May 15, 2014 I hear my grandpa calling my name from my room upstairs. I walk down stairs and he tells me my dad’s had an accident. At this point I think my dad’s dead, because of how my grandpa word’s it, and my initial shock, but he’s alive. He was living in Virginia with my sister when it happened, so we leave for Virginia that night. We make it there the next afternoon and I finally get to see my dad. It was a challenge seeing a loved one with hundreds of tubes coming out of them, hearing that he might not make it through the night, and if he does he might not be able to see and so on. Seeing what at this point didn’t even really resemble my dad was very challenging.
Seven years earlier, I migrated to Hawaii when I was twenty-three. I had flown away from my mother and my life in the Philippines. Like young adults and being rebellious, I wanted to live on my own away from my mother 's roof. I left the city life I grew up with in the Philippines in hope of a better life in another country.
The doctors could not save him. My heart ached, and I wanted to run away instead of facing the cruel reality that my dad was not going to walk out of this hospital today or ever again. I cried hopeless tears as my mom slowly carried me to the far corner of the hospital where my dad had been placed by doctors hours before. When we reached the doorway to his room, I froze with hatred and anger. I could not comprehend why the doctors had no power or ability to fix the situation. I felt helpless and did not want to go inside the room where my dad was being held captive by countless wires and machines. However, I crawled onto the foot of the bed and held my dad’s legs as he continued taking shallow breaths. Ultimately, that is where I remained until a nurse came in several hours later to confirm he had passed
Yelling from the top of my lungs at the bottom of the staircase, demanding breakfast and the control to turn on my favorite morning cartoon, everything seemed to be normal. However, the world as I once knew it quickly took a turn for the worse. You see, being the youngest of five, I quickly learned that a quiet house isn’t a normal house. Therefore, as I huffed and puffed up the stairs, snarling because everyone was still nestled in their beds, something quickly caught my eye. My brother, Craig was on the floor rolling back and forth in agonizing pain, he was barely able to make a call for help. Suddenly, my parents were awakened from my screaming and they quickly called 9-1-1. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into days. It seemed like my family was crumbling before my eyes. Suddenly, as I began to lose hope, I looked out of my bedroom window to see my dad carrying my brother in his arms up the driveway. My heart sunk into my stomach because I always saw my brother as a strong, self-sufficient teenager who never accepted help from anyone. Eager to know what happened, my parents sat my three older siblings and myself on the couch and told us the news: Craig has Cancer. Cancer. That’s all I heard. That one word had the ability to weaken the mold that once held my family together for so many years. My family became frantic and then gradually we began to forget how
It was a normal Saturday night. My siblings and I were watching TV. I was nine, my older brother was twelve, and my younger sister was seven. My mom was cleaning up the kitchen like she usually does. My dad was on a trip with some of his friends to Baja California to ride motorcycles. We were expecting his nightly call checking up with us, and around 8 PM the phone rang. My mom answered the phone. It wasn’t my dad, it was his boss, Dale. It wasn’t until twenty minutes later when the phone call ended, she explained to us what happened. My dad had flipped over the handlebars of his motorcycle and was paralyzed from the neck down, and this occurred 12 hours earlier. Luckily his friends were all trained in basic first aid, and one was an EMT. All
The smell of a dirty old medical facility mixed with the constant noise of beeping coming from throughout the hospital created a very depressing atmosphere. The nurse then led us to the room dad was in. While we were there, the nurse talked for what seemed like 3 years, but I couldn’t stop gazing at my father. He looked like he had gotten in a fight with an angry stray cat! He had cuts on his face and arms, scratches on his leg, and his head was covered in a huge bruise that spanned from his left eyebrow passed his hairline. He had an IV hooked up to his wrist and an oxygen tube set up to his nostrils. I had never seen him like this before. I couldn’t express how I felt into words. I felt the tears forming back in my eye again, but this time I didn’t hold anything back. My eyes were waterfalls streaming down my expressionless red face.
Everyone says it all happens for a reason but I struggled to understand this for years after. I tried to find things to blame it on such as his poor health habits like smoking and fast food. Though those factors did play a role in it, he was only forty nine and I had known those who lived in their eighties with the same habits. I didn’t know how to accept the cards that were dealt to my family and I.
“Nico! Nico!” my mom, Lutex, shouted while aggressively shaking me, “Wake up our ride is here.” I looked at the clock and stared at it for a long time, it read: 4:30 am. I moaned in despair and remembered that we were flying to our cousin’s house today. I still thought it was unfair that my sisters and I had to go to our cousin’s while our parents went to Las Vegas. I got my mind off of it and raced to the bathroom. After using the bathroom I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I got out and my sisters were waiting behind the door. I crept out and heard a honk. This was not the honk you’d hear from a duck, but a car. I got dressed into sweats and a shirt, fixed my shoelaces and stepped outside. Surprisingly, my parents and sisters were already situated with our suitcases.
Most nights, I would quickly and effortlessly fall asleep after a good meal and shower, but for some reason I found it very difficult to sleep this night. I tossed and turned part of the night and at other times lying there staring at the ceilings. Although I was sleepless, I was aware that I wanted a change in my life. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, I just knew that a change in scenery and lifestyle would be great for me now.
“Sweetheart? Could you possibly not glare at Joanie like that?” My father asked cautiously in the middle of dinner. I hadn’t even noticed that I was doing it, it just became a habit after awhile. I looked down at my plate, still full with spaghetti crowding around my small portion of meatballs. Not that I was going to eat any of it. Usually, I would have finished it all by now, but that was before my mother’s spaghetti recipe had been contaminated by Joanie’s attempt to recreate it. Though it had been my father’s idea, I don’t know what he was thinking. Like an overcooked imposter of my favorite dish would immediately make me like Joanie. As if spaghetti would make me warm up to the idea of having her as my stepmother.
A couple hours passed, and yet my father had still not shown up. My curiosity and confusion heightened. Just as I was about to question where my dad was, I was informed that my father had been severely injured with a gunshot wound. The surgeons, unfortunately, were not successful in saving his life. My beloved father passed away that night, and we were all there to say goodbye. After this night, my family was never the same.
I took my nails and dug into my head. I scratched and scratched and hot tears rolled down my face. It was as if there were a thousand needles being pierced into my skull. My room was dark aside from the TV playing in the background. I couldn’t focus and I started to get dizzy. Was I really going to die? Would I not wake up the next morning? Was this really what I wanted?
I wake up thinking I am in our old house in the countryside. The sun streams through the window across the rolling hills, and a calm wind blows on my face. Soon the day will begin . . . another long day of weaving cloth.
After a few days in the hospital my father was discharged and I’ve never seen a bigger smile on his face to go back to his house, with his walker we got out of the jeep and step by step we made into the house, welcomed home to all of family immediate and extended he sat in his chair ate a bite of rice and chicken, watched TV and talked to his eldest son, “ It’s time for you to get some rest Tommie” my mother spoke, so with his walker he got up and step by step we took to his room. What would take a short distance that my father took many times now seemed like a marathon to him, what was once joy on his face turned into low spirits, midway through he stopped and cried and said he couldn’t do it as if he was defeated, with the whole family to his aid we got him to his destination sat him on the bad and my brother Christian said with affirmation “ Dad you are