As I looked down at my swollen belly something felt different. That’s when I realized my water had broken and our baby was on the way. Where were you? I tried your cell phone numerous times, but you never answered. I had to drive to the hospital by myself, angry with you the whole way. Little did I know you were on the way to the hospital too, but for a different reason. As I was frantically trying to call you, you had tried to pick up. The phone call distracted your driving and you swerved into another lane. You were rear ended by an 18-wheeler truck. Your car got thrown forward and you frenetically tried to steer your way to safety. I drove white knuckled and straight as an arrow to the hospital. Your body crashed into the steering wheel and your rib cage snapped in half. I sat driving angry as could be that you weren’t answering your phone. Your head hit the windshield and shards of glasses rained down on you. I started feeling contractions and kept getting stuck behind every red light. The sound of sirens filled my ears but I ignored them and concentrated on the pain. Never for a second did I think they were for you. They were ready to pronounce you dead on the scene except for a tiny cough that managed to escape your lips. As I pulled into the hospital parking lot, I tried your phone one more time but it never even rang. It was shattered into a million pieces in the middle of the highway. I rushed into the building and waited for someone to get me a room. I had to call my parents to wait with me because you were still nowhere to be found. Once I was situated in a room my pain became unbearable. You sat in an ambulance barely clinging to life. They rushed you into the emergency room and started work immediately. An oxygen mask covered your face. Chest ripped open. Shattered ribs. Glass and debris implanted into your scalp and skin. The turn signal dug into the crevice between your heart and lungs. 1mgs adrenaline to keep your heart pumping. 10 mLs of an epidural to numb my pain. Two heart monitors beat in sync, one mine one our baby’s. Your heart monitor erratic and irregular. Too fast then too slow, never calming to its normal pace. Blood spilled all over the floor as the doctors rushed around you trying to see which part of you they actually had a chance of saving. Doctors rushed around me telling me it was almost time to push. I cried out in pain and in fear of the fact that you still weren’t here. We tried your office and they said you had gone home for the day. I kept wondering where you were and couldn’t believe you were missing this. It’s our first child and you couldn’t even make it on time. Where were you? I started to push as life started pushing its way out of you. I screamed in pain. Change this bolded line: You moaned in agony. I held my breath counting to 10 and pushing with everything I had. The doctors used everything they had to keep you breathing. I cried and squeezed my mother’s hand. You had no one to hold you. As our baby started to make its way out of my body, you began leaving us. Your heart could no longer bear to beat, and you had lost too much blood. The doctors had given up hope. As our baby screamed and took her first breath, you took your last.