A Mother's Tears • Ch. 16 of 16
When Time is of the Essence
The EMS personnel quickly started doing tests on my mom right there in the parking lot. They decided we’d have to be taken to the nearest Emergency Room in case this was a stroke. Once there, a team of nurses and doctors rushed to Gabriela’s bedside while they wheeled her into a room full of monitors and computers. They rolled up her sweater sleeves and went to work. As soon as they stuck their needles into my mom’s arms, she let out a scream I’ll never forget. It was piercingly loud. I couldn’t imagine the pain she must’ve been experiencing as later she’d describe to me; “it felt like they were scraping my bones.” This happened over and over, at different spots. Once they finished with one arm, they moved onto the other.
“No!—,” my mom shouted. It brought tears to my eyes, knowing there was nothing I could do to calm her down. Everyone kept her arms and legs as stable as possible as they continued searching for blood- clots.
“Breathe through your nose,” I tried telling her to no avail. She couldn’t keep her concentration focused on anything longer than a few seconds before screaming again. Minute after torturous minute passed as Gabriela tried as hard as she could to escape from the pain of another poke. Finally, as the nurses were finishing with their last set, I felt someone quickly walking up to me.
“Excuse me sir, would you mind stepping out into the hallway with me?,” a doctor with a long white lab-coat asked me. “There’s a treatment we can give your mother that’s like a clot-buster, if there’re any blood-clots, this’ll take care of them. But there’s a high risk of bleeding on the brain that may occur, and we only have a ten-minute window to administer the treatment if you choose to go ahead with it.” I stood there, shocked and confused.
“What’s your professional opinion?,” I asked her.
“Well—, these are life-changing choices. She may end up in a semi-vegetative state.” I didn’t know what to do. Of course I wanted to make sure that whatever this was could be taken care of, but I didn’t want any risk involved with the treatments either. My heart began racing. I looked at the clock —, time was running out to make a decision. Neither clots nor bleeding on the brain were good options. I was stuck looking down two very unpleasant routes. The thought of never being able to communicate with my mom again flashed through my mind and the realization that this was all happening so quickly made each second ticking by all that more precious. What to do? What to do? Just then;
“We only have a few minutes left,” the doctor reminded me. She must’ve seen the desperation on my face but knew that I was the only person who could make the decision.
“I don’t want bleeding on the brain—,” I finally said. “The risk is too high, let’s hold off on the treatment.” She nodded her head that she understood and was in agreement with me.
“We’ll just have to wait and see how this plays out then, if she’ll regain her speech and motor skills.” With that, the doctor shook my hand and I went back to sit down on a seat in the corner of the room. A very close friend to my mom and I sat beside me as she had followed the ambulance to the hospital and stayed with me throughout the entire ordeal. Her presence there helped me handle everything happening. I thanked her for her support.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now,” she sincerely said.
A Final Test
Something like an hour must’ve passed by—, each person entering the room was either taking my mom to a new section for testing or bringing her back. My stomach would twist every time someone new would come in—, fearing that they may have brought bad news along with them. After Gabriela was back, and the commotion quieted down a bit, she laid her head down and closed her eyes, absolutely exhausted from all that’d taken place. A short while later, a gentleman with a laminated piece of paper with drawings and words on it came in. He held up the page in front of my mom’s face and gently asked her if she could say one of the words written on the paper.
“Jan..., u..., ary...,” she replied. My head shot up and I looked at her with the widest, most hopeful eyes. An excitement washed over me that she’d finally be okay again. She read the rest of the list and described in detail what was happening in each picture the gentleman held up.
“Beautiful job, Gabriela!,” he said. With that, he exited the room and my mom would be admitted into the main hospital for the rest of the night and most of the next day for close monitoring. She came back home and was quickly scheduled for another visit with her oncologist. Back at his office, he relayed the results of all the recent scans my mom had gotten done.
“I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you, but it’s back.” Hodgkin Lymphoma. Again. Her fifth fight—, already underway. She began another round of radiation. Every weekday for a month. Finally, a few weeks later, after it was over with, the doctors wanted to see how the lymph node responded to the treatment, so they ordered another CT Scan that would show everything up to the current moment. My mom arrived at the hospital an hour early. She drank the contrast. She did the test.
“It shouldn’t take long for the results to show up,” the nurse said. The evening passed as did the next and finally on the third day, I woke up extra early to check the phone. There across its screen—, a notification which read ‘You have a new test result.’ I quickly sat down and sent up a little prayer before opening and reading it. I knew anything smaller than 10mm would be amazing. What I read was 5mm, and the words ‘now normal size,’ written right next to it. I quickly went to wake up my mom and upon slowly opening her eyes, I stood there with the biggest smile.
“It shrunk!—,” I said to her, over and over.
“It shrunk?—,” she asked back bewildered.
“By half!” It was unprecedented—, she was fully recovered and stronger than ever.
“You’re officially in remission,” my mom’s oncologist finally told her. “Start enjoying life,” he said. We took his advice to heart. We started praying like never before—, thanking God and praising Him for all He’d done in healing my mother for an unbelievable fifth time. Things like this didn’t happen very often and we were humbled by the power of positive thinking and faith itself. We made prayer lists and added all of our loved ones to them. The names grew into pages of people who we’d known for years and those whom we’d just met days earlier. We weren’t saints, but we tried not being sinners either.
Thanksgiving and An Elderly Woman
The holidays were on their way again. We began preparing for our annual Thanksgiving dinner. We never liked cooking it ourselves so we went to various hot-bars at grocery stores instead. Scooping up mashed potatoes, turkey, and gravy, we filled a few containers with food.
“Let’s get some for that man who’s always on the corner,” my mom said of the beggar by the bus-stop right down the way. We’d hand him extra money when we’d have it laying around the car but this would be special—, it was Thanksgiving. We packed a brown bag with all of the holiday staples, some drinks, and some small bills as well. We were both so excited to drive down to the little hill he’d stand atop with his handwritten sign that was just a discarded piece of cardboard. Upon making our way to the spot, we found it abandoned and empty. He’d already left for the day. We were slightly heartbroken because he was always there, except for when we wanted to see him most.
“Let’s keep driving,” I said to my mom, hoping we’d eventually find someone to give our bag to. That’s what we did—, up and down the main streets, turning down side roads, and slowly riding through strip-mall parking lots. There was nobody. Finally, an idea—, the local twenty-four-hour grocery megastore. It always had people sitting outside of its front doors, either passing the time or on break from work. We drove to the nearby place and immediately spotted an elderly woman gathering up the shopping carts left outside. Carefully, we pulled up alongside the lady and I leaned out the window just a bit.
“Excuse me...,” I said.
“What?,” she answered, not sure why we stopped to talk to her. I held the bag up and out of the car for her to take.
“This is for you,” I said. She accepted the small gift and we were already off when she happily opened it and looked inside with wide eyes. Immediately, she started walking back towards the store to take her break from the long and cold day at work. Gabriela and I had accomplished what we’d set out to do. “Mom—,” I softly said, “this is my favorite Thanksgiving.” It wasn’t just helping someone out in a dismal parking lot, it was the fact that we were both back home. We were reunited for the holidays and everything seemed to look brighter than ever before. After what she’d been through, my mom deserved to be as happy as possible, and like my dad so many decades ago, helping other people is what made her smile the most.
Christmas, Part 4
Christmastime came around once more and like so many before it, this holiday season was especially precious. My mom and I bought a small potted tree that we placed lights on and kept in the corner by our living room windows. I got her a beautiful snowflake ornament with the words ‘I Love You, Mom,’ engraved in its center—, it summed up all of my feelings as well as anything else could’ve. I remembered my mother telling me the story of my dad dressing up as Santa Claus when I was three—, I remembered my mother surprising me in the halfway house when I was twenty—, and I remembered my mother and I walking down the snowy streets of Chicago just a few years prior. All were Christmases I’d never forget.
“I Should Travel”
Throughout this entire process, my mom had a good friend who’d taken care of her when I was away. She’d bring Gabriela soup everyday from the hospital cafeteria and cater to her needs when I couldn’t.
“You know, I’ve got some family in Brazil—, if you’re ever interested in visiting,” she’d said to me. I immediately thought back to my mom’s physical therapist and what she’d mentioned to me months ago.
“I should travel,” I replied to Gabriela’s good friend. The seeds were planted. I wondered what the future held for me after my mom would regain her full life again—, if I’d realize anymore of the promises put deep within my heart. God already took me to my dream city and nightly showed me the most beautiful skyline imaginable. What’d come next only He could know. Where I’d end up, who I’d meet, what streets I’d explore from here on out were in His hands. I already felt a strange pulling toward other places—, distant lands that I hadn’t even heard of yet with rich histories and interesting people. Something magnetic. I knew I’d eventually find what I’ve looked for my entire life; adventure, purpose, redemption. I just hoped it’d be something worth writing about.
All That is Infinite
After countless MRIs, CT Scans, and x-rays, my mom’s health is finally back on track; physically and emotionally. She isn’t just who she once was, but an even better version of herself—, the best I’ve ever seen. I knew something meaningful was taking place, something that would mend two broken hearts from a lifetime’s worth of mistakes. My mom truly was, is, and forever will be my hero.
I looked at her and saw a spiraling silhouette taking shape—, up to and beyond the ceiling, through the air outside, and past the clusters of clouds. Her labored breathing was suddenly improving in real-time as the woman and a girl appeared standing side-by-side. What once was, would be again; youth, lungs expanding with ease, no more illness of any kind. A double-helix stamped into the sky showed an infinite life lived and living again through another Gabriela, soon to be. Lines of ethereal mass moved over and around, representing a duality I’d never seen before—, my present mother and my future daughter, holding each other’s hands, removed from the chains of linear time. Memories started intertwining and replaying on continual repeat until these earthly days would be no more—, laughter that outlived this block-universe, unrestricted by its limited space. This was the moment it all came together and I felt an inner-peace that everything which was, always will be and everything which will be, always was. She is alive—, now and forever.
These past few years have been a whirlwind of emotions; from the initial diagnosis to the treatment and testimony of my mother beating these illnesses once more to the extreme gratefulness we feel whenever we’re able to make more memories together. One of our favorite traditions is to have coffee in the morning and talk about our past experiences, present thoughts, and future plans. Those are some of our most cherished times spent with one another, and it’s in those moments where my mom tells me about the most vivid memories of her life. As the steam slowly rises up and above our dark roasts, we start our daily ritual of planning out our day. More often than not, we get sidetracked into a conversation about how things used to be when she was growing up in Romania or what I remember about my dad. We talk openly about what she went through in her life, in her marriage, and in her battles with health. We then talk happily about where we want to eventually travel to, what the Scripture means when it says what it says, and how many dreams we still have yet to see come true. I not only value these moments more than any other, but I thank God I’m still able to share them with a person whose been through so much more than I could ever go through myself and still came out on the other end with such a beautiful smile on her face. No matter what the future holds, I couldn’t be more proud to be her son.
Looking back over my mom’s life, I stand in complete awe of just how strong her spirit truly is. Knowing how much she sacrificed for me and my future used to sadden me when I’d feel like I hadn’t done anything with my life but now it all seems brighter than ever before. I know her journey wasn’t all in vain, that she didn’t endure so much for so little in return—, it’s my responsibility to make good on the promises I’ve made to her throughout our lives, that I will stop at nothing to finally make her proud of me. She isn’t only my mother, she’s my best friend.
Reconnecting With Everything
Back at home, we decided it was the perfect time to take a vacation. We cleaned the whole apartment in a couple of days. We wanted to come back to as clean a place as possible. While emptying out old containers from the hallway closet, I saw a small piece of folded up paper at the very bottom of a blue bin I’d kept my belongings from Chicago in. I reached for it and upon unfolding the tiny note, there was my mentor’s name and phone number—, clear as day. Even though we hadn’t spoken in years and I’d changed phones multiple times, now I had his contact information again right before my eyes. I couldn’t believe it and so I handed it over to my mom sitting a few feet away.
“Wow—,” she said, “if this isn’t a sign—,” she didn’t need to finish, I already knew it was. I reprogrammed the number in our phones and couldn't wait to reach back out to him. A few days passed and I decided to text him a message. He quickly called back.
“Hello?,” I answered.
“Dre?—,” he asked. “Oh my goodness, how’ve you been? I’ve thought about you from time to time these past few years, hoping you were alright.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the whole story but went over my mom’s battles and how I’d fought some spiritual struggles of my own.
“Like the Prodigal Son—,” I said, “I’m finding my way back.” He understood where I was coming from and told me he’d keep my mother and I in his prayers. We planned on meeting again in the future at some point.
“We’ll have a long friendship,” he said, “there’ll be time to figure things out.” With that, we reconnected and would go on to send each other hand-written letters exchanging more ideas and thoughts and questions. We’d picked right back up from where we left off.
At Home, Once More
In the meantime, my mom and I continued getting ready for our upcoming trip. Packing our bags, we felt a renewed sense of excitement we’d almost forgotten about. We weren’t headed to another hospital or nursing home or doctor’s office. We were headed back to a place we’d once made many beautiful memories in, and we were determined to make many more.
We drove to the train station at dawn. The sun was barely coming out when we’d reached the parking lot to the Troy Transit Center. We stayed in the car drinking our hot coffee we’d made earlier at home, waiting for the time to get closer to our train’s arrival. Getting to the platform, my mom was helped up the steps by a gentleman in a conductor’s outfit and cap. Our luggage was stowed away and we sat down in our seats with the windows to our right. The trees began to blur by as the train took off and reached higher speeds.
“The final stop on our trip is Union Station, Chicago,” the conductor said a few hours later over the loudspeaker, “Union Station, coming up in fifteen minutes,” she repeated herself. My mom and I finally felt like we were headed back into our element, back to our old streets and stomping grounds. Once there, we grabbed the first taxi we saw to our destination. We left the luggage in the hotel room and immediately took to the liveliness outside. Though we were walking a little bit slower and with a little more caution than before, we were still back in our favorite city and followed the flow of people bustling up and down Michigan Avenue.
From shop to shop, we’d stop in for a quick minute and look around again at what they’d be selling. We went to our favorite pizza restaurant, ordered the deep-dish naturally, and ate until we couldn’t get another slice down. At night I’d lay awake in my bed and look out the window toward the honeycomb towers more commonly called Marina City down on State Street. The rounded balconies encircled the twin buildings and some of them still had Christmas lights hanging from their railings. Warm blues and soft whites mixed with the sirens and other noises of downtown lulled me off into a deep sleep.
An Ever-Changing Cityscape
“Let’s order breakfast,” my mom said the next morning as soon as she saw my eyes opening. We called in room service and minutes later we were enjoying our hot coffees while looking down at the people below our window. We decided to buy two tickets to an attraction we’d been wanting to experience for some time. We left the hotel room later that evening and eventually made our way down by the riverfront. The boat would be coming soon. Ten minutes later, the vessel showed up and docked at the designated gate. People piled out from the previous expedition and slowly my mom and I boarded as the first new passengers to Chicago’s famed Architectural Boat Tour. The skyscrapers all drifted by in the fading dusk’s sun. They pierced the clouds with lights atop their roofs and shimmered the sky alive. It was too cold to sit outside on the top floor so we climbed the stairs down into the saloon instead. A hot chocolate and cola later and we were sitting side-by-side watching the skyline rolling by through the thick windows as the announcer upstairs told us about the history and use of more than ninety buildings in total through the ship’s loudspeaker.
More memories were made—, restaurant after movie after store after street. One night we decided to hail a taxi on a whim and take it up to Lincoln Park. We arrived back on Diversey Parkway and got off at the Clark and Broadway intersection. The first thing I noticed was that The Edge was no more. The windows were boarded up, the sign was dismantled, and all the memories we’d made there seemed to suddenly be in a permanent past. Walking toward my old job, we saw the corner was no longer empty as there in its place was a new coffee shop. Of course, we entered in through the front doors and while my mom took a seat on one of the comfortable armchairs, I walked up to order our drinks.
“How long have you been open?,” I asked the barista.
“About a year,” she said. “This used to be a shoe store.”
“I know,” I said smiling, “I used to work there.” Looking around the newly-renovated space, the same windows lining the walls brought back memories of what used to be. All the nights of vacuuming the carpets, rearranging displays, meeting and speaking with new customers—, it all worked together to make my first year of living in the Windy City one of my favorite years I’d had. Mostly, I missed my mentor who’d strengthened me in my faith so many times without him even knowing it. I wondered how he was and when I’d get the chance to have lunch with him again. The barista placed the two cups of coffee on the counter and as I walked with them toward my mom, I suddenly remembered my small two-hundred square foot studio of a few years ago. I’d lived through such great moments in that tiny place and I was now moving onto other chapters of my life. I knew that wherever I’d end up, this neighborhood would always be here to welcome me back with open arms.
Everything Passes Like a Dark Cloud, Indeed
We’d spent another week and a half in the city and were readying ourselves for our trip back to Michigan. Repacking our bags in the hotel, I wondered when we’d be back.
“Want to visit in summer?,” I asked my mom.
“Who knows what we’ll be doing by then,” she aptly said. Once downstairs, I hailed for a taxi and we were off toward the train station. After boarding the Wolverine Line, my mom and I sat in our seats and each let out a long exhale. We’d made it. We’d escaped the hospitals and nursing homes of the past few years and made it back to Chicago to see and reminisce about what used to be and more importantly, what would eventually be again. I couldn’t help but think of everything my mom had gone through—, not just with her latest bouts of illness or her recovery process but everything that’d come beforehand; the upbringing under communism, the less-than-perfect marriage to my father, and all the extremely hard work she had to put in week by week after coming to America to help support me and keep me as happy as possible. I thought about her plane ride over and how it must’ve felt for her when the wheels finally made contact with American pavement. I thought about how her emotions must’ve been so bottled up and finally spilled over the day that my dad died. I thought about how she’d driven through so many unexpected thunderstorms on her journey in life, always pushing forward—, no matter the amount of rainfall. I applauded her in every way.
Suddenly, my mind came back into the present moment, realizing we were leaving again. We weren’t sure of when we’d come back or visit for whatever reason, but we knew—, it’d happen. Eventually, we’d take root here once more.
At last—, complete happiness. I could rest. Nearly every loop is closed, I thought to myself. I’d finally come to understand my mother and her journey—, now all that remained was to understand mine. The story will undoubtedly write itself. The train pulled out of Union Station with powerful motions that moved us forward and through the city. We watched as the skyline slowly disappeared from view while industrial buildings and tall grass took over. Everything passed like a dark cloud.