The Story of Sarah

If you have known me for some time, you may have heard this story, but it pulls at my heart strings every time I think of it. Part of me is curious as to how the story unfolded at the time, as well as what has happened to dear Sarah. It was evening and I had stepped out onto the porch of my apartment for a quick cigarette before bathing my kids and putting them to bed. I was still married to my first husband and he was playing video games, so I knew my kids were safe, sort of. I was enjoying the silence of the normally bustling courtyard of our community, I didn't even realize how eerily quiet it really was at the moment. The night was broken when a group of children ran out of a corner apartment screaming, "The baby is dead, Sarah died!" I didn't think, I just stubbed my cigarette and ran for the neighboring apartment. I knocked, as if I were company coming for coffee, then it all began ... something, as yet to be explained to me, but something told me to just walk in and so I did. There was Sarah, not even two years old yet, lying on the tan carpeted floor in the middle of a seizure. Family was gathering around, mostly panicked by her blue complexion, frozen with fear. That voice that told me to walk right in invited itself into my head again, "Go to her, help Sarah." I did just that, but had no idea what I would do next as the sea of family parted to let me get to her. I had read about seizures, but this was the first time I actually saw someone convulsing and I was scared. I took two large strides across the living room to Sarah's side and collapsed to my knees. "Warm wash cloths, can we get some warm wash cloths," I said it as if someone was holding my emotions in check, but I assure you, it wasn't me. "Yeah," her uncle yelled, "9-1-1 says to put warm wash cloths on her." Before he finished his sentence Sarah's loving family had formed a sort of human chain from the kitchen sink to where she and I were fighting for her life. "Come on, Sarah. Come on, Baby, you're going to be fine." I was so calm it amazed me, then I saw her complexion taking on a bluish tint again, "Breathe for her, breathe for her," the voice in my head was whispering. I responded by blowing in her face and watched as she seemed to magically turn pink again. The front door opened and there stood an off duty paramedic, he stuck his head in, saw that all was under control and went to direct the ambulance to the right apartment. Ken, where are you going, I wondered, I have no idea what I'm doing. Hey, hey, where are you going? Oh, she's turning blue again. I blew on her face again and again she turned a beautiful shade of pink, but this time she cried. I wanted to cry, even needed to cry, but the tears weren't there, all that was there was concern for this small child as we fought together for her life. It seemed to be about an hour before the ambulance arrived, though I'm sure it didn't take that long. Suddenly, the front door popped open and Bensalem Rescue Squad was on the scene. With a certain amount of relief I stood up and stepped away from Sarah so they could help her. In reality, I didn't step back, I stumbled and pasted myself against the wall. I watched in awe as paramedics did the work necessary to help Sarah. As they left the apartment I did something I hadn't been able to do, but desperately needed; I cried and I cried for a long time. Still, fifteen years later, I wonder, who was that giving me life saving instructions? Where is Sarah now? Is she okay? I will probably never have these answers, but I think she has a Guardian Angel, because I'm almost certain that is who helped me help Sarah.