The Miracle That Saved Us All

This is a personal story that I wrote for English a few months ago. This is real nonfiction stuff. It's about my birthmother and the death of my little sister. I wrote it in my father's point to view.

The Miracle That Saved Us All

 

They say that when your child dies, a part of you dies too. I experienced the gravity of this on July 14^th, 1993. I was awoken by the call, telling me that my baby had breathed her last breath in her sleep. My beautiful brown-eyed child was gone, forever.

            The sickness started around July 5^th, when my wife Blanca and I were returning to Sacramento from Eureka. We were separated at this time, and it was her turn to take our two kids, Juli and Melissa. We drove up to Blanca’s apartment in Merced, about three hours away from where I lived in Sacramento.

            When we got there, I dropped them all off. Juli was about two and Melissa was eighteen months old. I started to notice Melissa having the sniffles and  told Blanca to keep an eye on her. And if it became worse, I told her that she should probably take her to the doctor. Blanca did not want to do this. The reason being was because she was using drugs. If the doctor noticed, the girls would likely be taken away. Both of us had been using, but I had quit a couple months before. I told her if it got worse, she needed to take her to the doctor. Then I left, back to Sacramento.

            It wasn’t until July 13^th that I drove back up to Merced to see the girls. When I entered the apartment, it was apparent that Melissa had gotten worse. What was once a sniffle had turned into a full-on sickness. Then, I noticed that Blanca had Melissa’s crib under the air conditioner. I think that was what started our fight. Blanca was screaming at me and I was yelling at her. Juli didn’t know what was going on, and Melissa was lying in her crib, wailing for me to pick her up. I will

never forget looking down at her, arms reaching out for me. I couldn’t hold her, though. If I had, Blanca would probably take a swing at me, knowing I wouldn’t be able to defend myself. I grew weary of yelling and I didn’t like doing in front of my children. I told Blanca one final time to take Melissa to the doctor. Then I left, leaving both of the girls with her.

            When I returned to Sacramento, I received a call at my mother’s house. It was Blanca telling me she had taken Melissa to the doctor. She said the doctor looked at her strange and wondered why she hadn't taken Melissa in sooner. Melissa had pneumonia and he prescribed her some medicine. Her condition was critical, but the doctor could’ve put her on oxygen. But he didn’t, because he thought we couldn’t afford it. That was rather ironic, because I had the best insurance money could buy. The doctor just gave her the medicine, knowing that it wouldn’t help. Blanca called me so I could wire the money to pay for the medication. I thought of going up there and taking care of it, but my mother stopped me.

            “Let that woman take care of that baby,” she had said. “She needs to do something for those girls for once.”

            She was right. Blanca barely ever did anything for them; she was so far into drugs. There’s not a doubt in my mind that she loved out girls, but because of her addiction, she was incapable of being a real mother. So, I listened to my mother and wired the money to the account.

            About 36 hours later, I received the call. My eighteen month-old Melissa had died in her sleep. Never again would I hold her in my arms. Never again would I be able to soothe her crying.

            When anyone in a person’s life dies, their first instinct is to blame God, if they can’t blame anyone else. I blamed myself. My reasoning for this was because when Blanca and I were fighting, I looked down at Melissa reaching for me and walked out the door. I left her when she needed me most. I played the game of “what if.” What if I had taken the girls back to Sacramento with me? What if I had drove back to Merced and argued with the doctor until he put Melissa on oxygen? Not only did I blame myself, I blamed the doctor. Because of his rash assumptions, my little girl died. I was planning to take what had happened to court, but my lawyer said there was no way to prove it. The doctor did apologixe, but by then, it meant nothing to me. I also blamed Blanca. Part of the blame went to her because if she had been a good mother, she would have put her child’s needs above her own, no matter the consequences. No, I didn’t blame God. As a matter of fact, just a few days before, I started to turn my life over to God. I remember sitting outside, staring at the sky.

            “You know Lord,” I had said, “even if You took one of my children, I would still follow You.”

            I remained true to that vow. I learned to forgive myself, the doctor, and my ex-wife. I now know that it wasn’t any of our faults. I believe that Satan ripped my baby from my arms. I vowed that I would not stray away from God and I would raise Juli the way He would want her to be raised. Time after time I gave Blanca a chance to be a real mother to Juli, but I saw nothing was going to change.

            A few years later, I married an amazing woman named Traci. She had a daughter of her own, but loved Juli like she was blood related. Her daughter Tanya, treated Juli like the little sister she had always wanted. In 2005, with Juli’s consent, Traci adopted her. Now, both our children are serving God and putting Him first in everything we do.

            They say that when your child dies, a part of you dies too. That may be true, but I realize now that while a part of me died, a different part was born. I believe that if it hadn't been for Melissa, Juli and I would not be the people we are today. Melissa’s death, though a tragedy, was part of God’s plan. She was the miracle that saved us all.

 

Reviews

[Rico Suave]

I see...it's a true story, isn't it?

[Succubi]

Aww this story is soo touching...it brings tears to my eyes...