10. Gabriela
Chapter 10
Gabriela
T he moment I step into the hospital entrance, a wave of anxiety twists my stomach, but I push through, cradling Mireya in my arms as we navigate towards the check-in desk in the busy emergency department. The security guard looks up at me, and I must look like a disheveled hot mess as he gives me a kind smile. “A nurse named Nora called me. I’m Carmen Ruíz's daughter.” I watch as the smile falls from his face, and he nods, picking up the phone and turning away to speak into the receiver.
This is bad. Whatever this is.
Keep it together, Gabby. For Mireya.
I look around the waiting room, and it’s as if everything is moving in slow motion. People sitting in stiff plastic chairs, wearing masks and coughing, people in wheelchairs grimacing in pain, or pacing around because they can’t be still. Holding Mireya tight in my arms, the panic hits. Before it pulls me into the depths, the door to the actual emergency room swings open, and a nurse searches the room. “Gabriela Ruíz?”
I’m frozen and can’t speak.
The nurse locks eyes with mine, and I feel the first tear sneak out of my eye. The look on her face tells me everything I need to know without her even speaking. She motions for me to follow her back, and my feet somehow become unglued, crossing the room to her. Once we are behind the closed door, she turns to me. “I-I’m so, so sorry, Gabriela.” She takes a deep breath, her voice quivering with empathy. “Your mother, Carmen, is in critical condition. We’re doing everything we can, but it’s a very serious situation. You need to prepare yourself.” The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel the weight of fear and sorrow crashing down on me.
I try to find my voice amidst the overwhelming emotions. “Can-can I see her?” I choke out the words, my voice barely audible. The nurse nods and leads me through a maze of bustling medical professionals and beeping machines. The sterile smell of antiseptic fills the air, intensifying the sense of unease in my stomach.
As we approach the room, I can hear the steady beep of machines and the hushed whispers of doctors and nurses. My heart pounds in my chest as I enter the room, and the sight before me is both heartbreaking and surreal. My mother’s frail body has wires and tubes attached, monitoring her every breath and heartbeat.
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!
“I’m sorry for everything, but I just can’t. I’ll have my lawyer set up all the paperwork. It’s better this way.” He turns and walks away. Away from Mireya, from my mother, and from me.
I wipe my eyes and swallow hard as I walk back into the room, ready to explain to Mireya that when we go home, mom won’t be coming with us. At least like this. How the fuck do you explain to a three old that their mother is dead? In a way that her beautifully neurodivergent brain will understand.
With my hand on the door handle, I pull it open and step into my new reality.
* * *
The atmosphere in our house is different now. When I left this house the other day, I was just the big sister that takes care of her little sister, helping her mother out during a shitty life transition. Now I am her sister and legal guardian. I really am the parent now, and that thought scares the shit out of me.
After taking my mother off life support, signing all the paperwork, and having her body sent to the funeral home, we could finally go home. Mireya doesn’t understand what has happened, so I am left alone in all of my grief. The nurse, Nora, gave me her number in case I needed anything. She also sat down with me and helped me make a list of next steps, like calling my mother’s lawyer to see about a living trust.
I sit at the dining room table, surrounded by paperwork and bills, the weight of my new responsibilities sinking in. Being a parent at such a young age was never part of my plans. I know people do it all the time but I was supposed to be focused on finishing school and pursuing my own dreams, not taking on the role of a parent. Life had other plans in mind for me.
I take a deep breath, trying to push aside my fears and doubts. I know I need to be strong for Mireya, who now relies on me for everything. It’s overwhelming, but I need to be proactive in handling my mother’s affairs and ensuring Mireya’s well-being. I don’t know anything about insurance or running a household but I’ll be damned if I fail her.
But amidst all the paperwork and legal matters, there’s another pressing concern—money. I glance at the stack of bills that need to be paid and feel a knot forming in my stomach. How am I going to manage it all? How will I juggle school, parenting, and financial responsibilities?
I know there are no straightforward answers, but I have to try. I have to find a way to finish school while being the best parent I can be for Mireya. It won’t be easy, and sacrifices will have to be made. I will undoubtedly have to put my already limited social life on hold. But I have to remind myself that Mireya’s future depends on me.
I take a moment to collect myself before focusing on the immediate task at hand. I set Mireya up at the table, making sure she’s comfortable and fed. Then, I resume my search for the lawyer’s information, determined to tackle these challenges one step at a time.
Even though I may be scared and overwhelmed, I won’t allow those feelings to consume me. I will do whatever it takes to provide a stable and loving home for Mireya, even if it means putting my own dreams on hold for now.