Catastrophe

Six years ago, my life took an unexpected turn, and I had to step up and become the head of my house. It started when my mom and my dad won a free trip to Florida, they were going to be gone for two weeks. I was going to stay home or hang out wherever I was allowed to be. My little sister was going to stay at our close friend’s house most days, and on the days that wouldn’t work for the other family, or she wanted to be home, she stayed at home with me. 

The day came when my parents were supposed to come home, but they never did. I waited and waited, but not once did I hear from them. I called, but they wouldn’t answer and since the police wouldn’t do anything for another 48 hours, I was left with no choice but to wait. An uneasy feeling had begun to grow inside my stomach, but I kept telling myself that their flight got delayed or that they decided to stay another night or two, or I got their return date wrong.

The next day there was a terrible storm that started around 4 pm. Thunder rumbled while Desiree and I sat on the cement floor of our damp basement, in complete darkness. The thunderstorm continued for hours, and it was about 11 pm at this time. The power had been flickering most of the night and it died not too long ago, the streets had begun flooding, and a tornado watch had been issued for the next 6 hours. 

“I’m scared,” said Desiree, my little sister.

Desiree was six years old, which is eleven years younger than I. After my mother gave birth to me at the age of twenty-seven, our parents had trouble conceiving a second child for a reason still not fully understood by the doctors. 

When my parents found out they were pregnant with another baby they became overjoyed. Excitement filled our house and all three of us could not wait; I had always wanted a sibling! My parents began painting the new nursery and buying baby clothes as soon as they found out the gender of the baby. 

It was around the twenty-second week that they began having troubles. This pregnancy came with many, many complications, and the doctors had to keep an extra close eye on the baby. Some of the issues affected both my mom and the baby, but most of the issues only affected the health of the baby.

Originally, my parents planned on naming her Ashley–after my late aunt, but once all the complications surfaced, they were indecisive as to what they should name her. After my mom gave birth they still weren’t entirely sure of what to name her. My dad had a word pop into his head out of nowhere, and they both decided to call her Desiree. In French Desiree means ‘desired’ and, as a name, it means ‘wished’ or ‘long hoped for.’ Desiree certainly was long hoped for. 

I pulled Desiree onto my lap and stroked my fingers through her long, brown, wavy hair, and said in a calming voice, “I know, it’s scary, but Mom and Dad will be home very soon, we just have to stay down here until they get back.”

I told her that everything would be alright, but inside, I was not at all confident in what I was saying. Our parents were supposed to be home yesterday. 

I suggested to Desiree that we should try to fall asleep until they got home, and to my surprise, she fell asleep within minutes. I, on the other hand, could not fall asleep, no matter how hard I tried. The thunder was too loud, the basement was too cold, the floor was too damp, and my mind was racing with anxious thoughts as a result of life. Time ticked away like a dripping sink. Very slowly, seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours.

I awoke groggily hearing someone shout, “Michaela!” 

Though I heard my name, it didn’t register to me, in my sleepy state, that someone was calling for me. Apparently, at some point, I did end up falling asleep, but based on how I feel, I’d say I didn’t sleep very well, or for very long.

“Michaela!” I heard someone shout again.

I carefully stood up while holding Desiree, and carried her up the stairs. Once I got upstairs I was blinded by bright sunlight peering directly inside through the window. I squinted my eyes while I walked toward the couch and set the sleeping Desiree down on it. 

As I walked away I called back in a quieter voice, “Gideon?” 

I heard Gideon go upstairs toward the bedrooms, so I began to walk in that direction. I made it halfway up the stairs and decided to call for him once again.

“Gideon, I’m over here.”

As soon as he heard me he came out to the hallway.

“Michaela,” he said in a distressing voice, “why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“It died last night while the power was out,” I replied apologetically, “why? What’s wrong?”

“Emily, you need to be at the hospital,” Gideon said sternly. 

My stomach and heart both dropped when he said this. 

“Something happened to your parents. Your aunt called me because she hasn’t been able to get ahold of you.”

Fear gripped my chest. I knew something was wrong when they didn’t come home when they were supposed to, I knew I should have contacted the police. 

“What happened to them? Do you know?” I asked, confused. 

“Your aunt said that your dad was in critical condition as of last night, and your mom has a mild concussion and a fractured wrist. ”

“Okay,” I said before rushing into my bedroom and grabbing my car keys.

“Whoa, whoa,” Gideon said, “You think I’m going to let you drive there? I don’t think so.”

I looked at him and said in an assertive voice, “I’ll be fine, Gideon.”

“Yeah,” he said, “you might think that, but, Michaela, you forget how well I know you. You say that you’ll be fine and pretend to be tough, but inside, you know you are not fine.”

I looked down toward the ground as Gideon turned to go into the living room. He soon returned carrying Desiree; who a deep sleeper, considering she was still asleep. We walked outside, I grabbed Desiree’s booster seat as we passed my car and walked to Gideon’s car. 

We drove in silence for a few minutes. I was so worried. I felt like I was being choked; my throat was tight, and it felt very hard to breathe.

“Is Dad dying?” I asked, with my voice beginning to break.

“I’m going to be real honest with you right now, Mik,” he said empathetically, “I don’t know if he will be alright, but what I do know is that your aunt didn’t make it sound good at all.”

I didn’t know how to reply, so I didn’t. I sat in silence grasping on to the tiniest bit of hope that I had. Gideon grabbed my hand in an attempt to provide me with a tad bit of comfort. 

Desiree woke up not far into our drive. I was grateful beyond words when Gideon said that he would explain to her what was going on. He explained things very gently and empathetically to her and he didn’t tell her how bad my dad was doing. 

Twenty minutes passed by, and we finally arrived at the hospital. We quickly walked inside to the front desk so that we might find where in the hospital my parents were at. 

“Hello, we are looking for Mr. and Mrs. Davis.”

“Hello,” said the front desk worker as she searched their names in the computer, “they are in room 163 on the 1st floor and room 409 on the 4th floor.”

“Okay, thank you,” I replied. 

The three of us quickly walked to the elevator to head up to the 4th floor. A doctor was stepping off the elevator as we were getting on, he looked tired. As he passed us I heard “Code Blue” being called over the pager in his pocket. As soon as he heard it he accelerated his pace to make his way to that patient's room. 

We got in the elevator to go up and walked through the hallway in search of room 409. When we found it Gideon knocked on the door before opening it. 

Gideon held the door open, and Desiree rushed in to go hug my mom.

“Mommy!” Desiree shouted excitedly.

“Hi Dezzy,” my mom said.

I walked close to her bedside to give her a hug before asking her any questions. Her body was warm, but I probably only noticed that because I was cold. She also didn’t smell like the usual perfume she used, instead, she smelled like hospital food–which was no surprise at all. 

“Why isn’t Dad in this room with you?” I asked quietly. 

My mom replied in a sad and uneasy voice, “Your dad is down on the first floor in the ICU because of the injuries that he has sustained.”

“Will Daddy be okay?” Desiree asked hopefully. 

My mom sat quietly in the bed for a couple of moments before replying to Desiree, “I hope so sweetheart. The doctors are doing everything they can for him.”

“Good,” said Desiree. 

I knew from my mom’s reaction that things most definitely weren’t looking good.

“What happened to you guys?” I asked.

“We got into a car crash,” my mom said in a distressing voice, “the other person was speeding and didn’t slow down at all for the stop sign, so he crashed into the driver's side, which is where your father was seated.”

Before my mom could finish explaining everything a doctor came in through the door–the same doctor we saw when we were entering the elevator.

“Good morning ma’am,” he said sounding dull, “I am Dr. Campbell, and I was wondering if I may speak with you?”

“Yes,” my mother said glancing at me to tell us to get out. 

Gideon placed his hand on Desiree’s shoulder to get her attention before both of them walked out. I followed directly behind the two of them. 

The three of us stood out in the hallway in an awkward silence waiting for the doctor to come out of the room so that we could go back in. My heart was racing due to anxiety and curiosity. It was the type of curiosity that you know you want to know what is being said, but at the same time, you feel like you really, really do not want to know because it might be terribly.

The doctor came out of the room, and I saw that my mom had broken down in tears, and words didn’t need to describe what had happened, I already knew that my dad had passed away, and instead of making my mom explain what had happened to confirm what I assumed, I turned to ask the doctor as he was walking away. When his answer confirmed what I thought, I stood there in silence. I didn’t know how to react, and I didn’t know what to do. My father was dead, he never got to see me graduate, he won’t get to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day, and he won’t get to meet his grandchildren. 

“I’m so terribly sorry,” said the tired-looking doctor.

It was at that moment that I realized that to get through this I needed to be strong. I needed to stay strong for my mom, and I needed to stay strong for Desiree. 

I looked the doctor in the eyes, as I wiped the tears that managed to flee from my eyes, and I said to him, “Thank you for letting me know, and I am sorry that you had to be the one to deliver the news.”

I stood there for a moment longer before turning around and wiping my tears away again. I walked back to the room and saw that Gideon was trying to comfort my mom, who was crying hysterically. I walked in and Desiree looked scared. She standing in the corner of the room quietly.

“What’s wrong with Mommy?” She asked, almost in tears herself. 

“Desiree,” I said, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“Desiree,” I said trying not to choke up, “Daddy went to see Jesus in Heaven today,” I took a deep breath before continuing, “We aren’t going to be able to see him until we go to see Jesus also.”

“Never again?”

“Not for a very long time,” I whispered.

“Why didn’t Daddy say goodbye to us?”

“He couldn’t,” I said, “Jesus told him it was time for him to go to heaven, and we aren’t supposed to say no to Jesus.”

I looked around the room trying not to let myself cry, before giving Desiree a tight hug. I knew she was sad, but at this age, she didn’t understand what had actually happened. I didn’t know how to do this type of thing. I spent a very long time hoping that I told her what happened in an acceptable way.

Still hugging Desiree, I glanced over at my mom who had stopped crying and now carried a blank expression. I looked over at Gideon, who was looking at me as well. When we made eye contact I realized that my eyes were full of tears.

I picked Desiree up and carried her over to my mom’s bedside and set her down.

“Keep an eye on Mom, Desiree,” I said, wiping my tears away, “I’ll be right back.”

I walked towards the door trying to not let myself cry.

“I have to use the restroom, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I said to Gideon, trying not to let my voice shake. 

I walked through the doorway and quickened my pace to walk around the corner.

“Mick,” I heard behind me.

I glanced behind to see Gideon chasing after me. He was nearly right behind me by the time I had decided to turn around. 

He pulled me into a hug and I couldn’t hold my tears in any longer. The grief was so overwhelming and I broke down crying, I couldn’t continue standing, so I dropped to my knees.

My mom stayed in the hospital for four days longer, and when she came home she was too deep in grief to do any of the funeral planning, so that was left to me. The doctors said my mom had a mild concussion, but I felt like there was more to it than that. I never said anything, though, because I figured I was just being paranoid.

Desiree still didn't understand what was going on, so she just continued to be her normal self throughout all of this. I have found myself questioning if what I told her about Dad made sense to her. I’ve been taking care of both her and Mom as best as I can, but I have to give loads of credit to Gideon. 

He’s the best boyfriend a person could ask for. He would come around quite a lot before the incident, but after my Dad passed he would come around more often to help me out, and for that, I was and will remain grateful beyond words. 

The funeral went as smoothly as a funeral could go. I don’t really know what else to say about that. Lots of our family and friends came, as well as many of my Dad’s co-workers, and other people that I had never once seen before in my life. His funeral was the day that I learned just how deeply loved my father was throughout our city.

As expected to come with a life-changing event, my entire life did change. My mother fell into an extremely deep depression, and I had to take care of her for a very long time. My mom got so bad that she had to stay in a mental hospital for a period of time, but after a good amount of help, she was able to take over a lot of her responsibilities once again. During that time I was able to get myself help and work past some of the issues that I had resulting from this traumatic event. 

It has been 6 years since this awful catastrophe and I don’t think any of us will ever truly move past the death of Andrew West Davis; my father, but I think that we have all been able to heal better than any of us ever expected. Desiree is now in middle school and my mom has been able to keep a stable job for the past two years. Gideon and I got married and we are coming up on our 3-year anniversary. We are also thirty-two weeks pregnant with twins!