It was a day I knew our family wouldn’t soon forget. It was a day that had begun so positively, with good vibes and perspectives, but a day that would result in our lives shattered into a million tiny pieces—and my family being left to piece back together our lives, make the situation work, and force pieces together that didn’t fit. It was all like one giant Rubrics Cube; it was like a constantly changing jigsaw puzzle. Once you thought you had two pieces masterfully pieced together so perfectly, something horrific would happen—unmerging those two “perfect” pieces. This, is just one of many occasions.

Our day had begun just like any other since my mother was hospitalized. Tony woke to the aroma of take-out breakfast: plain pancakes and scrambled eggs were his favorite. He scarfed down the lukewarm, rubbery eggs before I could change his diaper and get him settled into the highchair. Making him wait wasn’t much of an option, being an impatient eighteen-month-old and all, no one wants to listen to the wails of an angered toddler, “It a mine, give a me! Aaah! It mine eggies! Waaah!” So, you do what you can to keep them appeased. After breakfast, we hit the road—setting out for the two-hour-long drive past Tacoma to Joint Base Lewis-McCord (JBLM for short). My mother was hospitalized on base, Madigan Army Hospital, since my father was active duty at the time. 

The drive down there always appears in my memories as a blur; always appearing as blobs of greens, blues, oranges, and cars rushing past us. It always felt like the world around us sped ahead, gaining momentum, leaving us behind as we sat in the middle of the freeway under this illusion we were going somewhere. Every day was uncertain, every day we just hoped my little brother would stay put just one day longer, an hour longer—just a moment longer.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This is not how it should have happened.” Tears ran down my mascara stained cheeks. My muffled cries and words of disbelief could be heard by no one other than the Elmo character on Tony’s pajama shirt. The nurses had made me sit alone with Tony in the otherwise empty hospital room. Keeping him confined to my lap was a near impossible task, but letting him play in the blood puddle on the floor was not an option either. At this point it was a waiting game for the janitor to show up. Finally he started to drift into a light sleep, now four hours past his typical nap time. So, alone I sit. Alone, I try to go over and process what had happened moments before.

We were supposed to go home, we were supposed to go on a walk around the hospital grounds. It was supposed to be a good day, but when I went to check on why my mother was screaming… I never thought I would see that. It was worse than a nightmare—my mother’s blood soaked the bottom portion of her gown, bright red blood ran down her legs, saturating and staining the non-skid socks she wore. It was pooling at her feet, running off into the drain hole on the floor. I could see the fear and doubt pooling in her eyes—spilling over with frantic tears as she yelled to me, “Pull the chain on the wall!” I stumbled over her pooling blood with such untimely clumsiness to reach that chain on the wall. Just as quickly as I pulled the chain, a team of three doctors, two LPNs, four RNs, and a surgeon came pouring into the cramped hospital room. The two LPNs had to carry my blood stained mother to her hospital bed, and, in the meantime, the doctors pulled my father, Tony, and I from the room. We were instructed to take a walk while they do some testing to assess for what they should do next. A nurse was to come get us when they were finished.

Well, they only came for my dad. He was immediately whisked off to prep for surgery, no answers to be had. No comforting words could be heard. No questions would be asked. Just the unknown and loneliness. So here I sit, alone; here I sit, waiting.