Child Brides of India

By: C. Stanton Leman

Chapter 58: Tragedy (Mggg, rom, cons, no sex)

I was roused from my fretful slumber my Emmy’s excited ranting about her bridal fitting today. I groggily woke up and smiled at her child-like joy and said, “Well, I guess the controlled chaos of planning a wedding begins today, doesn’t it?”

“Yup!” she exclaimed as she laid kisses all over my face.

She bounded off the bed and said as she scrambled for the door, “Gotta go get ready for my wedding dress, yippee!”

It was going to be a joyous day for her, but I recalled what kept me up all night and dreaded what might lie ahead for me today. I rose from bed grumbling as I took my morning constitution. After answering nature’s call I took a shower and put on a suit. About fifteen minutes later the girls filed in for morning prayers.

The girls, including Priya, were excited for Emmy and couldn’t wait to do the girlie things girls do when preparing for a wedding. Priya saw my worried look and knew what was bothering me. She rubbed my back, gave me a kiss and encouraged me by saying “Don’t think too much about it until you get all the facts. Don’t go off half-cocked before you have a reason to, okay?”

Taking heed of her advice, I nodded with a smile. We finished morning prayers and were downstairs at the table at eight. Mom was her usual self, nursing her coffee as we filed in to eat. Of course the topic of conversation was Emmy’s fitting. I made the obligatory contributions that grooms are meant to make. Weddings are more for the bride than the groom; we’re just along for the ride and to pay the bills.

Mom saw my stoic look and started to say something when I put up my hand and said, “Priya’s all ready warned me to get the facts.”

“Good advice. I see that she and I think the same,” she relied.

I kissed my girls goodbye, wishing Emmy good luck and to enjoy herself and headed for the office. Prishi was her usual efficient self and was waiting in my office for my arrival. We talked for an hour about things until I looked at my watch: quarter of eleven. I asked Prishi to step outside for a few minutes and I called Adib.

The news wasn’t good. Adib told me he tried to speak with Mahmoud last night, calling him twice but Haseeba said he was out and wasn’t sure when he’d be back. I thanked him for trying and poked my head out the door and told Prishi we’d pick things up after lunch.

I called shipping and asked for Mahmoud and waited a minute or so for him to get to the phone. When he said “Hello?” I told him to come to my office — and now.

I fumed and paced until the knock on the door came. I regained my composure, took a deep breath and said sardonically, “Come in.”

I was standing in front of my desk, leaning back against it and told him to take a seat. I asked him, “Do you want to tell me what’s going on at home or do I have to call Haseeba and get her in here?”

Looking down he replied just above a whisper, “No, that’s not necessary.”

I told him, “Look at me like a man. Talk to me like a man. You sat in that chair (pointing to it) just three months ago and wanted me to help you win Haseeba’s hand. I told you then what her hopes and dreams were and you promised me that you’d help her achieve those dreams.”

I sat down in the chair next to him at eye level and continued, “Now that you’ve got a wedding ring on her finger, you think you can play the big, bad-assed Muslim husband and change your mind? Well guess what? I’ll have your ass out of that house that Priya and I brought for you and her so fucking fast it’ll make you head spin!”

Bracing myself to deliver the second salvo, I shook my finger at him as I said, “I asked you repeatedly if you could accept her and her dreams. Repeatedly you said yes. I don’t know what kind of insecure “pity me” party you’re on, but you’d better get your head out of your ass and fast because I’m not gonna wait too long for you to change your attitude!”

“Do you think she gives a rat’s ass whether or not you’ve got a college education?” I began again, “For God’s sakes man, she loves you! She’s not gonna leave you just because she becomes a nurse, what the fuck’s wrong with you?”

I didn’t give him a chance to reply when I added, “I wanna know right fucking now what you’re gonna do. If you aren’t man enough to help your wife achieve her dreams, then she isn’t going to be your wife for very long. I’ve heard a lot of talk about you, but you’re my friend and I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. I will tell you this: you aren’t gonna fuck her over and that’s a promise. If you’re not man enough for her tell me now because the next time we have this conversation, you’ll be divorced and without a fucking job! Got it?”

“But, but…” he stammered.

“But what?” I yelled, “What are you afraid of? Haven’t you learned from your mistakes with Leeya? You have this idiotic idea about being the “big, omnipotent Muslim man” who clings to stupid old world views thinking that whatever you say goes and you’re losing everything that will make you happy along with any family and friends you still have for support. Get your head out of your ass man! If you help her achieve her dreams, she’ll love you even more. She told me when I approached her about you that she wanted to marry once in her life and she wanted an education. You strangle her and keep her from her dreams and I’ll have someone put an ass whoppin’ on you you’ll never forget, and you can take that to the bank!”

I took a couple of breaths as I saw the tears running down his cheeks. I collected myself and said in a calmer tone, “Look, Mahmoud, your tears mean nothing to me. The girl I swore to protect I gave to you to cherish. I’m giving you one chance and one chance only. Take the rest of the day off, go home to your wife and fulfill your vows to her and to me. I’m gonna keep a close eye on you and if you slip - just once, it’s over: over for you and Haseeba and over between you and me.”

I looked him right in the eye and told him, “And another thing. This is the third day we’ve been back and not once have you so much as called the house to speak to your daughter. You may think that now that she’s married and lives a comfortable life she doesn’t need you: or worse yet, you don’t need her. She’s still your daughter and if you really don’t love her, she’ll survive but I gotta tell you, you’d better not have any more kids because you’re a piss poor excuse for a father. This is the way it’s gotta be. I’ll not have you ruin Haseeba’s life like you almost ruined Leeya’s just when she sees the prize in sight, understand?”

“Yes, Sean,” he replied, “I understand and you’re right. I’ll make things right, just wait and see.”

“Okay, Mahmoud,” I replied, “but I’m not gonna wait long. It’s either shit or get off the pot.”

“I know,” he said, “I’ll make amends to my wife and to Leeya. I hope we’ll be friends again.”

“That’s all I want, Mahmoud, is for you to fulfill your responsibilities to your wife and daughter and do what you’ve promised, nothing more. With Haseeba, if you can give her that, she’ll hold your hand and walk through hell with you together and I mean that. Now go, be the man I always thought you to be.”

“Yes, Sean,” he said while looking me in the eye, “I will.”

With that, he left for home and his wife.

I looked at my watch and it was almost noon. I really wasn’t in any mood to eat so I called Haseeba on her cell. I explained what I’d said to Mahmoud and told her outright that although I wasn’t trying to run her life and force her, if it came to that, into a divorce, I told her that she should never give up her dreams and if she couldn’t achieve them with Mahmoud, the pain of a divorce would be far less than the pain of a lost life of broken dreams. Although sad and sobbing, she agreed.

I told her that I wanted to be kept up to date on the status of Mahmoud’s attitude as far as his support and love for her endeavors and if he falters or fails to keep his promises, I wanted to know immediately and she agreed to keep me informed.

I went to the canteen anyway and picked at a salad until one. I met again with Prishi after lunch until two and we finished discussing what had happened, her decisions and the results of things while I was gone. I felt proud of her for doing just what I thought she could do and told her that because of her quality of leadership and level headedness I was promoting her to Assistant Vice President of Operations, directly under me and only answerable to me.

Prishi was so proud her ample breasts pointed the way out of the office by a good six inches. I called Priya’s cell phone to check on the girls, but got her voicemail so I left her a message. Still feeling in a funk over Haseeba, I decided to leave early and left the office at three.

I arrived home about four and the girls noisily followed me about fifteen minutes later. Emmy was on cloud nine, hyper excited about her wedding garb. She was going to tell me what it looked like, but the girls shushed her, telling her I’m not supposed to know until the wedding day.

Today was the first time I’d seen Monaavi since returning and we had a nice cordial greeting, exchanging salaams and then sat to discuss Attiya’s progress in the study. She basically said the same thing Mom had said and that their original assessment of Attiya was too optimistic.

Monaavi told me that having the time to devote strictly to Attiya had given her a chance to work more closely with her and refine her assessment. She said she now felt, and Mom concurred, that Attiya would probably never be able to attend a regular school because of her limited ability to speak and because she, like most autistic children, was more artistic than academic.

She showed a keen talent for art and especially music but lacked the ability to adequately grasp subjects like math and reading. Although she felt that Attiya would progress in vocabulary, in all probability wouldn’t speak above a third or fourth grade level at best. In regards to other subjects like math and reading, she would only be able to function on about a second grade level.

I asked Mom to join the discussion and after reviewing Monaavi’s comments, Mom agreed. I asked Monaavi and Mom if she could ever lead a somewhat normal life, grow up and possibly get married. Did she have the intelligence to grasp some adult concepts such as love, commitment, and marriage or even take on some adult responsibilities such as caring for her own needs?

Monaavi said she’d done quite a bit of research and had her tested, although without our knowing but Pita agreed, and the consensus was that Attiya showed a mild case of autism called Asberger’s syndrome. It was, as best as could be determined, that her IQ was about 90: roughly ten points below the considered norm of 100.

Presently, Attiya wasn’t displaying any of the obsessive behaviors associated with autism yet, but that she could develop some later. She may be able to live a relatively normal life, but her world would have to be very structured. She may regress or fall behind if her world changes or her routines are upset. If she feels safe and loved she may do very well and possibly even get married, but her husband would have to be very considerate, gentle, loving and understand that she will never be able to cope with some adult issues like having or raising a child.

Monaavi suggested buying her an instrument such as a piano to tap her artistic abilities, which we agreed to do. Looking down on a sad note, Monaavi said, “I’m afraid that if I leave my position as her teacher, she may falter or lash out. I’ve prayed about this a lot and Allah has pressed upon my heart that having one special student for my entire career is more worthy than teaching hundreds of normal kids who’ll move on and forget my efforts. Knowing this, would you be willing to employ me for as long as she needs me?”

Smiling at her I replied, “Monaavi, you’ve given her something more precious than just being a teacher: you’ve given her love. If it takes a lifetime, you’ll never have to worry about a job. I’ll double your salary if you continue to give her what you’ve lovingly provided from the beginning.”

With quiet tears of joy she smiled and said graciously, “Thank you, Sir; I’ll continue to give her the best care I know how to provide.”

With that, we said our salaams and Monaavi left for the evening. After Monaavi left, Priya came into the study and Mom and I brought her up to date on Attiya’s progress. Mom made the comment, “That is one hell of a woman! I feel sorry for her in a way because if she continues to work with Attiya, she may never have a life of her own. I think she works so well with Attiya because she’s almost child-like herself.”

Sitting back in her chair Mom added, “For twenty-three, she’s awfully innocent and lacks a lot of knowledge of adult things like marriage or love. I guess that’s from leading such a sheltered life.”

I agreed and replied, “Yeah, her parents are very protective of her and she’s spent her entire life devoted to study.”

Priya commented, “Sometimes Allah gives us the love of a child, a special child, to nurture our spirits in love. Attiya’s love is a very special gift and having that is more than most could ever hope to have.”

Mom and I replied in unison, “Amen.”

Dinner was about ready so we three headed for the dining room. The three younger girls were playing and giggling in the kitchen “getting under Pita’s skirt”, so to speak, while she was preparing dinner. Looking at Attiya for a few moments, the only thing I observed out of the ordinary was her lack of eye contact with the other girls and she wasn’t as quick to respond as Leeya or Emmy.

Out of breath from playing, Emmy came up to me and asked, “What’s wrong with Tiya? Why doesn’t she look at us?”

I knelt on one knee and replied, “Attiya has a disease called autism. She’s special and you have to treat her nicely because she’s not as sharp as you and Leeya, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied understandably, “Wanna hear about today?”

Smiling and with a hug I said, “Sure, we’ll talk over dinner.”

Pita announced with a smile and a chuckle, “Dinner is ready, with no help from you three I might add.”

We sat and began dinner. Emmy went on about her fitting and said, “Oh, Sean! You should see what my wedding dress looks like…”

Priya cut her off and said, “Now, now, Emmy, you can’t tell him anything before the wedding. It’s a surprise, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” she responded with a giggle, “I forgot. Anyway, Sean, it’ll be absolutely beautiful won’t it, Priya?”

Priya swallowed her bite of food nodding and replied, “Sean, it will be truly beautiful, just wait and see!”

Leeya said, “Yeah beautiful! At least she’ll have a yellow dupatta.”

All the girls shot her a dirty look and the snot said, “Oops, saaww-reee, I forgot.”

Needless to say, the rest of the dinner was devoted to telling of Emmy’s fitting and the trouble she had keeping still for measurements due to overexcitement. After dinner, we pitched in and helped clean up the dinner table.

After the cleaning detail was finished, while Leeya and Emmy watched a movie in the living room I told Mom and Priya what had transpired today with Mahmoud. Mom was angry: angry about what Haseeba was going through and angry that her assessment of Mahmoud might be right. Priya was noticeably sullen upon hearing Haseeba’s situation.

I saw a tear roll down her cheek as she said, “One of the sad things about growing up is that you see people and all their shortcomings. I never would have believed that Uncle Mahmoud would treat Leeya this way and I certainly didn’t expect him to go back on his promise to Haseeba. I’ll call her tomorrow and talk to her.”

After the movie was finished, I told the girls it was time for evening prayers. During prayers, Priya and I prayed fervently for Haseeba and Mahmoud and for God to open Mahmoud’s eyes and reclaim his life. With prayers finished, I told the girls that we’d had enough excitement for one day and that we should turn in early.

When Leeya and Emmy left for bed, Priya and I had a nice loving shower together and snuggled into bed. Because Haseeba was on both our minds, neither of us was in any mood for sexual play. We just cuddled; thanked God for the blessings of a happy and loving family and Emmy’s soon to be inclusion in that family.

The next morning at prayers, I told Emmy, “You may be getting married and becoming a wife, but you still have to go to school. Today, we’ll go to school and get you registered, alright?”

“Okay,” she said. “What grade will I be in here in India?”

“Third,” I replied, “just like back in the States.”

We completed prayers and went downstairs to eat. Attiya seemed happy to again be having breakfast with her sister and they were kind of giggly during breakfast but Emmy seemed unusually quiet.

Attiya again surprised us when she told Leeya “Me love you.”

Leeya seemed to understand her well and knew the significance of her statement. She smiled softly at her and replied, “I love you too, Sister.”

After eating I collected Emmy’s school records, put them in my briefcase and after kisses goodbye, Emmy and I left for her new school. In the car on the way to school, Emmy was quiet and seemed lethargic. I asked her if she was all right but she said she just didn’t feel well. I shrugged it off as possibly being the change in diet, leftover jet lag and maybe some anxiety over moving to a new country and getting married: a lot for an eight year-old to cope with all at once.

Upon arriving at school, we had to wait about thirty minutes before we were admitted to the headmaster’s office to register her. After copies were made of her school records, getting her registered and receiving her schedule, book list, uniform requirements and all we’d been there an hour and a half.

As we were walking out of school, I asked her if she wanted to stop and have lunch. She shook her head no and replied, “No, I don’t feel too good, let’s go home.”

Putting me arm around her and giving her a hug, she felt a little warm and I remarked, “You feel kinda warm, I wonder if you’re catching a bug or something.”

She shrugged and said, “Maybe, I don’t know.”

On the way home, Emmy broke out in a sweat and said with some urgency, “Sean, I’m gonna be sick.”

I had the driver pull over immediately and she opened the car door and vomited violently. She dry heaved for a minute or two and she had an ashen look about her. I told our driver to get us home as quick as he could. Emmy threw up again, but with an empty stomach from vomiting before only expelled stomach bile.

Once home, I carried her inside and up to bed. Mom took her temperature and it was 101.4 degrees Fahrenheit: high but not dangerously so. Priya and I sat with her for about an hour and she started complaining of a headache. We gave her some Acetaminophen for the headache and fever and she seemed to quiet down some. She fell off to sleep so we left her to rest.

With everyone worried about Emmy, none of us was in any mood to eat. About four, we heard Emmy crying loudly. We rushed to her room and she and the bedclothes were soaked in sweat. She said she had a terrible headache, felt chilled and the light from the window was bothering her.

Mom took her temperature again and it had risen to 103.1. Mom said, “It’s getting worse and her temperature is too high. We’d better get her to the hospital.”

We agreed and Mom and Priya dressed her in some sweats and slippers. I wanted to leave Leeya with Pita, but she’d have none of it and threw a fit to go. I didn’t want to argue with her so I told her she could come along.

I carried her to the car with everyone in tow and we left for the hospital. The closest hospital was thirty minutes away and Emmy’s condition seemed to be deteriorating quickly. About twenty minutes into the ride, she complained of a stiff neck.

When she said that, I was filled with sudden horror. In my junior year in college, several students had contracted meningitis and died. I leaned over to Mom and whispered my fears and she turned pale at the thought.

We arrived at the hospital, and like all hospitals, they want you to wait. I asked to speak to the attending physician and when he appeared several minutes later, I told him what Emmy’s condition was, her symptoms and what I thought it might be. He nodded and concurred with me, directing me to take her back for treatment.

The doctor confirmed that sensitivity to light, headache, stiff neck and vomiting were classic symptoms of meningitis. He ordered a spinal tap and sent the fluid off to the lab for immediate results. All we could do now was wait…

As we waited we racked our brains how or from whom, Emmy may have been exposed. Suddenly Leeya blurted out, “I don’t know if this means anything but yesterday, Emmy took a drink from an open water bottle at her fitting. I told her never to drink from another person’s cup or bottle unless it’s a family member.”

“Oh my God!” Mom exclaimed and broke down crying. When she started the other girls s followed suit. Emmy was getting upset because the others were crying; so for her sake, the girls regained their composure.

After about ten minutes, Priya was shaking her head and began crying again. I asked her, “What is it? What’s the matter?’

She replied with some fear, “Now I remember. It didn’t register when I saw Emmy drinking from that bottle but after she took a drink, I think my cousin, Faatina took a drink also.”

Leeya gasped in shock and said, “I didn’t see that.”

Priya looked her and replied, “Yes, I’m sure now that Faatina took a drink.”

Mom shook her head and cried, “Oh dear God no, she’s just a baby!”

“How old is she?” I asked.

Priya sunk her head and whispered, “Three. She’ll turn four in November.”

“Call her mother now!” I ordered quietly, “Get her mother on the phone, have her bring her here and I’ll pay for any taxi or ambulance. Go out in the hallway so Emmy doesn’t hear you. Hurry!”

Priya fumbled around in her purse and said, “I don’t have my phone with me!”

I handed her mine and said, “Here. Hurry!”

Priya stood and walked outside to make the call. About fifteen minutes later she returned and I asked her “What took you so long?”

Priya was silently crying and replied, “I’m so upset, I couldn’t remember my Aunt Alpa’s number so I speed dialed Momma, had her call Aunt Alpa and she just called me back. She said Faatina seems fine and isn’t sick but I told her to bring her here anyway. I told her what happened yesterday and that Emmy is very ill.”

Taking a breath she continued, “Aunt Alpa lives in a poor neighborhood and getting a taxi will be difficult and the same with an ambulance. I called our driver to go pick her up. They should be here in about an hour and a half.”

With a sigh I replied, “Well, it’s a good sign that she doesn’t have any symptoms yet. If she has been exposed, maybe she’ll get treatment before anything bad happens.”

Looking over at Emmy with tear-filled eyes I whispered, “If this is meningitis, Emmy’s symptoms don’t look good. I just hope we got her in here in time.”

Emmy called me over and asked for some water. After I held her head and she’d taken a few sips, she asked me “I’m really sick aren’t I?”

“Yes, Baby, you’re very sick. None of us are gonna leave until we know you’re better, okay?”

She licked her lips and closed her eyes and replied, “Hold me, Sean. Hold me while I rest.”

I turned around and lay down next to her enfolding her in my arms as Emmy drifted off to sleep. I looked over and the girls were silently weeping and holding each other.

About an hour later, Priya’s Aunt Alpa arrived cradling little Faatina in her arms, holding her under her tiny butt. Faatina looked normal and was wondering what everyone was sad about. I unfolded myself from a sleeping Emmy and called for the doctor.

I explained to him how we thought Emmy could have been exposed and that Faatina had drunk from the same water bottle. I asked him why she didn’t display any symptoms and he replied, “This is a nasty, notorious disease and the symptoms may take between 24 and 48 hours before the onset of any symptoms. I’d like to conduct a spinal tap on the little one also. I should have Emma’s results back in under an hour and if she does have meningitis, I won’t even wait for the results to treat this child here, what’s her name?”

“Faatina,” I replied, “her name is Faatina.”

The doctor called for the nurse and orderly to get Faatina situated in the bed next to Emmy and about five minutes later, I had to help hold the tiny child as they extracted the spinal fluid.

I checked on Emmy and she now had a rash on her face and neck. The doctor returned with a somber look and stopped in front of us silent for a long moment.

With a sigh he told us “Emma does have spinal meningitis, and the worst news is, that she has a very viral form called meningococcal septicemia: it’s characterized by the rash she has on her face. This strain is so deadly because it causes circulatory collapse. I have given her a large injection of chloramphenicol because it is the most effective drug of choice in treating this disease. With Emma, all we can do now is wait and see if we got her the drug in time. I’ll begin treatment on Faatina now. I’m sorry but that’s all I can tell you, all we can do now is wait. I’ll check in on her in a few hours.”

Several minutes later, a nurse appeared with a syringe. I helped Alpa try and keep Faatina still while the nurse administered the injection. Leeya and I sat with Faatina for a while until she went to sleep.

I noticed that Leeya and Faatina seemed very close and I asked Leeya about her. She said that they would play together a lot last year and became good buddies. She said she and Faatina were happy and being a couple of snots at the fitting because they were cutting up and made Mom kind of angry.

Over the next several hours, Emmy drifted in and out of a fretful sleep. She complained her headache was excruciating, she couldn’t move her neck and she felt disoriented. This was evident when she’d sometimes confuse Mom with Priya.

Everyone’s nerves were shot but Leeya, at five, was well aware of the situation and was just as worried as we were. About eleven that evening, Faatina woke crying and complaining of a severe headache. I called for the attending physician and after a cursory examination he said that Faatina was now beginning to exhibit the same symptoms that Emmy displayed. Her case was also a wait and see situation, and hope that the drug was administered in time.

At two in the morning, Faatina woke crying, screaming of a headache and she couldn’t move her neck. She’d vomited about an hour ago and when she had to throw up again, the poor child could only retch with dry heaves. Her symptoms were rapidly increasing.

Everyone was exhausted: physically, mentally and emotionally. At four thirty in the morning, Emmy was having trouble breathing, so they inserted a breathing tube which seemed to help her breathe. Faatina followed Emmy with a breathing tube at five-thirty.

Seeing my future little bride lying there with wires and tubes hooked to her as she fought for her life was a surreal nightmare. In painful agony I asked God “Why oh why, Lord has this happened? She’s suffered so much in her short life. She’s lost both her parents, shunned and unwanted by her family; why can’t she seem to have the happiness we all seek in this life?”

All of us fervently prayed for Emmy and Faatina’s recovery: Mom to Christ and us to Allah. I prayed with as much heart and soul as I’d ever prayed before. I was soaked through with perspiration and tears as I sobbed out my supplications. I prayed that He take me and grant her life: anything but don’t let her die. Even if she suffered brain damage, I wanted her, to love and cherish her. I wanted so badly to give her the happiness she sought in her heart for me to provide.

Every time I felt the thought creeping into my head that she wouldn’t make it, I’d strike my bosom and pray for forgiveness and my lack of faith in His tender mercies.

I thought back to our last night together, how I’d told her I was too tired to relieve her overflowing desire for me and I hated myself for it. How could I have known that that evening might have been the last chance I’d ever have to return her love and desire?

I hated myself even more and blamed myself for her lying here in this state on my lust for her beauty. How the dominating desire I had was to just to fuck her. I asked God to punish me for my carnal desires and let her live so that I may redeem myself and see the beauty within her heart that she so desires to share with me.

After a half hour of castigating myself in self-pity, I turned my efforts to praying for her recovery for her own sake. She was a child, a good and loving person who only wanted to be loved. Oh God! Let her live and find that brass ring of happiness she longs for. I will treasure her all the days of my life for the chance to love her!

I looked around and everyone was sleeping: Mom, Priya and Alpa in chairs and Leeya curled up on the floor. I felt a kinship with Christ in the garden the night of His arrest as He prayed while His disciples slept, Him wondering why they weren’t praying.

About seven that morning, I felt my heart being touched and I knew…

I knew that no matter how much I prayed, how much I begged or groveled before God, in the end, it would be His will and not mine that would be done. I ended my vigil of prayer with the simple request to God that I may accept what His plan is for us and that I was turning Emmy’s life over to Him.

I woke the girls at seven-thirty for morning prayers and we prayed for another hour. At nine, Faatina was having minor convulsions. The doctor said that her brain was swelling and gave her some medication. It appeared that although the onset of the disease came later for her, her tender age made this insidious killer ravage her quickly.

Emmy was semi comatose and disoriented. I held her in my arms and she shivered but was hot and clammy. The doctor came in and warned me about kissing her on the lips or anywhere I might come in contact with a bodily fluid such as saliva or tears, so I settled on kissing her forehead.

At about one pm, Emmy started to have difficulty breathing again and she labored with every breath. We all sat in an almost catatonic state as we listened to the only sounds in the room: the respirator pumping and the rasping of each breath Emma’s little heaving chest took.

At three-thirty, Faatina’s brain swelling appeared to ever so slowly start to recede and her fever broke. The doctor said that she would, most likely live, but they would have to wait and see if she suffered any brain damage from the swelling. He checked on Emmy and afterwards just silently shook his head no several times.

I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably but as silently as I could. There was no comfort for me and the sound of Emmy’s labored breaths were a slow, painful torture. The women in my life tried to comfort me, but they were in as much agony as I.

At four-fifteen, Emmy opened her eyes and called for me. I held her in my arms, pressed her face to my cheek and said, “I’m here, Love, I’m not leaving you.”

She rasped out in between breaths, “Sean? Sean?”

“Yes, Sweetheart,” I replied through my tears.

“I’m gonna go see Mommy and Daddy aren’t I?” she whispered around her breathing tube.

I gritted my teeth in sheer agony over her words as I silently cried and replied lovingly, “Yes, Baby, you are.”

She nodded and replied, “Will you always love me?”

“Forever until the end of time,” I sobbed.

“Bury me in my wedding dress please? I want to go to heaven as your wife,” she quietly cried.

Tears were running down her temples as she spoke.

“Anything you want, Sweetheart, I replied softly.

I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, locked my jaw and held my breath to remain composed her sake a little while longer.

“I want Mommy and Daddy to see my wedding dress.” she wheezed softly.

I managed to get one sentence out before tightening back up to maintain composure and said, “You’ll be the most beautiful bride in all of heaven!”

“Sisters?” Emmy called out as she blindly reached out.

“We’re here, Sister,” they both said.

“Take care of my husband will you? He needs you,” Emmy unselfishly requested.

“Always,” Priya tearfully replied as she and Leeya held Emmy’s hand.

“Auntie?” Emmy called out.

“Yes, Sweetie, I’m here,” Mom said through her tears.

“Thank you for trusting my heart and giving me Sean,” Emmy bravely said.

Mom sobbed, “But child, it was ordained by God.”

Emmy, with closed eyes, gave a soft smile and nodded.

Emmy pressed her face to my cheek and said, “Sean?”

“Yes, Love,” I whispered.

“Kiss me goodbye.”

I sobbed as I pressed my lips to hers. I gently pressed my tongue through her lips and she gave me a tender love nip and softly giggled.

“I love you, Emmy,” I cried out as I pressed her face to my cheek.

“And I love you more…”

Having said what she needed to say, Emma gave one, last rasping breath…

At four fifty-four pm, Emmy Marie Michaels, my eight year-old bride-to-be, died in my arms.