This Little Light Of Mine.

I want to deconstruct the twelve or so minutes that I experienced yesterday because it was the most terrifying seven hundred and twenty seconds I’ve had to embrace and I’ve embraced alot of dark times.

Let me paint the picture. I had last seen my daughter in the hospital on Sunday evening. I had brought her McDonalds for supper. Then next morning myself and her twin sis Lindsey slept in and eventually got up to enjoy a decent breakfast. The weather was ok. The world was in order as much as it could be. Shortly after this we showered and got ready to visit Lexis, while Lindsey prepared a pile of clean clothes for her sister.

On our way we picked up the girls big brother Jeremy at his apartment downtown. The idea was to switch off the two kids under their mothers care for a bit while I visited Lexis. Needing nourishment first, we stopped at Subway, about seven minutes or so away from the hospital. In retrospect I think Lindsey all of a sudden wasn’t feeling well was a twin phenomenon in sensing her sisters distress. I ordered my stuff after Jeremy and paid. As I was filling my fountain beverage my phone rang. On the other end was a bawling, frantic Loretta repeating three words: “She’s not breathing! She’s not breathing!”

I picked up my food and relayed the message to Jeremy, unaware if Limdsey picked up on it. Before even getting to the vehicle tears flooded my eyes. Was I going to show up to my daughters life less corpse?! I looked at my hands as I started the van. They were shaking violently. Should I even be driving?

As I pulled into traffic Jeremy began unwrapping his sub then started consuming it. I had lost any shred of appetite I may have had two minutes prior so I assumed he didn’t hear me. I reiterated “Did you hear what I said?” He replied yes and kept eating. I guess people truly do react differently.

I began mouthing the same prayer over and over. “Please do not take her. Please do not take her. You can’t have her!” It was difficult to see the road. My eyes were streams. Flashbacks of what was my last memory of her began coming to me. How could I possibly explain this to Lindsey? And why was I not even there?

I feel like angels carried me inside the hospital and up to her unit on the second floor. There was no way my legs should function right now. I was met with a flurry of nurses and doctors in the hallway outside her room. At first I couldn’t even see her as the room itself had 10/15 people in it. The attending doctor began giving me a rundown of the leading events. I remember all I wanted to hear was “Is she stable?” His response alleviated much in one word: yes.

The next few hours were very difficult. There were lots of tears. Lots of texts sent to update and instigate prayer. But at least I had the relief that my precious little Lexis was still drawing air. Nothing else mattered. And now, two days later, really nothing else does.

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