(this blog brought to you from a quiet hospital room at St. Vincent’s)
my grandma called the hospital room this evening to check on my dad. she lives in El Salvador and, after wondering why she hadn’t heard an update from anyone, decided to call the room and check on him. my sister and i, second only to my stepmom, have been by his side for hours and hours so i was able to give her all the info we know: we know nothing.
yes, they’ve drawn blood, done scans, had pow-wow’s with the doctors and nurses. yes, he’s been in the care of two hospitals now for 3 days. yes, they changed meds. yes, he’s resting now.
but no, we still don’t know anything.
she said she wished she could be here and that she was praying, and we got off the phone. as we were hanging up, it struck me how different things get as you grow older. for a span of time, you immediately call your parents in the event of an emergency. you want them close, want the strong comfort of your father’s presence, crave the almost overbearing attention of your mom. over time, your siblings get pulled into the fold. then comes the day when it’s your spouse that gets the call, and eventually your children.
the distribution of responsibility shifts onto the next generation.
it strange, sometimes, to think of myself as the adult worthy of being an “emergency contact” for my parents when i still feel like i need so much from them, when i still feel quite like a child at times.