Do Not Enter

~3~

Susan's P.O.V.

As soon as I hear Claire scream "mom", my feet take over instinctively and they start to run to my baby girl's side.  I sprint around the house calling out to her, not getting a reply.  I can feel my anxiety slowly rising, but I fight to keep it away.  I yell out her name as I dash by Amanda's room.  

The fact that Amanda isn't up trying to see what's going on confuses me.

I realize there was a figure in Amanda's room and have to turn back to investigate further.

I enter her room and see Claire, in bed with Amanda, cradling her older sister's head as if it were a treasured baby doll.  The tears are streaming down Claire's already red face.  My feet all of a sudden forget how to move, and I feel like I'm a statue in a garden of weeping children and questioning.  

"Mom..." Claire's voice is barely a whisper.

My feet are released from their trance and I rush to the bedside and take my oldest daughter's hand, only to find that it is ice cold.  My next thought is to check and find an area of pure red indicating a wound of some sort.  My nursing protocol kicks in, and before I know what's happening, Claire's being escorted out of the room and the door is closing.  I check for a heart beat and when I can't find one a frantic wave smashes into me, almost forcing me to quit then and there.  My hand guides itself to the side of her neck; I check her carotid artery and when that fails to provide me with what I'm looking for, I pick up her left wrist and it holds stiff in place, due to rigor mortis - causes by chemical changes in the muscles after... after death.  I check for a pulse there also, and still find nothing.  I yank Amanda off of the bed and kneel down beside her immediately starting CPR.  I try to breathe life back into my child and my heart jumps into my throat, forcing my breath to catch.

I can faintly hear Claire's voice talking into her cell phone explaining to whom I assume to be a 911 operator the situation at our grim house, faintly smelling of the sugar cookies we made last night.  All of us.  Amanda was fine.  We were listening to music and she was dancing and laughing and she was fine.

She was fine.  

What the hell happened last night?

I see my daughter.

My 17 year old daughter.

And she isn't breathing, whatsoever.

I remember the day I first got to hold her in the NICU and she was the tiniest little thing I've ever seen, the nurses were concerned because not only was she 10 weeks early but because whenever they tried to take her off of the breathing tube, she wouldn't breathe on her own.  The day I finally got to hold her was the first day Amanda was breathing on her own.  From that day I knew my little girl was going to be a fighter.  

And now...

I kneel next to her and watch as her chest doesn't move up and down rhythmically like it did when I would watch her sleep through her infancy.  Her lips don't curl up at the edges like she did the first time she walked without furniture.  Her eyes aren't shining like they did whenever she saw me reach my hand into the cookie jar.  She isn't laughing like she did whenever the Tickle Monster decided to pay a visit.  Her hands aren't making wild gestures like she always did when she told her stories, and she made sure to tell them nice and long and detailed.  I loved her stories.

My chest is heaving.

I can't catch my breath.

Out of everything I have ever encountered throughout my lifetime: miscarrying a child that would have been Amanda's older brother, finding out that Mark - the father of my children - was having an affair with his secretary and that his "business trips" were actually out of country vacations with his little whore... Losing both of my parents in a car accident 2 years ago; this is the worst.

I was unaware of the fact that human beings could feel their heart shatter, but I experience this now, and clutch my chest as the sobs I've been fighting to hold back break free. 

I howl like a wounded animal and Claire rushes into the room.  She sees me and a fresh wave of sobs explode onto her face also, and she cuddles up next to me like a toddler and runs her hands over the back of my hair.

"Mom. Mom. Mom. Shhhhh.. Mom it's okay, it's okay" she whispers through tears.  Claire clings to me as if I am her life raft and she is in the middle of the ocean.

I can hear the sirens in the distance.

God.. please.. no.. this can't be happening.

They're getting closer.

I run my hands through Amanda's hair gently...

Now I can see the flashing lights.

No. Not my baby. Please.. not my baby

Someone is knocking on the front door.

I can't move.. I am frozen.. Staring at my daughter who has no heartbeat..

Claire stands and moves to let them in.

This can't be happening..

"This is just a dream" I say to an empty room.

 I'm greeted by two paramedics, both looking grim and sympathetic.

The female paramedic puts her hand on my shoulder and I break like glass, the pieces of myself flying around the room in a complete mess of chaos and depression.

"This has to be a dream..."

*****************************************************************************

wow already done with chapter 3 and it hasn't even begun to unravel.

more to come soon!!

xoxo Faith