God gave, and God took away. I look down at the beautiful newborn baby, then I look at my lifeless mother who made such a creation. I sit in the hospital chair holding the child in my arms. Her little hands holding my pinkie finger, her bright blue eyes staring up at me, her lips that ever so slightly move when she breathes. Her skin is soft, and her head is bald. This newborn baby is a beauty, a miracle. How did my mother’s eyes close and breathing stop after having such a miracle baby?

My eyes were blinded from the past. Screams, blood, yelling, crying.

“Cristine! Start the car! Your mother needs to be taken to the hospital. Immediately!” yelled my father from the upstairs bedroom.

I ran to the garage unaware of what was happening upstairs. I grabbed the keys from the kitchen hook and flung the door open. In the driver’s seat, trying to put the keys in the keyhole to start the engine, my hands shook. I dropped the keys, my breathing getting heavier. I could feel the sweat rolling down my face. I had never heard father scream in such horror before.

I started the car, pulled out of the driveway and opened all the doors so we could get my mom in as easily as possible. I saw my father run out of the house with my mother in his arms, blood all over his hands and her stomach, not even bothering to shut the door behind him. I stood there in horror watching him carefully but quickly set her in the car.

“Get in the car, Cristine!” Father said. “Stay with me, Caroline, please. It’s ok. We are taking you to the hospital.”

My mother’s breathing was heavy, screaming in the back seat. My father speeding down the road, dialed 911.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? I had so many questions rushing through my head. I felt nauseous, dizzy, panicked. What’s going to happen to Mom? The baby isn’t due for eight weeks.

              We got to the hospital and the doctors and staff came out right as we arrived in the parking lot.

              “Mrs. Hernandez? Stay with us, ok? You will be alright,” the doctor comforted. “We are losing her,” I heard as we ran after them into the hospital room. They shut the door and I am sitting there by myself in the lobby as the doctors only let my father in.

              One hour went by, then two, then three. I felt like I was there forever. Crying and feeling sick to my stomach, I stared intently at the door. I rearranged myself in the seat and slowly I fell asleep.

              “Cristine?” a voice said to me. “Cristine, wake up.”

              I looked up and stared into my father’s eyes. Looking into his blood-shot eyes, it seemed like he would never be happy again. I knew what happened without him saying another word. I shot up out of my chair and ran into the room. My mother laid peacefully on the bed, too peacefully. I looked over and the doctors held the swaddled, crying baby. The baby was alive.

              “Mom?” I said at a whisper, trying to choke back tears

              “I’m very sorry,” a doctor said as I look up at them. “She’s gone.”

              Those were the last words I ever wanted to hear. I couldn’t hold my tears any longer, I went hysterical, I collapsed to the ground and cried my heart out. I had no words to say, no strength in my body to get up from the ground. My brain was flooded with questions and regrets. My 14-year-old body couldn’t handle it. Why? is all I could ask or say.

              “Cristine, it’s time to go,” says my father.

              I come back into real time. I look down at the baby again, baby Caroline, and look back up at my father again. He gives a weak smile and holds out a hand. The doctors take Caroline from my arms and I take my dad’s hand. We sit in a hug for a couple minutes while the doctors get Caroline ready to go home. Our family changed in just hours. God gave, and God took away.