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Even in the throes of fear for my father, she was the epitome of grace, her quiet faith a beacon for me in the face of uncertainty. I’d always seen myself in her, especially in the firm set of her jaw when confronted with adversity and the soft kindness in her eyes, traits I was glad I'd inherited.
I knelt beside her, joining her in prayer. The familiar words of the Hail Mary were instilled in my memory, the Catholic prayers from my childhood echoing around the chapel even though I hadn’t practiced in over a decade.
"Estoy tan contenta de que estés aquí," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn’t know when you were going to arrive."
"I came as soon as I could, Mami," I reassured her, grasping her hand. “And I’m happy to be here.”
She smiled, squeezing my shoulder before nodding back toward the altar, indicating without words that she wanted me to join her.
We prayed together, filling the quiet space with our soft murmurs echoing through the emptiness of the chapel. It felt strangely comforting, being there with my mother, calling upon a faith I had long neglected.
Leaving the tranquility of the chapel behind, we ascended to the floor where my father was being operated on. Our query to the attending nurse earned us a sympathetic smile and an assurance that it would be another half hour or so before the surgery was done.
An oppressive hush hung over the waiting area, the tension gnawing at the edges of my calm. I felt the weight of my mother's worry mirrored in my own heart, the atmosphere thick with uncertainty. Time seemed to stretch, every ticking second a lifetime as we waited for news, hope and fear warring within us. I tried to call on my own vast knowledge as a cardiothoracic surgeon, but the patient being my beloved father muddied the waters.
I was swept away by the familiar whirlwind of family before I could make my escape to the hospital's business center. My mother's sisters, a trio of loving chaos, bustled into the waiting room. Their entrance was like a colorful explosion, each of them a unique spectacle.
The eldest, Tía Mercedes, was the epitome of a matriarch. Her sharp, eagle-like eyes were softened by the gentle waves of her grey hair, always neatly pulled into a bun. Mercedes was the embodiment of tough love, carrying an authoritative presence that we all respected.
Next was Tía Rosa, the middle sister, whose flamboyant personality matched her flamenco dancer past. Her fiery red hair, now streaked with white, was as vibrant as her spirit. Rosa had a vivacious laugh that echoed around rooms, managing to soothe nerves and spread cheer.
The youngest, Tía Isabel, was a gentle soul who always had a calming effect on all of us. With her ash blonde hair, kind eyes, and soft-spoken nature, Isabel was the nurturing presence we all craved in times of distress.
The moment they saw me, their tear-streaked faces bloomed into smiles. Hugs and kisses came in a rapid-fire flurry, a Spanish tradition I'd almost forgotten in my time away. The guilt of not having been home for a few years overwhelmed me as I took the brunt of their good-natured chastising.
"I see you've been too busy to visit your old tías, eh Antonio?" Tía Mercedes teased, her voice a blend of affection and reproach.
In the midst of consolations, crying, and joyful reunion, the need to contact Jude was momentarily forgotten, especially when my tias’ husbands and children all poured into the room. I was eager to see them, to hear about their lives.
The joy of our reunion was soon cut short by the arrival of the doctor, his entrance into the room hushing us immediately. The first thing he did was cast a reassuring smile at all of us, complimenting the beauty of our family. I could see the flicker of anxiety dancing in everyone's eyes, waiting for him to deliver the news.
"Señor Montivais is in recovery and doing very well," he assured us, his words lifting the tension from the room. "You should be able to see him within the hour."
Relief washed over me like a tidal wave, a deep exhale escaping my lips. Tears of joy sparkled in my mother's eyes, mirroring the watery sheen I could see in my aunts' gazes.
There was a moment of stillness, a brief pause before an eruption of relieved laughter and happy tears filled the room. We hugged each other tightly, our family, ever so vocal, expressing love loudly and proudly.
In that moment, the world seemed to spin a little slower, and the heavy weight that had been pressing down on me since my mother's phone call eased, if only for a little while.
I managed to slip away from my family, retreating to the quiet seclusion of the hospital's business center. My fingers flew over the keyboard as I typed out an email, my mind filled with thoughts of Jude.
Subject: I'm Sorry I Missed Dinner
Dear Jude,
I can only imagine how worried you must be, and for that, I am truly sorry. I want to explain to you why I didn’t show up for our dinner date.
My mother called me from Spain. My father had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital. The suddenness of the news forced me to catch the earliest flight to Madrid, leaving no time for anything else. In the rush of it all, I forgot my phone at home.
As I write this, I’m currently at the hospital, waiting to hear more about my father's condition. He has just come out of surgery and we are waiting to be able to see him.
I promise to call you as soon as I have a working phone. I am sorry for any concern this has caused you.
As I sit here in this sterile hospital, thousands of miles away from you, I realize how much I miss your comforting presence.
Please take care of yourself, and Sadie too.
Best, Tony
