“OK, we go. Wait for us in the emergency, OK?”
My mom hung up the phone and looked at me.
”Your papasote had a heart attack. Call Rafael, we have to go to Sherman.”
II
As we raced towards The Depot to pick up Rafa, we tried and failed to figure out what had happened. Papo was in the hospital, but how? Why? He should’ve been at New Parent Night. He was the guy in charge of explaining Crown’s discipline policy in both English and Spanish. We’d been sitting at the kitchen table the night before talking about how he had to make the policies sound harsher in Spanish than they actually were so he could get the Spanish-speaking parents to buy in. As I tried to remember our conversation from the night before, I realized that I hadn’t been listening to him all that closely. His spiel was the same every year and this being before my cultural awakening, I wasn’t particularly interested or proud of the things my parents did for a living. All I knew was that because of the choices they’d made in their careers we lived in one of the sketchiest neighborhoods in all of suburbia, in a house markedly smaller than the ones my friends lived in. And that I didn’t have the option of being so ashamed of my house and neighborhood that I didn’t let my friends come over, because a lot of my friends’ parents wouldn’t let their kids come over.
As we sped towards my brother I looked at my mother and was awed by how well she was holding up. My parents have always been inseparable, never really having many friends; all they ever cared about was each other and their children, every other relationship was extraneous.
“You know Diegito,” my mother once told me, “if we were both from this country your father and I would have divorced years ago. We need each other, but too much people get distracted by their friends or their familias in these things. You know?”
Yeah ma. I know.
III
“Shit, you’re still listening to this tape? And that song’s back on again. Shit.”
This is the first thing Rafa said as he got into my car to drive off to the hospital to see our father after he’d had a heart attack.
“My father just had a heart attack and you’re making me listen to this shit?”
I wish I could say that the stress of my father’s illness had taxed my brother to the breaking point. That he couldn’t contain his grief so he lashed out at me. But, that would be a lie. Though our relationship has changed and improved dramatically in the decade that’s transpired since this night, at the time, the 18 and 16 year old versions of ourselves just didn’t get along all that well. Feeling for my mother, who was certain she was about to lose the best friend she’d ever had, I figured that seeing her two boys arguing with each other wouldn’t help all that well. So I bit my lip for the only time in my life that didn’t involve my father in law.
After a few minutes of silence my favorite song came on so I turned up the volume and attempted to bask in the song, which totally worked until my mother started talking.
“Oh, this is nice, who is this Diegito? Sounds like Abba, but moderno.”
“It’s Monaco Mamacita. Remember all those New Order albums Alex got me for my birthday last…”
“Ma, you like this? Why do you like Diego’s music? He likes shitty music, I can’t believe you like shitty music.”
“Rafa, this is a good song, is nice.”
“You can’t even say the words right.”
“Are you making fun of me, you tink I’m ess-stupid?
“No mom, JD’s the stupid one, he keeps listening to this song, and he hasn’t even heard the whole album.”
“Well, maybe you can be a good brother and give it to him as a going away present when he leaves for school.”
“Waste my money on him?”
The song was nearly over and since they’d both succeeded in messing up the one thing that was keeping me calm in the face of my father’s heart attack, I interjected. “I don’t know that I’m going this term. I might stay home and help out with Papo.”
“What?” my brother and mother said at once.
“Well, if this thing’s serious, you guys are going to need help around the house so maybe I should stay and work and help out with Papo.”
Everyone in the car, including me was so stunned by what had just come out of my mouth that no one said a word in response. We just continued on our way to the hospital and within a few minutes we were pulling into the parking lot. Once we got there everyone’s pulse quickened. We were about to see my father laid up in the ER, something none of us were really looking forward to. We dropped mom off at the ER doors and Rafa and I stayed in the car to park in the main lot.
“Wow.” Rafa said when Mom was finally out of the car.
“I know.”
“I mean, we both figured we’d be here someday, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But, like, did we ever think it’d be Papo?”
“Seriously man, I totally thought Mom’d go decades before Papasote.”
“Shit, what are we going to do with Mom if something happens to him?”
“I really, really don’t know, but it’s something we need to think about dude. If anything happens to Papo, if he doesn’t pull through this, everything’s gonna change.”
“Man I know you’re the smart one and everything, but, everything’s already changed.”
“Yeah, I know man, I know.”
IV
I don’t know if I’ve driven home the point about my father being one of those men that always puts on his best face for his family and doesn’t ever show weakness. So allow me to drive that point home right now. My father is one of those men that always puts on his best face for his family and doesn’t ever show weakness. I’m not telling you this because I think it’s a bad thing, I’m telling this so you’ll understand how much spin control he was attempting when we arrived in the ER.
“Hi guys. How do I look?” he said with that smile he’d always used to disarm people. Truth be told, he looked and sounded like hell. He had the wires and tubes coming out of him that we’d grown used to seeing on TV medical dramas, not in a member of our own family. And for the first time, my father looked old and tired. His voice was barely above a hoarse whisper, but his presence was still there, his ability to fill a room with his personality was still with him and it made him seem healthier than he really was. As my brother and I shared a glance at each other we finally grasped what our mother’d been telling us for years, we were the only family we really had, and that in the end, all we’d have is each other. In the ER that night, we came to that conclusion and for the first time in our lives, we were truly scared.
“The doctors are going to run a few tests and then move Papasote up to his room.” My mother informed us.
“OK, listen Papo, the two of us are going to go out into the lobby while they run those tests and make some phone calls. We’re gonna call the family, OK?”
“That’d be great guys. Thank you.”
We walked out into the waiting room and looked for the ubiquitous bank of payphones. Spotting the bank I walked toward them pulled out my calling card and looked at Rafa.
“OK, I’ll get Uncle Nick and Uncle Alfonso, you wanna get Uncle Vince and Tia Isabel?”
He just looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language.
“Dude, you with me? You wanna split up these phone calls? I figure it’ll be easier on Tia Isabel if it comes from you and…hello? You home dude?”
“He’s really dying.”
“Shut up, we don’t know, but we need to call some people and let them know what’s up. Can you help me out here?”
“Like my dad’s really dying, I’m 16 and my father’s dead.”
“He’s not dead, he’ll make it back, but right now Mom and Dad both need some help and so we have to call the people who can help them.”
At this point the reality of what was going on came crashing down on my little brother and he sat down on
the floor, assumed the fetal position and began to cry very softly. I bent down to hold him, like we’d done when we were toddlers and still enjoyed each other’s company, but he wouldn’t have it, he pushed me away.
“Make the calls, that’s what he needs right now.”
So I stepped away and made the calls.
“Hi Uncle Nick, it’s Diego….Not so good…it’s Dad, he’s had a heart attack…at Sherman…we don’t know they’re running tests…no need to come out tonight…I know it’s just a forty five minute drive…no, we’re fine…we’re all in a bit of shock, yeah…OK, give Aunt Cait my love…I’ll talk to you in the morning…breakfast at the Omega at 8? Sure, I’ll be there, then we’ll come on out to the hospital…great…see you then.”
“Hi Aunt Angie, it’s Diego…Not so good…it’s Dad, he’s had a heart attack…Aunt Ange, please, relax, it’s OK…stop crying, please…Hi Uncle Vince…yeah, it’s Dad, yeah. I already called Uncle Nick and Aunt Cait…Omega at 8, yeah…OK…we’ll see you in the morning…great…see you then.”
“Hola Tia, es Diego…mira, Papasote tuvo un attaque al corazon…no saben…en el Sherman, en la emergencia…gracias, te veo en un minuto.”
“Hi Aunt Stephanie, it’s Diego…yeah, it has been a really long time…yeah, well we’re not so good. Dad had a heart attack tonight…At Sherman in Elgin…yeah, where Rafa was born…uh huh…sure I can wait…………….you can stay with us if you want…sure…Rafa and I can sleep on the sofabed, you can have his room and Santi can sleep in my room…Yeah, not a problem…seven hours? Yeah, it is a bit of driving in from Muncie….well the plan is to meet with everyone at the Omega at 8 and then go to the hospital…OK, we’ll see you guys then. Love you, bye.”
After that I knelt down, held my brother in my arms and began crying with him.
V
As it turned out the cardiologist said that my father had what he called a “million dollar heart attack.” Apparently the part of his heart that was affected was the bottom, the part that just sits there and keeps the blood from falling out of the bottom of the heart. They didn’t know how much muscle damage there was going to be because, well, it really didn’t matter since it was on the bottom of his heart.
“So, it’s gonna be a quad bypass?” My Uncle Nick asked.
“Yeah, that’s what they decided last night. I mean, he’s still getting a second opinion this morning, but the plan is to cut him open around ten tomorrow morning.”
“How’s your Mom?” This time it was Aunt Angie. It made sense that she’d ask for Mom, she’d always loved my mother more than just about anyone who’s not directly related to her. I guess it’s because in my mother she saw a kindred spirit and at the time, her husband, Uncle Vince was in the middle of an on again, off again battle he’d eventually lose with cancer. So Aunt Angie had first hand knowledge of what it was like to have your best friend’s life in serious danger.
“She’s holding up. I took her to the hospital this morning before I went to breakfast, she wanted to be there with my Dad when he woke up.”
”She didn’t spend the night in the hospital?”
“Nope. He’s in the ICU so they kick everyone out at night so that everyone can get the rest they need. We went home around 11 last night and were back up around 6.”
“Y tu hermano?” Tia Isabel asked.
“Work. He suddenly had a string of 12 hour shifts come up.”
The rest of the breakfast went pretty quietly. It was good that we were all at the Omega, one of those quintessential Chicago Greek diners, the kind falsely immortalized in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I mean, it was a decent enough translation, but they didn’t do justice to the comfort those ubiquitous diners provide. They’re magical and every Chicago family has their favorite, for the rag-tag combination of surnames that make up the extended Hidalgo/Zamorano/Tafoya/Lombard/DeRossi clan, the Omega has always been ours. We celebrate everything there; good report cards, the birth of cousins and grandchildren and first communions and band concerts. It’d even become the late night hang out of choice for my friends and me thanks to its 24 hour hours of operation, decent coffee, selection of fried foods and excellently stocked pastry case. Our breakfast there helped give the day a veneer of normalcy that was broken as soon as we arrived in room 438.
Everyone smiled and hugged and kissed my father, but I could tell how hard it was for them to see him like that. He was everyone’s little brother and seeing your little brother laid up like that with the tubes and the wires is a rough deal. For my cousin Santi, this drove home his own father’s mortality. I could take comfort in the fact that the worst was happening to my father, but for 14 year old Santi, all he could do was stand there and look at his father’s little brother struggling to stay conscious and wonder what the future would hold for his own father.
“Hey Santi, wanna go get some pie down in the cafeteria?” I asked him when I could tell that it was starting to overwhelm him.
“Yeah, that’d be good. Let’s ummm, go. Yeah.”
We were gone for about twenty minutes, just long enough for the two of us to recover and get our bearings, for as much as I say I left the room to get him out of there, our trip for coffee and pie was more for my benefit than for his.
Everyone eventually trickled out until Mamacita, Papasote and I were alone in the room with Uncle Alfonso. That afternoon was one of those really special ones where the time just flew by. In those hours my father and his big brother told stories about their childhood that I’d never heard and have yet to hear again. About the hacienda in Colombia, their move to the city, my father’s first girlfriends and my Uncle’s never discussed first job out of college. I heard about my grandfather, namesake to both my father and myself, stories different from the ones I’d grown used to hearing about his sternness and the discipline he instilled in all seven of his children. In the hours that followed I heard all about his kindness, his wicked sense of humor and how he was the perfect compliment to the sweetest and funniest woman any of them had ever known, my grandmother Cecilia. Even my mother joined in, telling stories about Abuelita Cecilia that are legend in the Hidalgo family. In those moments I could, for the only time in my life, see the depth of the love my mother had for her mother in law, a woman I’d never met. She’d died two years before I was born, after returning home to Colombia after spending the Bicentennial with her two eldest sons in their new nation.
By the time visiting hours ended my mother had procured a guitar from one of the other patients in the ICU and began singing folk songs that the three of them had sung when they’d all first arrived in this country. They sang of their homelands, of their families they’d left behind and the distance that kept them from the lands of their birth. Though I didn’t know the words to any of these songs, I found myself singing along after a while, joining into this circle and like the song says, ensuring that it would remain unbroken.
Eventually, around midnight, the nurses mentioned to my mother that it really would be best if we let my father get some rest since he’d be undergoing a rather major surgery the following morning, so we said goodbye to my father, kissing him and hugging him, as we got ready to leave.
“You two can go, but I need to talk to Diegito for a minute, OK? Alone.” He said, with a strength that I hadn’t seen since the night before his heart attack.
“Si mi amor.” My mother said as she kissed him and walked out of the room.
“Te veo mañana Viejo” my uncle said as he kissed his little brother on the forehead and walked out with his arm around his sister-in-law.
When we were finally alone, I walked over to the chair next to his bed and sat down.
”Yeah Papo, what did you want?”
“I heard from your Aunts and Uncles that you’re thinking of deferring this year. Not going to Willis?”
“When did they tell you that?” I raced through the past day, thinking of when I hadn’t been in the room…
??
?When you went to get pie with Santi.”
“Well, I figure that you’re going to need help. I mean, Rafa was only here for like fifteen minutes today and Mom can’t handle you all…”
”I am not dead and I am not going to be an invalid. Your mother is a big girl, she can handle me and Rafa is dealing with this in his own way, he will do what is right. Do not worry about us…”
“But I feel like I’m abandoning…”
“You are not abandoning shit. It is time for you to leave, and you need to get out of this place, there is more to this world than the Omega and Woodfield and Wrigley Field.”
“But…”
”No. I am going to make a deal with you.”
“OK.”
“You leave for Willis on time, I know I will not be able to drive you up the way we had planned so you are going to have to fly, call Greg and have him help you get a ticket. Uncle Alfonso already offered to pay to ship all your stuff up so Monday you go do that with him, OK?”
“Maybe…”
”You are going to school mijo. You have worked too hard, we have worked too hard, this is why your mother and I came here thirty years ago, to have our sons go to the best schools in the world, to become leaders our family, our people can be proud of. So you are going to school.”