was sleeping. My husband and I stood on either side of the bed, laying over her and crying. I don't know how long we stood there. I do remember my husband finally pulling me away, and I remember resisting. I didn't want to leave her alone.

My memories for the next month or so are really fuzzy. I was more like a zombie than a person. The things I do remember are heart breaking. I remember getting questioned by the police and feeling like they were blaming me. That was okay, I blamed myself. I wasn't there.

The most painful memory from after was when we told our other children. They were 6, 4 and 2. Our 2 year old didn't understand, and the 4 year old kind of did. But our oldest, she is like a little mother, and she adored having a baby sister she could help take care of and hold. We waited until my husband's family came, since our children were very close to his mom. My husband, his mom and I took the older two into a room to tell them in private.

I looked at my children and I choked up. I couldn't speak. I didn't want to tell them. I didn't want it to be true. I looked at my husband, scared and speechless and saw the same look on his face. Then his mom spoke. She gently told the girls that their baby sister was in heaven now.

I will never forget the sound of my oldest child screaming in anguish.

I remember every moment of the funeral. That was when my husband finally let himself break down for her. He had been trying to be strong for the rest of us.

It took a couple months before we knew what had caused her death. It turned out she had a seizure disorder from her frontal lobe not being formed correctly. They explained that it had nothing to do with anything anyone did.

I am still working on not blaming myself. It has been almost 7 years, and I still miss her so much every day. It hurts. That's okay too, it's supposed to hurt. Because we love her.

She was cremated and is now in a pink urn that goes with us everywhere. My husband and I are still together, without any break ups. We talk about her with the kids often and we recently found a support group. A silver lining and maybe a bit of a happy ending for such a sad story.

The End