For All the Tables That Held Me This Year
The cold breeze brushed against my skin as I hurried toward the hospital on New Year's Eve. The streets lay unnaturally quiet, with only the occasional vehicle gliding past and stray cats and dogs wandering the shadows. In my mind, I could almost hear the contrasting chaos behind every closed door—the lively gatherings, laughter and anticipation building toward the midnight feast of media noche. But on the streets, amid that eerie stillness, my own desperate prayers spilled from my lips, louder than anything else in the night. I pleaded for a hospital that could finally meet my urgent needs. The first one—the closest—had nothing available. The second offered no relief either. And yet, what lingered most vividly was the moment I pushed through the doors of that second hospital, a devastating scene unfolded before me—a lifeless baby cradled in grieving arms. In the hushed darkness outside, the hospital echoed with the piercing cries of suffering children, raw and unrelenting. ...
