Bright Red Tomato

Ok, so this is really long. So don't try to read this for a quick one. Might be a 10 minute read, I didn't time it though. But for class I had to create a creative non-fiction. So I did. So this is my story of life at the age of 15! All of you heard this before I am sure. But I tried to go back, and tell it from a fifteen year old's perspective. And the timing for this story couldn't be creepier, considering June 18 is the last day I saw my dad alive. (tomorrow, so pretty much... this story took place exactly (about) 7 years ago).

Anyway, this quiet, lonely house, gave me ample time to edit it. So here is is. Hope you all have a lovely weekend!!!

"Bright Red Tomato"

Danielle was an awkward girl.

You could tell her body was not fully aware of its length quite yet;

joints seemed to wobble in odd directions, as she would walk.

Her hair secretly wanted to be full of curls, but little was known about that, yet.

The only solution was to pull it back as tight as possible and allow

the wild strands of hair to manifest, however they wish.

Truth be told however, she was incredibly thankful for the wires and brackets

that saved her buckteeth from the unnecessary years of mockery.

Most clothes were hand-me-downs that were over-worn,

or just not cool anymore, from her big sister,

and as long as she could wear them and not feel like a complete outcast, this was ok.

It was all-ok.

Or at least that’s what she believed,

Or wanted others to see.

*****

This was the last person on my list to say good-bye to. It was becoming rather late, and my alarm clock was set for rather early. 3:00 in the morning early. I waved goodnight to my mother, knowing that I would see her in the morning anyway. She was my ride to the airport after all. Despite the certificate that stated my ability to drive on a permit, the license would not come for a few months now. Sweet sixteen. So close. Freedom was a few months away, but I suppose this plane ticket will do for now.

I walked barefoot across the shiny kitchen floor, ran my hand over the kitchen chair stacked with books and magazines left behind by my older sister. I could feel the soft touch of carpet as I padded down the hall, which led to my parent’s bedroom. My mom always complained about this carpet. The family before us decided hunter green carpet would be perfect. I think it’s perfect if you love vacuuming, which my mom enjoys adding to our list of chores.

I found him in the bedroom, lying there like he always does, in his hospital bed next to the window. In the middle of the room sat an oversized bed, a rather large bed for a wife to share alone, but that was neither here nor there. I could hear the quiet buzz of the TV as I continued to walk into the room.

He looked, well… sick. But this was normal. His arms laid flat against the mattress, and his legs were propped out before him. It was always shocking to realize how big your kneecaps really are when you have no muscles surrounding them. They are these enormous ball caps of bones and cartilage that makes up this joint. This thought made me think of how strange life becomes when the abnormal becomes the norm, and sickness rapidly replaces health. He was diagnosed with Lou Gehrigs disease (also known as ALS) a few years back, a disease that slowly paralyzes the muscles until death. Despite the lack of cure, this disease never affects the brain and other major organs, and his mental health is as sharp as ever. You can see it in his eyes. His eyes ever grow dull. Despite this blessing, sometimes I wonder if being fully aware of how your body is failing you, is such a blessing?

*****

David was a man of humor.

Despite the fact his life was slowly confining

him to a wheel chair, he always searched for a laugh.

Most would give up

And sometimes he did.

But he never allowed himself to stay there.

He took this time to read, and learn new things

Heck, he even watched his kid’s algebra classes on TV,

Said he was trying to figure out why he failed it in high school.

Needless to say, death was always reminding him of its presence.

And he refused to let it ruin him.

Or so, he tried.

******

“Hey dad.”

He jerked his head slightly to the left and smiled. The only thing he can move now is his head and two fingers. He could still talk, but even that was proving to be laborious. Just the other day I over heard my parents talking about a feeding tube. Great I remember thinking. That’s exactly what I want. Another chore. “Dani, go help your dad with his feeding tube” I knew I should have felt guilty for this, but this is what my dad was to me: one over-grown chore. Organize the vitamins, pump his chest, itch his arm, move his foot, drive his handicap accessible astro-van, feed him, give him water. This was not including the house chores, and the occasional panic attacks we’d have to endure, or all the times I could not go somewhere because “Someone has to be with dad”. I love my dad. But he was a lot of work.

“Can you do me a favor?” dad asked

This was a common question. In fact, I sometimes would sneak around the house when it’s quiet, just so I hope he doesn’t find me and say, “Danielle! Can you do me a favor?” I mean, I am fifteen years old. I have important stuff to do. Like talk to my friends on the phone, find new ways to bug my little sisters, or fantasize about my current crush. Last week I was having a moment concerning Phillip Permean. (See, I still have to let him know I exist. And he’s so cute. After I return from Colima, my new goal is: Say hi to Phillip. Scary, I know.) But right when I was trying to make a plan, and just looking for the phone, my dad needed to be adjusted. Of course, I helped my dad adjust. I knew he must have been desperate if he asked me to do this. I am not known for my upper body strength, and shifting an over grown man so his butt isn’t on fire, is not one of my expertise. I think he had to restrain from rolling his eyes at me this morning, no matter how hard I tried to adjust him, I think all I accomplished was making him wiggle.

“Do you mind? I really have to cough.”

Ok. Now this may sound strange, or odd, but this is something I AM good at. Coughing. His ability to cough was getting bad, and my dad seemed to have an unusual amount of flem (snot) in his throat, that for comfort reasons, needed to be removed. I do not brag about this talent often, because it is kind of gross; but he did once tell me I was the best at it. Maybe he was just trying to make me feel good about myself, bit it apparently worked.

“Ok” I said. I climb over to my dad’s bed, and sat on it, so that I am straddling his knees. I wonder how strange this would look to anyone else? I thought, as I interlaced my fingers and placed my palms right under his diaphragm. The trick was to follow his inhaling without any pressure, and then jab down with a slight jab up with his exhales. I was good at this, because I was good at taking instruction. I always administered the perfect amount of pressure. It took all of my weight to do this, and I probably looked like I was hurting him, but it was efficient.

Inhaling….wait….

Exhale…Jab!

My dad wheezed a gargling cough. A few more times yet…

Inhaling… waiting again… then with another exhale I leaned my entire body into another Jab!

We did this about two more times until my dad gave me the nod, and I quickly reached over to his night stand for his “flem cup”, another gross aspect of this job. Every Sunday we would make my little brother take home from a coffee shop these to-go coffee cups with their to-go lids. My dad uses these to squish the flem through those small oval openings they make for your coffee, unto the cup. We had one for the van too.

“Thank you” he said. He always said thank you. I believe if we counted, he would say thank you 100 times a day. But why would we count that anyway…?

I nodded my head as I crawled off his bed. “Yup! I’m just coming over to say good bye.”

He smiled real big. I hope he is proud of me I thought. I leaned over and gave him a hug, as he turned his head to give me a quick peck on the cheek. This surprised me a little, because my family is not known for their affections. To cover up my surprise, I said, “I’ll take pictures and tell you all about it”

His eyes glistened over for a second, while he smiled again and said, “I’d like that. Proud of you Danielle, say hello to Roberto for me”

You see. Before I leave and take you with me on this trip, you have to understand. He was healthy once, incredibly healthy in fact. Owned a masonry business, and I hear that’s hard manual labor. This was how he provided for his wife and six kids. He sailed on the weekends on his sailboats that he loved to fix up, and every year he would travel to Mexico and help build orphanages in Colima. He knew how to lay brick, and he knew how to use his skills to help others. Until of course, his health took it all away. This trip I was going on? In a way, was for him. I was the only kid out of six that desired to even go. I chose this place because it was Colima, Mexico. I choose this little mission trip because it was my escape. I wanted to run away from this homeschooled, day care filled, daddy-caring house; but at the same time, this escape made everyone back at home proud of me. It was a brilliant plan, really.

It was my escape.

“Good bye Danielle”

***

“Danielle! It’s time! They’re all here!” Sasha yelled outside to me. She quickly ran back inside.

I was sitting outside watching some of the kids play basketball. It was a busy day, and the last day of work here in Colima. This past week my fellow team and I painted a whole orphanage, planted some trees, and did some lawn work in the fields. This is not including the dances we performed, and my awesome puppet skills. Today was Wednesday, and tomorrow was our free day before we traveled back home.

There was something special, walking through buildings and meeting people that you knew your dad was part of. Everything seemed so foreign, and I was a little embarrassed about my Spanish. I could fluently say hola and gracias. At least I’m a polite, thankful, American…right?

“Ok! Coming!” I yelled back. I pushed myself up from the bench, and quickly ran up the tile-covered stairs to the second floor, where I was greeted by all of my fellow team members. Roberto and his wife, and some other guy I did not recognize stood there waiting. I knew that this had something to do with my dad, because everyone knew about his health problems and missed his visits to Colima. I believe I sort of amazed them, for my dad was so outgoing and fun and I was so quiet and shy, but needless to say. I was here.

I felt awkward. This much attention felt odd, but yet I would be lying to not say I enjoyed it at the same time. Roberto showed a video about some of the work my dad did one year, and pointed my dad out with much grandeur whenever he came into the picture. “See! I can recognize your dad by his butt! He’s right there!” he proudly pointed out with a big grin, as the camera would scan over a work sight. Roberto was a jolly man, always laughing and encouraging. But I sat there in shock as I watched these images before me. He was walking. My dad is walking!

After a few more minutes of this, and a few moments of talking about how grateful they were, I was asked to stand up next to Roberto and his wife. They presented a plaque in honor of my dad, for all of his work. Everyone had tears pouring down their faces, except for me. I could feel myself desperately holding myself together, and this required a lot of work. Such as not thinking too much about dad at the moment, don’t focus on why they are crying, and just don’t let the water fall out of your eyes. Pretty sure I looked like a bright red tomato just waiting to combust. This is not attractive, I thought to myself, but Roberto reached over and hugged me anyway, and whispered in my ear “We love you”

***

Before I take you home with me, you must understand that I did not know what I was doing. I really did not know exactly what I was leaving behind, and what I was saying good-bye to. You see, we think that when we leave places, that we will return with nothing moved or re-arranged. It’s that sadness people feel when they revisit some childhood memory, only to realize, nothing is the same. We want to believe that change only happens to others, and that our memory actually has the power to preserve reality.

I was scanning the faces frantically with this serine expression on my face. I enjoyed this feeling, this feeling like you’re in a movie. I am walking down a crowded hallway next to my team, going around bend after bend, leaving behind the airplane and walking into English speaking land. I clutched my carry-on to my side; it was bursting with random objects and a few gifts. Stuffed into a tight wad is the T-shirt for my dad, bracelets for my sisters, objects for my brothers, and a figurine for my mom. It was a tradition my dad did for us when were little, for every time he returned from Colima he had trinkets. I felt this tradition was a personal responsibility for me as well.

I wonder who is here to welcome me home! Maybe my dad made it out? I know it’s late. Maybe my friend Amber! Or maybe my WHOLE family! Oh goodness!

I could feel the excitement rise as I walked out of the hallway and into the opening. I knew that in reality, it would just be my mom. But one liked to imagine that this movie-like feeling was actually going to happen. It’s not very exciting when it’s just your mom to welcome you home. The more people, the more you were missed! Or so, I liked to imagine.

But it was mom.

Just mom.

That’s ok.

I gave her a big hug.

After waiting in line for the baggage claim, and giving out many big hugs and goodbyes, we were finally rolling our way to the family van. It was a big green dodge ram. It could fit a total of eight people. You could tell it was our van, besides the green color, by the sailboat that my dad put on our spare tire. With every chance he could find, he had his sailboats somewhere. This is probably the reason why we have a “sail boat” room in our house.

And now that I am officially home, first things first.

“Mom, am I marching in the parade tomorrow?” I was an avid saber in the marching band’s color guard. And rarely, do I ever, miss a parade.

My mom sighed a heavy sigh, “No… Danielle… we need to talk”

I stopped in mid stride. “What? Mom? They wont let me march tomorrow?” I began to panic. This is so stupid. I know how to march, its not as if missing two practices really ruins that repetitive routine I’ve been doing for the past two months.

“Just…here” she reaches for my bag and throws it in the back. Shutting the door she softly says, “Get in the van.”

This must be really bad. I thought to myself. The March’s must have really pissed of my mom!

He had his surgery.

The Feeding tube surgery.

Ah yes, the one I did not want to deal with.

Because really, who wants to learn how to administer goop into their dad’s stomach?

But anyway, this happened the day after you left.

Next day he was having complications.

Two days later he went to the ER, due to incredible stress and breathing problems.

He was so uncomfortable!

He almost died, but they brought him back.

It was so scary Danielle.

Sounds like it.

He told the nurses that he had a daughter in Mexico,

They nurses told him “that’s nice”

He said, “She’s following in her dads footsteps. She’s my little artist too”

“oh, how great!” they said.

He is proud of me!

Next day, doctors said that, in time, he would be ok.

Feeding tube was causing unexpected complications.

It was suggested that he should move into a nursing home from this point on.

I betchya those nurses can’t help him cough like I can.

I’ll have to visit and show them how.

Said he will eventually get off of the ventilator and breath without assistance.

This doctor had no idea how ALS works though, because when someone with ALS looses ground

They never regain it.

But I wasn’t thinking.

Well let’s be honest mom, barely anyone knows much about ALS.

People visited him. Your sisters and brothers visited, friends and family visited.

Your little brother was scared of him.

Since he is only three, he didn’t understand

I felt so bad for your dad

I visited him whenever I could.

I tried.

I’t’s ok mom. I will visit him tomorrow too

Around five o’clock Wednesday morning, I woke up to a phone call.

It was the hospital.

I already knew.

I cried instantly.

They didn’t have to say word.

Danielle, your dad passed away in his sleep Wednesday morning.

He died.

Wait… he died?

Alone.

He’s…. dead?

I sat there, in this big green van, breathing in the heavy stiff air on a Friday night. I listened to the whole story, thinking up until the very last sentence that he was alive. Reality began to fall over me like a blanket. I do not like crying in front of people. I like to keep myself under control. But this time, I was a bright red tomato finally combusting. The juices fell down my face as I tried to force myself to feel anything, other then this dark heavy void filled with numbness. I could feel the bulge of my dad’s T-shirt in my bag, and all I could do was stare out the window as I watched colors blur into circles, and circles blur back into colors. I could here my mom talking, something about postponing the funeral for me, visitations will be tomorrow and the next day, as she cried. But I made no sound, or looked at her.

I escaped too early

And came home too late.

“Goodbye dad"