In the end there was nothing I could do to save Angelee. Her little ten year old body had taken too much of a battering. Our little angel succumbed to the pressure and went home to be with her grandpa, Casey Crandall--- my mother's first husband-- in heaven. I told Danny and Julie after the first leg of the surgery that her chances were very small. She wasn't responding. When I came out the second time our whole family was in a special waiting room, and grief specialists had been assembled--- probably by my mother who dealt with these things.

To have to tell my brother and his wife that I was unable to save their baby girl was the hardest thing I have ever done. This happened on the third exit and I could barely speak. I'd been in surgery over seventeen hours, my hands were shaking, and my brain was fried, as was everyone else on my trauma team. We'd done everything humanly possible, and even some things that seemed inhumanly possible to no avail.

As soon as I'd said the terrible words, Julie started screaming, and Danny had to restrain her. My mother took me in her arms and held me tightly, so tightly, and I cried and cried and cried... and still haven't stopped crying entirely.

Danny came to me after a few minutes when Julie had been taken over by her own mother, and some others I didn't know. I was holding Kira in one arm, and my sister Brianna in the other, and Danny just said over and over, "It wasn't your fault, Aubrey. It wasn't your fault. You did everything you could. We don't blame you. We don't blame you!"

It was my fault. I didn't answer that first call--- the one I actually saw. How--- how could I have been so callous and selfish? How could I have done this? If I'd just answered the call, Angelee might still be here. Might still be here!

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