On the way to the hotel I got a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I started screaming for the shuttle driver to turn around and he couldn't. The other people on the shuttle were looking at me. I pushed open the door and jumped onto the street but quickly realized I did not know where I was.

I was yelling that my baby is dying.

As we pulled up the hotel my pager went off. I called the hospital and was told I had to come back.

I knew.

I went back to the hospital and was stopped from going into his room. They tried blocking me, but I just pushed the door open and started running for the room and a doctor came in front of me.

“Did he die?’ I asked. He just nodded his head. I fell to the ground trying to make it to his room, but kept going anyways. They tried to stop me from going in to no avail.

As I entered the room I saw a nurse taping a washcloth to his chest and another throwing away a bloody tube. I grabbed him. He was naked. There was blood splatter everywhere. I kept wrapping him and unwrapping not knowing what to do. Should I cover his face? Should I not. How did the priest get there before I did? I was angry!

I went home the next day.

On the way to the airport the sun was shining and all I could think of was how is this world continuing without him? I got home and all I could think of for days is that my son was out there without a mother. That I let him die all alone.

I felt massive guilt for putting him through all of that. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind from when he opened his eyes. Days, turn into weeks, weeks into months, and all I do is sit there and stare off into space thinking he is out there somewhere without a mom.