There was a time around October or November of last year, 2018, where I was working as an assistant manager at Taco Bell. I was 21 years old, living on my own, and not in a relationship. In previous months, I had been in a toxic relationship, so once I was able to distance myself from that, I took some time to focus on myself and rediscover who I was, to fall in love with myself again.
During my time alone, I met someone I immediately clicked with, but because of my previous relationship, I decided not to make things official. We shared so many fun moments together. Mostly full of love and laughter, just being silly together, just being ourselves. As my feelings grew stronger for him, so did my thoughts and doubts.
Eventually, after a couple of months, I decided to cut him off completely. Then, a few weeks went by, and I realized I had missed my period. I waited a few more weeks. No period. On January 4, 2019, I gave in and took a pregnancy test while my mom was on FaceTime, eager to know the results. A few seconds passed and…positive. I decided to take a second one. Again, right away, the word ‘positive’ appeared. My mom was so excited. I burst into tears. I hadn’t been living the healthiest life I could have, and it instantly hit me that I was growing a child…
This was my first time ever being pregnant. I was so overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts. When I first found out I was having a girl, I wondered who she would become. I hoped and prayed she would be healthy and that I’d be able to give her the best life possible. I was so excited to be a mother! Having a strong faith, I believed God sent her to me to save me and give me purpose—to love and nurture this child.
On July 20, 2019, I was at home in my apartment organizing for her arrival and moving things around. I kicked myself out of the only bedroom in my apartment and made my room the living room so I could fit all of her belongings in the bedroom, although her things still spilled into the living room and dining areas. My mom and I were so excited to have Emery; my mom made sure she would have everything. I heard a knock on the front door but hadn’t been expecting anyone; I checked the balconies and peephole but saw no one.
A few minutes later, I continued going through baby stuff in the bedroom when suddenly I heard the front door get kicked open. Startled and confused, I stayed in the room until I heard a man’s voice asking where I was. I cautiously stepped out of the bedroom and was met by a woman holding a knife. She quickly grabbed me, and I begged her not to stab me. ‘I’m pregnant!’ I cried. Now, being out of the room, I saw more clearly what was happening.
There, in the living room, stood a man holding a gun to my ex-boyfriend’s head. (Emery’s dad was in rehab at the time.) We didn’t know these people. We asked who they were, what they wanted. They came for someone who had problems with my ex-boyfriend. I begged them to leave us alone, explaining they were in MY HOME and that I had nothing to do with whatever issues they were there for. After being repeatedly told to stay quiet and threatened with death, they angrily grabbed our phones, my car keys, all my cards, and all the money I had saved for emergencies and for Emery. They also took an Xbox.
As they began to run out of the house, I hollered for my ex-boyfriend to follow them. I grabbed a knife and ran after him. As soon as I stepped outside, I screamed for help, that two people had broken into my apartment with a knife and a gun…Crickets! My ex fought for the belongings as I ran to him. Suddenly, I heard a gunshot and felt an intense pain in my stomach. I knew I had been shot.
I quickly tried to stop the bleeding, but the pain was overwhelming, and I had to sit down. I couldn’t walk. Soon, neighbors filled the sidewalks, and I yelled for help. I was pregnant and had been shot. EMS and APD were called. Meanwhile, the suspects got into a car and sped toward the entrance gate, which was closed. They turned around, heading back toward me, still in the street. Thankfully, a neighbor moved me to safety and another brought a towel to help stop the bleeding. EMS arrived shortly after and took me to the hospital. I couldn’t feel Emery moving anymore.
I begged them to save my baby. In the EMS ride, they tried to detect her heartbeat but couldn’t. I was given an anesthetic. The last thing I remember, I was being wheeled into the emergency room, all eyes on me. I knew it was serious, just not how serious. Later, I was informed I had been shot twice: once in the left breast and once in the left side of my abdomen. The bullet exited my lower right abdomen, damaging organs and causing internal bleeding. I had been shot in my uterus and intestines. Due to blood loss, Emery was born via emergency c-section but had to be resuscitated.
Once she had a heartbeat, they airlifted her to another hospital to better suit her needs; they soon found her completely brain dead. I had surgery on my intestines and received 47 staples along my stomach.
The doctors and nurses in both hospitals were amazing. My family, as well as Emery’s dad and his family, were there every day supporting us. It was a hard time for everyone. No one knew until the next morning, Sunday, July 21st. Everyone was frantic and heartbroken to find out what had happened to me and Emery. We were able to FaceTime, which kept me motivated to see her each day.
When I first saw her, she was motionless, unable to open her eyes, cry, or breathe on her own. She was on life support to help her grow stronger, but she wasn’t doing well. That night, I asked for a baptism for Emery. They didn’t expect her to live through the night. The ceremony was beautiful. I prayed for a miracle and strength, and we survived the night together.
A few days after my surgery, I fought to be discharged so I could be with Emery. She was fighting too. My baby girl was so strong, holding on until Mommy could be with her again. I can’t describe the joy I felt once I was discharged and reunited with her. I thanked God every day for her life, brief though it was.
The doctors didn’t expect her to live another night, but she lived for a total of eight. When I arrived at her hospital, doctors told me, ‘Her brain stem is completely dead. She cannot breathe, cry, crawl, eat, walk, or do anything on her own.’ Every day I spent with her, they reminded me. Eventually, they said:
‘This is ultimately your decision. When you decide enough is enough, she will be put to rest.’
My heart shattered knowing she was hurt and I could not heal her. I was confused, hurt, and angry. I did everything to reunite with her, yet now had to consider letting her go. I was informed of the process, but I was stubborn. I wanted to do the things I would have with her if she weren’t brain dead. I signed a DNR form, but that was all. I cherished every moment, bathing her, changing her diaper, taking her temperature, and weighing her. After talking to more doctors, I realized they were right. I couldn’t let her continue to suffer. One doctor said: this decision comes from love.
My love for her was deep. Even as I watched her motionless, I knew I should let her go. I prayed daily for strength and guidance.
On July 28th, we decided to put our love for her above everything. I gave permission to remove her tubes. I held her the entire time with family around. Once removed, she continued to breathe on her own—a miracle. The progress from that first night was incredible.
I asked for more family to join us, to love her and watch her fight. I held her through every breath. She had fought long enough.
She breathed on her own for 30 minutes. Emotions overwhelmed us. We considered putting her back on the machine, but the decision was made. She went peacefully, surrounded by love. I never imagined losing my daughter before her due date or enduring such trauma.
I wanted to cremate her, but the medical examiner needed to keep her body for up to six months. I was devastated but supported by my family and her father’s. They helped plan the funeral, which was beautiful yet heart-wrenching. We grew closer to each other’s families, blessed by shared love and support.
Reading Through The Eyes of a Lion changed my perspective. I learned God has a plan for everything. This tragedy was not His work but the devil’s. Therapy helped me cope with grief. Through faith, I experienced moments with my daughter the doctors never expected. She is now in His hands, spreading love with Him and my grandfather.
Speaking to women online has been healing, sharing hearts worldwide. After losing Emery, I battled depression, wanting to be with her. Faith and family support reminded me this wasn’t the answer. I turned back to God.
This experience strengthened my faith. Some ask, ‘Where was your God?’ He is present, guiding, and giving strength through hardship.
After my staples were removed, I stayed with my mom in California to heal. Therapy continues for PTSD and depression. I am truly blessed for the love and support that carried me through this tragedy.
