This is the place for remembering the last time we all saw mom...
Took me a long time to remember when the last time I saw her was. I think it was New Year's 2010. New Year is always a big party at the Savath house. Vince 04:20,
It was a usual morning phone call to mom, with a ever-pleasant"Good Morning, this is Chu," to put a smile on my face. I briefed her on my plan for the day; a busy day at the office followed by an intermural soccer game. We had lost 1-0, but I was glad I got the exercise. It was aroung 6:30 and I had a missed call from mom--nothing too unusual; maybe she was running late on her way to badminton. Uncle Nielson told me what had happend. A drizzle had set in as I hopped onto the highway and spoed off for Poughkeepsie's Vassar Brother's Hospital. The static sound of water kicking up off the wet roads was backdrop for the chain of scenarios firing off in my anxiety-ridden mind. I fiddle with my GPS--can't seem to get the right Vassar Brother Hospital; I thought there was only one. I call dad right away; he thinks it may be from something mom ate. I become angry and rattle off my concerns ending with mom could die. I'm overeacting at this point and hysterical without much context. Those wets roads drive me to tears still. My uncle calls to ask where I am. I'm on my way; why can't this car go any faster; why did I I move here; I should have been by my phone.
I pull into the hospital parking lost for the first time, with no expectation to be there for the next month. The staff at the ER expedite me to the room where my mother is. My aunt and uncle are there to greet me. Mom is on the bed with her eyes closed. I walked up to her to tell her I was there and she responds that her head hurts. I struggle to get the nurses' attention for my mother. I am informed of the situation and await the arrival of the neurologist. He tells me the news and my heart crumbles knowing the severity of the matter. I sit my head in my hands, getting in touch with my brother and father, having them reassure me they'd be here. There are so many people in the hospital; can't they do something now? Dr.Chernack arrives to find me teary-eyed and tries to instill some hope in me by telling me the about the possible "fixes". I failed to see any positives..
Mom is moved to another room in the ER in preparation for a series of tests. The room is dark with flourescents illuminating the desks around the room. All alone now, I pull a chair up to mom's bed and take hold of her hand. My forehead rests to the heel of my palm and the tears soak the cuffs of my shirt. Mom speaking weaklly says, "Guang guang. Don't cry big boy I love you." I tell her I'm scared and she tells me to be strong. We speak only once more after that. The weeks following have mostly become a blur, but that day still cuts through my cloud of memories. I love you mom.