It was 8:45 pm, a typical Friday night and the phone kept ringing. My daughter Khadra answered at the same time that I was entering the living room, I asked her who it was, and she said, “It is Long Beach Memorial Hospital; they want to speak to Mr. or Mrs Azza”, I grabbed the phone, “Hello, yes this is Mrs. Azza,” the lady on the phone responded,” We need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible; your son was hit by a car”. I couldn’t speak, but I forced myself to ask the most important question of all “Is he alive?” She kept repeating, “You need to come to the hospital as soon as possible”. At that moment my arms were trembling and my heart was beating like a drum, I felt as though my soul had left my body and went to look for Yaseen’s. I remember leaning against the wall and slowly sliding my back down to sit on the ground because my body felt so heavy and everything became blurry. I snapped out of it as soon as possible I knew I had to get to the hospital quick. My oldest son had invited his friend over earlier, but by the time he came and I was rushing out my son explained to him the situation. He offered to give me a ride because I didn’t think I could have driven myself there safely for sure I was not able to drive under all of that pressure and anxiety. As we exited the driveway Yaseens father was entering. We gave him the news, he could not believe it either, but it didn’t seem to have much of an impact on him as much as I.
Anyway he rushed us to the hospital. We entered the emergency room hoping that we would see him right away, but we couldn’t. It took us about ten minutes until they let me go in, those were the longest ten minutes, it almost felt like hours. I entered the room and my eyes caught the pile of his shredded clothes covered with blood on the floor; his favorite shoes with the laces cut off. I was hysterical, I was yelling “Why!!!” the nurses prepared me not only to expect seeing the unthinkable, but to accept...
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