Page 18 of Hate That Blooms
I rush to her bedside, gently placing Mireya down in a nearby chair. The tears stream down my face uncontrollably as I take my mother’s cold, fragile hand in mine. “Mom,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Please fight. We need you. I need you.”
Time seems to stand still as I sit there, pouring my heart out to her, hoping that somehow my words will reach her. But the reality of the situation looms heavily over me, suffocating any flicker of hope that remains. The uncertainty of what lies ahead is unbearable.
Nora stays by my side, providing comfort and support. She explains the details of my mother’s condition, the treatments being administered, and the plan. “A drunk driver hit your mom on her way to work. Carmen was always telling us how proud she is of you, helping with your baby sister and the house.” Her words offer a sliver of clarity amidst the chaos, but they do little to ease the pain that consumes me.
* * *
Mireya and I spend the whole night in the emergency room with mom. Doctors come in and out, assessing her and taking her away to run tests, leaving us alone. Each passing moment feels like an eternity, and I pray for a miracle. Mireya sits on the hide-a-bed with her tablet, so I step out of the room, still able to see her through the glass doors. I pull my phone out and call my father.
“How is she?” are the first words that come out of his mouth when the line connects and his voice comes through.
“Critical. She hasn’t regained consciousness. I’m waiting for the results and for the doctor to come and talk to me again. Can-can you please come? I can’t deal with this on my own.” My voice quivers as I fight back the tears. “I won’t ask you for anything ever again, but I—we need our dad.”
“I’m not her husband anymore, Gabriela. I can’t make any decisions.”
“We’re your fucking daughters. Regardless of whether you give a shit about her, you should care about us.” I slide down the glass to sit on the floor, gasping for breath. “I fucking need you.”
“Language, Gabriela! Fine, relax.” I hear him shuffling around and mumbling under his breath to someone. Probably Joaquín’s mom. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
I hang up the phone, feeling only a little relief that he is coming. More than anything I’m angry. It’s frustrating that my father only seems to care when it’s convenient for him, but right now, I’ll take whatever support I can get. As I sit on the cold floor, I try to gather myself and take deep breaths.
The minutes drag on, and I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the uncertainty of the situation. I glance back at Mireya, who is still engrossed in her tablet, oblivious to the gravity of the situation. I wish I could shield her from all of this, but right now, all I can do is hope for the best.
Finally, the doctor returns, his expression grave. He delivers the news with a somber tone, and I feel my heart sink. “The tests show that your mother has no brain activity. Her body is being kept alive by all the machines she is hooked up to. This is a lot, and I am so sorry to have to tell you this. We can give you some time to decide what you would like us to do.” My mind races as I try to process the information.
All I can do is nod my head at the doctor and look over at my sister.
I’m all she has left. Our piece of shit father isn’t going to step up. Why is all this happening to me? It’s bad enough that I was raising my three year old sister when my parents were together. But now? Now I’m going to be raising her without my mom. What the fuck do I do?
As the doctor leaves, I turn to Mireya, who has sensed the tension in the air. I take a deep breath and try to put on a brave face for her. Being strong for both of us is something I know I need to do. I reassure her that everything will be okay, even though I’m not entirely convinced myself.
An hour later, my father arrives, looking tired and worn. He is by himself, and I can’t help but feel a pang of resentment, knowing he has someone there for him, but I push it aside for the sake of my mother.
“She is being kept alive by the machines. They say I need to decide what to do.” I look into his eyes, which are devoid of emotions. “How can I... I can’t do that.” The tears fell silently.
“I don’t know Gabriela. I can’t tell you what you need to do,” he shifts around uncomfortably. His eyes dart over to Mireya, and he clears his throat. “We need to talk about what this means for her and you.”
“What do you mean?” I narrow my eyes at him from across the bed.
“Look, there isn’t an easy way for me to say this, but I want to relinquish my rights. You're eighteen and have been more of a parent to her than I ever was. It only makes sense.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout. “You seriously can’t be doing this to me right now.”
My anger boils over as I confront my father, unable to comprehend his timing and lack of responsibility. How could he even consider abandoning us now, in this heartbreaking situation? The frustration and hurt bubble up inside me, and I struggle to hold back the tears.
“You want to relinquish your rights? After all this, do you think it’s that simple? You think you can just walk away from us when we need you the most?” My voice trembles with anger. I motion to the door so that we won’t startle Mireya with our raised voices.
He flinches at my outburst, his eyes averting mine. He follows me out into the hallway. “I never said it was easy, Gabriela. But I can’t keep pretending to be a father when I’ve never been there for her. You’ve been the one taking care of Mireya since she was diagnosed at eighteen months old.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. It’s true that I’ve taken on the responsibility of looking after my little sister, but that doesn’t absolve him of his duty as a parent. The resentment I’ve been holding back resurfaces, fueled by the realization that he’s giving up without even trying.
“You don’t get to leave me with all of this,” I say through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to decide when to be a father and when to walk away. We are your daughters. She is your daughter.” I point at Mireya through the glass. "If anything, be here for her."
My father’s expression softens, and he finally meets my gaze. “I know I’ve made mistakes, Gabriela. And I can’t change what's happened. But I see now that you and Mireya deserve better than what I’ve given you. You are what she needs, not me.”
I stand there, my mouth hanging open, unable to believe the shithand I am being dealt.
God, if you're real, what the actual fuck!
