Asthma Took My Daughter. Silence Will Not Take Her Story

It comes with a heavy heart tonight that I lost my youngest daughter Kali to an asthma attack tonight.

This wasn’t easy, but I did it.I want the world to know how much strength it took for me to do this and how much courage it took for me to document this entire process.

I don’t know what it felt for my baby to suffocate and take her last breath, so I decided to use my breathe for her.I know she was scared.

I know she was looking for me.I can’t imagine what she felt.

It’s torture for me to even think about it, but I’m determined to let the world know who Kali was, what she went through, and how hurtful this process is for me.

The world will know her name.

I will make my voice heard to the DOJ, to Washington DC, if I have to, and I’m going to make sure that every system and person that failed my child knows exactly how serious I am.

I am not done.

I want answers and I’m going to get them.Kali, it’s me and you baby.I’m sending you home, but mommy is just beginning.

That was the first thing I wrote, and my hands shook so badly the words looked like they were trying to run away from the page. The room was too quiet for what had happened in it.

 Quiet should belong to bedtime site and warm baths and tiny feet padding down the hall to ask for one more kiss. Not this kind of quiet—this kind that feels like the air itself is holding its breath.

I kept thinking: if I breathe carefully enough, if I breathe loudly enough, if I breathe with purpose, maybe I can rewind the last hour.

Maybe I can undo what I watched. Maybe I can climb back through time like a ladder and scoop my baby into my arms before the fear arrived in her chest.

But time doesn’t work like that. Time is cruel in the way it keeps going even when you can’t.

Kali was my youngest. The baby of the family. The one who learned early how to make herself heard because older siblings can be loud, and life can be busy, and the smallest ones sometimes get overlooked for half a second too long.