While her daughter may have died instantly, the pain she carried lasted months... until her baby girl spoke to her.
The loss of a child is an inexplicable feeling. The devastation of losing the baby you nurtured and loved when they were in your womb and even more so when they were out, it can break you. That's what this mother had to face when she lost her daughter when drunk drivers smashed into her car, injuring her but taking her daughter away from her permanently, according to Love What Matters. Knowing she wouldn't be able to get her back, the grieving mother asked for a sign — anything to know that her baby girl was happy and safe. What she got absolutely shocked her.
Luma Zhang absolutely adored her little girl. "When little Lucy was born, I looked into her beautiful black eyes and asked, ‘Who lights up my world?’ Of course, she couldn’t answer. Nonetheless, I showered her in gentle kisses, myself adding, ‘You do.’ When little Lucy was an infant, I’d ask, ‘Who lights up my world?’ Still, she couldn’t answer. Nonetheless, I kissed her cheeks, myself adding, ‘You do.’"
"When little Lucy was a toddler, I’d ask, ‘Who lights up my world?’ The kisses paraded. Eventually, one day, I heard her shout back, ‘Me!’ through giggles. It was true. She did, in fact, light up my world. She not only helped to fill a void that had formed after my best friend, my sweet mother, was gone, but she taught me to love even harder when I didn’t think it was possible. My heart just melted hearing her say it back for the first time."
And then was little Lucy was almost six years old, tragedy struck. "It was a rainy night last April. Saturday. I was picking up some groceries in the evening and planning for my husband’s homemade birthday lunch the following day. You never expect it to be you. At the intersection, the light flashed green. Still, I looked both ways before going. I saw a black Jeep heading towards me on my right, but assumed it would slow down. After all, why wouldn’t it?"
But little did the mother know at the time what was to come. And it happened so quickly. "Their light was red. It did not. Instead, it slammed right into the back-right door, the one shielding my Lucy. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even have time. The last ‘word’ I ever heard from her was a big, deep gasp. Her last breath. She was dead on impact. The car spun around and tipped over on its side. I was locked inside my seatbelt, I couldn’t get out. I screamed and screamed. Lucy was silent. ‘MY BABY. BABY, PLEASE. JUST OPEN YOUR EYES.’ I blacked out after that."
"The next thing I saw was red and blue – police lights. My seat belt was cut, I was placed on a stretcher. Everything was hazy. They placed a white sheet over my baby. Next, white. I was in the hospital. Hearing the words, ‘I’m sorry, she did not make it,’ shattered my universe. Deep, guttural screams. Vomit. Swollen eyes. Pain. Inside and out. I lost my baby to drunk drivers. It was only 5:18 p.m."
The year-and-a-half after Lucy died never got any easier for Luma. The pain was just as intense as the day it happened. But something changed when the grieving mother asked her lost daughter to give her a sign, any sign that she was watching down on her mother.
"Every day, I still pray she will come back – realistic or not, I don’t care. The pain never gets easier. I cried into the mirror, and then I saw it. That little duck nightlight we’ve had since Lucy was born. It stopped working long ago, so it has not been lit for probably 3 years now. I remember saying, ‘Baby, please give me a sign. I love you. I miss you. I need you.’ Silence. Then, from the corner of my eye, I see a flicker of light. It’s the duck. It’s illuminated with light for the first time in years. I’m in shock. Not grief shock, though. Not pain shock. Just peace. It flowed through me."
That was all it took for Luma to be able to cope a little better. "Through tears, I said, ‘You light up my word – you do, you do.’ Even in death, she is still my light. I know she is here with me, watching down from wherever she is. I cannot wait until the day I will see her and my mother again. I know I will. And, finally, I am at peace.”