Like Any Normal Day

         ***

   Every morning is a race to get ready. Mommy says that if I’m downstairs before Katlyn is, I can go play with my bike or my baseball bat before school. As I brush my teeth, I try to decide what I will do today. Bike or baseball, baseball or bike? Both sound fun.

            “On any normal day, you would always be the first one downstairs in the driveway,” begins my family friend, Caroline. At 5’2”, I dwarf her in size, but her strict, Singaporean, tiger mom mentality could reduce me to a sorry puddle of broken self-esteem any day.

She continues, “You had already eaten, got dressed, brushed your teeth, did everything. And you would use that time waiting for Katlyn and mom to just play. You’d get your bike out or baseball bat or soccer ball or just run around or do bubbles or do chalk on the driveway. And that used to annoy your [twin] sister intensely. Because she would come down and she would see you playing, but she couldn’t play because she had already made you guys late, and you guys had to jump in the car. But, it was quite a sight to see your sister’s face change when she saw you playing outside. And she, just, at the age, at five, didn’t understand that if you got up early, ate when you’re supposed to eat, got dressed in a reasonable amount of time, that you would have time to play. In her mind, she thought that mom was being unfair.”

            Daddy steps in the bathroom to say hello. His gigantic frame fills the doorway. I gurgle back a reply with a mouthful of toothpaste. The white, foamy liquid overflows and dribbles down my chin as I smile back at him. He always smells so good. He looks good, too, with a t-shirt and workout shorts. Mommy says Daddy works out every morning before work. 

Daddy chuckles at me and leaves me to finish getting ready. I like when Daddy laughs. When I grow up, I want to be just like him. 

I turn to my mom. I know this is not a day she wants to remember, but I need her to start talking.

“It was just a normal wakeup, going to school day,” she starts, matter-of-factly. “Daddy and I always got up early, earlier than you and made sure we were up and showered and dressed by the time we got you guys up. I think Caroline came over that morning.

“You guys went downstairs and I think I was straightening upstairs. I’d made your breakfast already and I think Caroline was sitting at the table with you and Daddy and Katlyn. You were already dressed for school, and I was in the kitchen making sure your lunches were packed and making sure you had what you needed for school ready.

“And then I remember Daddy saying, ‘Oh, I have a headache, I have a headache, I have a headache.’

 “He moved from the dining room to the living room and sat in the big, blue chair. Yes, his head was really hurting, really hurting. And then went into the living room and I had asked him do you want something hot? Something cold to put on your head? And he said, ‘No, no.’ And he was lightly groaning because his head really hurt.”

“Your dad was in that little lazy boy lounger with Katlyn on his lap,” added Caroline, “and I knew by the sound of his voice that he was irritated like Katlyn was annoying him. But I didn’t know at that point that he was suffering from a headache.

“And then there was some conversation about calling Artiesta, and then after that, Artestia said to call the paramedics. And at that point I said, ‘Okay, I need to take you guys to school.’”

I want to play now, but Caroline says we have to go. That’s not fair! I’m all ready and Katlyn hasn’t even had breakfast yet! I put on my best pouty face. Usually that does the trick, but today, Caroline fixes me with a stare I know means trouble. I give in.

            Kindergarten isn’t much fun. It’s school, but it’s pretty boring. I can’t wait for mommy to pick me up.

            My mom continues, “I called Artiesta, who was a nurse, our neighbor. And she talked to the dispatcher after she took daddy’s pulse and looked at him. And then the paramedics arrived and daddy’s doctor in the meantime returned my phone call and said that daddy was just having a bad case of vertigo. And the paramedics came and checked him and put him on the stretcher and they let me ride in the ambulance with him.

“And then on the way to the hospital, they had stopped working on him.”

After four grueling hours of kindergarten, we’re out! I scan the pickup line for our white Ford and see it rolling up behind a line of cars. I call to Katlyn. This is our ride home. 

But as the car inches nearer, I see something wrong.

Mommy’s not there.

“It was a normal pickup,” says Caroline. “I prepared you in that I said there’s people over at the house and mom has something very important to tell you. And you were just like your normal self, you and Katlyn, just yabbering in the car.

“You were the first out of the car, you ran upstairs, and I was waiting for Katlyn. And by the time I walked up, I assumed mom had told you what had happened.”

I run upstairs from the garage. I have so much to tell Mommy and Daddy and I want to beat Katlyn to the chase, but when I open the garage door leading into the house, I realize there are more people here than just Mommy and Daddy. 

“I think there were several people there by then,” recounts my mom. “I think the ladies that Daddy worked with and I think Mary Ellen was there and Artiesta maybe, I’m not sure. Oh, and the Dunns. Was Mrs. Dunn there? I’m just…”

She trails off, her brows furrowed in concentration. I can tell the cogs in her brain are moving a mile a minute, and this whole story is rapidly exhausting her. Caroline helps out.

“I don’t remember any of the other people, but I remember Mr. Dunn being there. Oh, and Michelle was there,” says Caroline.

My mom nods and continues, “And Caroline brought you guys in…and this is the hard part.” Her voice cracks. She pauses for a long second, looking past me rather than at me. Her lips quiver and I almost take the words right off her tongue.

“And I had to tell you that daddy had gone to heaven.”

            Daddy’s in heaven?

            Her voice is now reduced to a whisper, “And you guys were so calm about it, so good about it. And then I remember Mrs. Dunn gave Katlyn a bath and everyone just kind of took care of us and tried to keep everything as normal and calm as possible for you guys. But you guys were so good.”

She smiles, sadly, but she talks as though her heart were full. As an afterthought, she remembers, “And you know what you said that was so cute- oh gosh.” 

For the first time during our interview, I hear her laugh. It’s a startling, saturated giggle that surfaces in spite of her swelling throat.

“You said, ‘God musta wanted somebody who liked to talk.” Because Daddy liked to talk. It’s the total truth, it was adorable.”

I’m fighting with all the frail machismo I have in me to steady my quavering voice, but I’m failing miserably.

“And…what happened after that?” I say, nasally, choking on every word.

Caroline chimes in for my mom, “You turned around and you saw Mr. Dunn and you asked Mr. Dunn if he knew how to sword fight. And then Mr. Dunn said sure. And he took you upstairs and the two of you were sword fighting.

“That was it, because I guess the adults had already discussed—I wasn’t around—that the best thing for children is to keep their day as normal as possible, you know, you go about your normal activities.”

I don’t get why Daddy can’t sword fight with me. He said he couldn’t this morning and he’s not here to do it now, but at least Mr. Dunn is here. 

Mr. Dunn’s pretty good, too, but not as good as Daddy and definitely not as good as me.

It’s been over thirty minutes now, and my mom looks like she’s just finished an Ironman. The skin around her eyes has swollen a pinkish-red and her grey eyes, usually so clear, have gone glassy. Her face glistens with a sheen of sentimentality from an all-too-real trip down memory lane. She looks just as she might have that day.

She trudges on, “I was sitting in daddy’s chair and somebody had brought me tea. And I had a blanket over me. And someone brought me warm socks. And everything had been left just as it was that morning. Oh, and you and Caroline and Katlyn and I were going to sleep in the bed together. And Katlyn started suddenly crying and I had to take her into her room because it was starting to upset you.”

“Did you ever cry that day?” I ask, gently.

“I don’t think I did, I think I was just in shock. Your body goes into shock.”

Caroline speaks up, abruptly. It’s as if something’s been on her mind for a decade and she’s only just beginning to express it now.

“To me, it never occurred to me that that would be the last time I would see your dad. Because it was just a headache! I thought he would just be treated and the headache would subside by itself and that would be it…”

I miss Daddy. I wonder when he’s coming back.

“I miss him,” I blurt out. I can’t really help myself. I always wonder how different my life would be now, were he still here. At how many swim-meets would he have been there to cheer me on as I took home yet another medal for the win? At how many theatrical performances would he have come to bellow his bravos from the front row? I know what my mom always says is right, that he’s never really left my side and if he’s not here in person, he’s here in spirit. Sometimes, I get a tingly feeling that he’s looking down on me, saying, “I’m proud of you, son.”

I suppose that’s all that really matters.

“I do too,” my mom says, as her eyes, brimming with the pain of memory, squeeze out one, final, sparkling drop.