Her name is Lila. She passed away on an ordinary Friday. She died in her sleep and was found by her mother, who checked on her early that morning. Typically, she would respond with a slight but audible hum whenever someone knocked on her door. Other times, her mom would have to enter the room and call out, and Lila would reply with a grumble, "Yeah, yeah, I’m already awake."
Lila did not like being disturbed when she was asleep. Who does?
She had this odd superpower of waking up just two to five minutes before her alarm. She hated the sound of alarms, but they were still useful on important days. On regular mornings, she would wake up just enough to check the time and plan her day. So when her mom called out that day, she should have heard it. It should have been a gentle tap, a light push.
But that day, her body had to be shaken, hard, just to get a response.
It was too late. She had already turned blue.
Her face was pale. An eerie contrast to her usual golden-brown skin. Her hands and feet were cold, something Lila could not stand. Would she have sensed a slight chill the night before, her bedtime routine would include cajuput oil and socks to keep her warm.
It was beyond shocking for her parents, but they had to pull themselves together. It feels like her mother still could have saved her.
“Buriram Centre. What is your emergency?”
“My daughter... I think she needs help.” Her mother’s voice trembled.
“What is the address of your emergency?”
“I’m at Huai Rat.”
“Okay, ma’am. Can you explain the situation?”
“She’s not waking up. I’ve tried calling her multiple times.”
“All right. We need you to stay on the line. Is your daughter still breathing?”
“I... I can’t tell. Her lips are turning blue. Purplish.”
The call was made around three in the morning. Lila was pronounced dead shortly after the medical team arrived. Cause of death: aspiration pneumonia.
Acid reflux was found in her throat. Doctors found no signs of foul play, but Lila had a history of severe gastrointestinal disease. At times, she struggled to sleep through the night when her symptoms flared. Skipping meals made it worse.
Thursday night, one day before her death, it rained hard, making it nearly impossible to go out. Lila did not eat. The power went out just as she tried to heat leftovers, so she grabbed a snack and went to bed early, trying to ignore the hunger.
Her parents could not make sense of it. It usually took more than a skipped dinner to trigger a serious relapse. Her father, especially, was full of questions. Her mother was quiet, still unable to accept the truth.
“The stomach acid likely traveled up into her throat and larynx," The doctor explained gently. “She inhaled it in her sleep. This can lead to a fatal condition, especially when the person has an existing medical issue. Is there a trigger for this condition?”
“Lila didn’t eat dinner." Her mother said softly.
“A single episode wouldn’t normally be fatal. Was anything else going on?”
“She was stressed from work. I saw her crying last night, but... I didn’t think much of it.”
“Did she talk to you about work often, or about how it made her feel?”
Her mother hesitated. “I... I can’t say.”
“You don’t know how many times?”
“I don’t know what she felt. She never told me.”