48 Hours: I'm trying to believe and I'd die without you
Forty-eight hours; that's what the doctor said about my uncle, Severo, Monday afternoon.
He continues to have seizures and we already know that is not a good sign. Within the 48 hours, they'll run tests like an EEG or a CAT scan, to see if there is any brain activity. And if there isn't, well, it's up to my cousins to make the final decision, whatever it may be.
"Everytime I see him, it brings me back to mama and dad," my father tells me tonight as he put his hand over his heart, as if he was catching it before it fell to the floor and breaks again. "It's just... hard."
Which is understandable. Flash back to over a year ago; we had to convince my father to take grandpa off the machines, since there wasn't anymore the doctors could do to help my grandpa get better.
That Monday afternoon, after I left a two-minute shift at Chili's and changed into my everyday attire, my father and I left for the hospital. As soon as we entered the ICU wing, my cousin Sandy greeted us and whispers, "We're about to do a blessing."
We entered the room and sure enough, a woman associated with The Lady of Guadalupe tells us to hold hands. We surrounded my bed-ridden, comatose uncle, and she begins the prayer in Spanish. As she spoke, I tried my best to catch the words I can translate in my head. At the same time, I was trying to tell myself (or rather convince), "I believe, I believe."
She then spoke in English and as she continued, I felt my cousin Sandy's hand began to shake and I held on tighter as my way to comfort her; she returned the gesture.
Afterwards, the woman had each of us go up to my tio Severo, and she put his unmovable hand in a blessing position to our heads. I went last, and as she put his hand to my head, I cried a little harder, especially at the words she spoke (for him, might I add).
I was moved, and to tell you the truth, when it comes to prayer and religion and all, I'm usually indifferent. I think the thing that moved me at all was watching my tia Petra go up to her brother, and I flashed back to a year ago when my other aunt (and her sister) died. We hugged and she tells me, "Hold on to your sister, because I don't have mine any more."
As we did the blessing/prayer, I kept sneaking glances across the room at my own sister. I kept thinking how at times I can't stand her, how I wish she didn't turn her nose up at some things in my life, how I wish she would just listen instead of preached, and how I wish she'd appreciate the things I did for her, whether she knew it was me or not.
In spite of it all, the words of Roseanne in her series finale replayed in my head as she spoke of her own sister, Jackie: "She's my rock." (Gah! That "Roseanne" ending gets me *everytime*)
It's true. I looked at my sister and all I can think about is how I would go insane if my sister was taken away from me. God, I would die!
We don't hug, we don't tell each other, "I love you." I think it's too awkward for us. The most affectionate we can get is when we say, "You're my thither." (Translation: sister, and it's our little inside joke. )
Just thinking about it, writing it out, has tears running down my face. Speaking about it, I'd choke on my words.
Another thing that stirred me up is the prayer we went through. It didn't end there; later on in the ICU waiting room, the priest from the same church arrived, and my tia Petra handed to him a bottle of Holy Water. He poured a couple of drops on each of our heads, and like the last time, I kept telling myself, "I believe."
The experience it self gave me the urge to pick up a book from my remaining unread Kabbalah library. It also has me browsing through the Philosophy section at Barnes and Nobles for Bertrand Russell texts on science and religion.
I'm just lost in that part of my life; I used to fear hell if I missed Sunday Mass or said, "Damn." Now I'm working or sleeping in come the Christian Sabbath day and saying "Goddammit" if someone puts a shirt in the dryer instead of hanging it up to air dry.
Oy, if things don't get any better for my tio, I will be crying a river and have a need for alcohol and cigarettes by the end of this weekend.
He continues to have seizures and we already know that is not a good sign. Within the 48 hours, they'll run tests like an EEG or a CAT scan, to see if there is any brain activity. And if there isn't, well, it's up to my cousins to make the final decision, whatever it may be.
"Everytime I see him, it brings me back to mama and dad," my father tells me tonight as he put his hand over his heart, as if he was catching it before it fell to the floor and breaks again. "It's just... hard."
Which is understandable. Flash back to over a year ago; we had to convince my father to take grandpa off the machines, since there wasn't anymore the doctors could do to help my grandpa get better.
That Monday afternoon, after I left a two-minute shift at Chili's and changed into my everyday attire, my father and I left for the hospital. As soon as we entered the ICU wing, my cousin Sandy greeted us and whispers, "We're about to do a blessing."
We entered the room and sure enough, a woman associated with The Lady of Guadalupe tells us to hold hands. We surrounded my bed-ridden, comatose uncle, and she begins the prayer in Spanish. As she spoke, I tried my best to catch the words I can translate in my head. At the same time, I was trying to tell myself (or rather convince), "I believe, I believe."
She then spoke in English and as she continued, I felt my cousin Sandy's hand began to shake and I held on tighter as my way to comfort her; she returned the gesture.
Afterwards, the woman had each of us go up to my tio Severo, and she put his unmovable hand in a blessing position to our heads. I went last, and as she put his hand to my head, I cried a little harder, especially at the words she spoke (for him, might I add).
I was moved, and to tell you the truth, when it comes to prayer and religion and all, I'm usually indifferent. I think the thing that moved me at all was watching my tia Petra go up to her brother, and I flashed back to a year ago when my other aunt (and her sister) died. We hugged and she tells me, "Hold on to your sister, because I don't have mine any more."
As we did the blessing/prayer, I kept sneaking glances across the room at my own sister. I kept thinking how at times I can't stand her, how I wish she didn't turn her nose up at some things in my life, how I wish she would just listen instead of preached, and how I wish she'd appreciate the things I did for her, whether she knew it was me or not.
In spite of it all, the words of Roseanne in her series finale replayed in my head as she spoke of her own sister, Jackie: "She's my rock." (Gah! That "Roseanne" ending gets me *everytime*)
It's true. I looked at my sister and all I can think about is how I would go insane if my sister was taken away from me. God, I would die!
We don't hug, we don't tell each other, "I love you." I think it's too awkward for us. The most affectionate we can get is when we say, "You're my thither." (Translation: sister, and it's our little inside joke. )
Just thinking about it, writing it out, has tears running down my face. Speaking about it, I'd choke on my words.
Another thing that stirred me up is the prayer we went through. It didn't end there; later on in the ICU waiting room, the priest from the same church arrived, and my tia Petra handed to him a bottle of Holy Water. He poured a couple of drops on each of our heads, and like the last time, I kept telling myself, "I believe."
The experience it self gave me the urge to pick up a book from my remaining unread Kabbalah library. It also has me browsing through the Philosophy section at Barnes and Nobles for Bertrand Russell texts on science and religion.
I'm just lost in that part of my life; I used to fear hell if I missed Sunday Mass or said, "Damn." Now I'm working or sleeping in come the Christian Sabbath day and saying "Goddammit" if someone puts a shirt in the dryer instead of hanging it up to air dry.
Oy, if things don't get any better for my tio, I will be crying a river and have a need for alcohol and cigarettes by the end of this weekend.