Chapter 3

3 am woke me with a jolt. My father was at my side, shaking me. “Em, Em wake up. Wake up.”

“Wha-huh? What is it?” I said, rubbing my eyes? Carmen jumped out of the bed and ran down the hallway. I remember thinking it was odd.

“It's your mom, she's sick. I need your help.”

I shot up, pulling the quilt off of me and following my dad into his room. I could see my mother's legs, unmoving and above the covers. I pushed their bedroom door open all of the way and found my father grabbing underneath her torso. Her eyes were closed and her head wasn't moving. There was a splotch of dark red on and next to her ivory pillow.

“I need you to grab her legs. We need to put her on the floor.”

I ran over and grabbed under her knees. We placed her gently on the floor and my father started checking her wrists and neck. Without turning to me, he told me to wait downstairs for the paramedics. To open the door for them.

I jumped the stairs two at a time, nearly slipping on the carpet. As I waited for the red lights and sirens, I planted my face against the window, leaving a smudge about which my mother would yell at me.

The neighborhood was silent. The house was silent. I couldn't hear my father talking or counting as he pushed his palms into my mother's chest. Even my heartbeat was silent.

Slowly a van with a bright red cross came pulling up out street. I desperately fumbled with the deadbolt lock, which always gets stuck. I threw open the screen door and ran out to the porch, waving my arms furiously in my white tank top and basketball shorts. The van stopped, followed shortly by an ambulance. The paramedics walked, and I remember getting angry that they weren't running to my mother.

But then there was a moment where I felt as though everything was in slow motion. As if my brain couldn't perceive each event quickly enough. When the paramedics jogged upstairs, I saw only snapshots of their movements. In one shot, they were halfway up, and in another, they were on the star platform about two thirds of the way up where the stairs turned. Then they were out of frame, and I was sitting downstairs, unable to move. My father reached over the guard rail by the stairs and looked at me. He didn't need to say anything. I ran up to him.

Every sound came rushing back, even sounds from five minutes ago. My father's CPR, Carmen crying in the distance. They clogged my brain and got louder and louder until I couldn't think, and then I heard the “clear,” “clear,” “clear,” from the paramedics, ripping open supplies, saying “no heart beat” “no heartbeat” “noheartbeat” and I suddenly felt the squeeze of my father as he held me, crying on my shoulder and everything became so vivid all at once.

My mother was going to die.

And for eternity, I stood in the hallway with my father, crying.

Our muffled sobs quickly stopped as soon we both heard those magical words “We have a heartbeat.” Dad ran to the room and I ran to Charlie's room and shook him awake. “Charlie, hey, listen, we gotta go.”

“Hmmph, what...” he droned.

“Mom's sick, we have to go to the hospital.”

“She'll be fine.” He turned onto his other side. I punched him in the arm.

“Get up, we're going to the hospital, I'm driving.” He finally opened his eyes and turned his head toward me. “I'm going to go let Carmen out, so go brush your teeth and meet me downstairs. Dad's going in his own car to follow the ambulance.”

“B-brush my teeth?”

“Just do it, will you?”

We hopped in my car and sped toward the hospital. Charlie was silent, his eyes focused on his knees the whole drive.

“Her heart stopped, I think,” I said, trying to give him some sort of comfort with an explanation I didn't have.

“We need to call Brad,” Charlie said, his voice especially deep. As if he was trying to keep it from wavering.

“I'll call him when we get to the hospital.”

Each stoplight was hell. Each second we waited was another second to imagine her heart beat had stopped again.

We finally pulled up to the Emergency room and a nurse directed us to our dad. He sat in a cold, disinfected waiting room, his face in his hands. We walked up to him and hugged him, then sat down across from him. He looked up.

“The nurse said to call a priest.”

I reached my breaking point. I don't know how loudly I cried, but I'm certain I alerted the entire hospital staff. Charlie took out his phone and dialed Brad, who said he was on his way home. It was a two hour drive at 3:30 in the morning.

“Do...” my dad choked, “do you have your aunts' numbers?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” I managed to spit out between sobs. I called each eccentric aunt, unable to control my voice. I managed to say the words “St. Joseph's hospital” clearly enough, and they seemed to understand. My mother and my aunts were so close, I imagine both of their hearts skipped a beat when hers stopped.

The three of us sat there, isolated in our own chairs by our own sadness.

A nurse opened the waiting room door and called us over. She said we could go see her, our mother. She was in room 6.

My mind lost control on the walk over. What if she's already dead, I thought. What if she doesn't look my mom. What if she's being poked and prodded as we walk in. As it turned out, the last was true (and I distinctly remember worrying about her pink flannel pajama pants, which the nurses had cut off. Those were her favorite. How sad she will be.

The whole morning felt unnatural. The three of us slept on hospital chairs as my mother was taken from test to test to test. I didn't even remember when Brad got to the hospital, but I woke up with his arm wrapped around me. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. I looked around and my aunts were there too, chatting a few feet away. My aunt Charlotte noticed that I was moving and came toward me with a cup of coffee.

“Hey, girlie,” she said, kneeling down. “How are ya?”

“Tired,” I yawned. “Where's dad?”

“He's with your mom. Over in the ICU,” she said, examining my face. She was a social worker, like my mother; it was her nature.

“I want to go see her.”

“Okay, sweetie. Wake up your brothers, will you?”

I followed her instructions and shook them awake, hugging Brad as he stood up. It felt nice be with him.

My mother, in that hospital, wasn't really my mother. She had small tubes running down her arms connected to IVs. There were bandages from old IV connections (I remembered that she had rolling veins, and there were bruises all over; no doubt from the nurse's repeated attempts to reach one). But what hit me the hardest was a large tube in her throat. Her mouth agape, her breathing tube made a humming noise every time it breathed in. Her stomach expanded, and the machine droned on.

Charlie and Brad froze behind me. I didn't see their faces, but I couldn't feel anything from them. I've never been one to believe in spirits or energies, but I felt absolutely nothing in that dry, beige hospital room. No semblance of life. All of the pink drained the second one crossed the room threshold. All spirit evaporated.

I don't know how long I stood at the foot of the hospital bed, but I was finally moved by a nurse who had to check my mother's vital signs.

“Uh, Charlotte, why don't you and Julie take the kids to get some breakfast.” My dad nodded his head over toward my aunts.

“Yes! Breakfast! Let's all get some food,” Aunt Julie said, clapping her hands and leading us out of the room. I looked back at my dad, and he managed a wink, but part of me couldn't tell if he intended to wink or if he was losing control of his emotions, and they were starting to show on his face. The nurse shut the curtain surrounding my mom, and Aunt Charlotte grabbed my hand to go.