Trek to Triumph

I was screaming in the stairwell of my home, holding a dead baby. The air was so thick that I could barely breathe. Tears were racing down my face as her twin sister, Zola, was screeching at the top of her lungs. “WHY LORD, don't take my baby!” Every emotion, every word, and every second after that moment felt black. All the sweet memories from just eight days of being able to hold her, kiss her, and love her fell in a black pit along with the dreams I had for my life. As I looked down at my sweet Zaina, I could not help but see at that moment that we were the same—lifeless. I rode to the hospital in the front of the ambulance while EMS performed CPR on her in the back. I kept repeating “breathe baby, please, just choose to live,” hoping that she would hear me and fight for her life. As the double doors to the emergency room swung open, the doctor took one look at her, and I could tell it was not good. My knees gave out and I fell onto the floor. It was so cold. There was nothing left that I could do. As I struggled to gather the strength to pick myself up from the cold ground, I realized something: nothing that could happen to me for the rest of my life is worse than this. Nothing is worse than losing a child. This was my biggest fear, and I was staring face-to-face with it at age twenty-three.