butterflies

yesterday i came to pittsburg, to find that my parent's corolla wasn't parked outside. "they must be shopping at costco" i thought. i came in welcomed by the familiar sound of tagalog/english blasting out of the tv. tfc is in full effect! the refrigerator door is wide open, i hear some noise behind it. out walks my brother glenn.

"hey"
"where's mom and dad?"
"mom's been sick the last week and she couldn't wait for her doctor's appointment so they went to the e.r."
"what? what happened?"
"i guess after vegas, she was already getting the chills..."
"... did she stay home to rest?"
my brother shakes his head, "no.. because she had to go to work."

i call my dad's phone and hear it ringing on the desk. my brother thinks it's my phone and picks it up to hand it to me. he doesn't know i'm on my ear piece calling my dad which we both realize left his phone at home. i dial mom's cell phone and it goes straight to voice mail. i leave a message and ask that as soon as they can, to call us us back.

a few minutes pass, i hear my brother talking and he tells me we're going to the hospital to bring my dad some food. my mom is inside getting tested and being given fluids intravenously because they found out she was dehydrated. it's not certain how long she'll be staying.

on the drive there i think about how long it's been since i've seen my parents. how my schedule makes it difficult to come to pittsburg. i think about how i don't make enough time to come home, watch a movie, go shopping, make breakfast, even simply call them back when they leave me messages on my voicemail. i think about my mom calling me after her and dad came back form visiting joy in las vegas. i consider myself a bad daughter. i look out the window on the drive to the hospital, and think about how angry and anxious and sad and crazy i've been lately because of what's happening with school and graduation. all these thoughts are slamming on the walls of my heart, and all i want is to make sure my mom is doing well. high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes.. any chest pain my mom ever has, fatigue, or weakness makes me nervous. she's always been good about being aware of her body, it's cues, and she is not afraid to go to the hospital to make sure she's doing okay. unlike me, she doesn't wait and is not afraid to go to the hospital.

we are in the waiting room for about ten to fifteen minutes, until i look up to see my mom in a black and white pin-stripped shirt walking through the big doors where the patient rooms are. she smiles, we all hug and she tells us what tests they did. "i've got a slight case of pneumonia. my chest was hurting every time i cough. it was too painful," she says.

i put my hand out, to signal that i want to see the medication they have prescribed. an antibiotic and pain killers. i still remember how to break down some of the words using the skills taught to students in medical terminology class. my eyes are looking at the words, but my heart feels happy that she doesn't have to stay here.

"ma, you had time to put on your bling before coming to the e.r.?" i joke.
we all laugh, as my mom takes her left hand to touch the shiny bracelet on her right wrist. she smiles and says, "do you want it?" "no ma, besides it doesn't match me right now."

"mom.. i called everybody. they're all on their way," interjects my brother.
"oooh..." she grins.
"yeah.. the whole lopez side.... we have to sit here and wait for them."

our family banters back and forth, weaving through our jokes that sense of deep relief that all the tests the hospital staff conducted came out normal.

"anak..you're shirt.... is very sexy." i look down to see the female symbol hanging around my neck. my skin exposed. dad puts his arm around me, shakes his head as if to say, " maybe it's too much."

"dad i'm thirty-two years old don't you think i should be able to wear what i want?"
"of course.. but maybe something more.....classy," he says this more like a question than a hard statement.
"feminine can't be classy? mom use to wear these short-short skirts. you're going to have to choose, dad." my father smiles seemingly remembering the days of short skirts and platform shoes. he smiles mumbling to himself about it. this dialogue is playful. the sun is beaming outside, and my top may have been cut a little too low for my parents. mind you, they've seen this shirt on more than one occasion, but this is our routine conversation. i allow it to unfold, feeling good that our jokes and the observations about what i'm wearing haven't seized because we're sitting in an emergency waiting room.

"dad wants you to wear a turtle neck," my brother finally says.

when we leave the hospital, i have my arm around my mom, and i begin to tell her about this dream i had earlier in the week. she was in it. my dreams have been so vivid lately. as we head towards the car, a butterfly passes from my mom's right shoulder all the way to my left. i count that as probably number eight. the first one i saw on friday. the rest i've been seeing since arriving to the east bay.my heart is jumping at what these butterflies mean. what they mean, to me.

i am feeling at peace. the noise suddenly fades. it's been playing in my head and my body for over a month now. things are going to be okay, and i can't believe how good it feels to hold my mom. hmm......... or maybe, it's exactly what i needed.