evagabourel

I only remember dad waking up my little sister and I one morning, and telling us to come see our mother because she didn’t want to wake up.  Groggy and confused I remember running across the dining room to their bedroom and she was just there on the bed sleeping.  Except, her lips were purple and when I touched her hand to wake her up, they were so cold. 

Ger and I shook her and begged her to wake up.  I don’t remember anyone pulling us away or telling us that she was gone.  I don’t remember what happened after that at all.  The days that followed were all a blur. I only remember for months and months, I’d sit on the sofa near the front door and expect her to just walk in and everything would come back to normal.  Or I’d look out the back window and pray I’d see her downstairs just hanging clothes on the line. I was 15 when I lost my mother.  For a long time, I was just numb and just terribly sad.  I’d be sitting down in class listening to a teacher and suddenly I’d zone out and silent tears would fall down my cheeks.  I remember going to church on Mother’s Day the May after she died and Mr. Pinelo was playing the marimba as he always did.  Without wanting to I just cried and cried as silent sobs racked my body.  I didn’t want to make a scene in church but I just couldn’t stop.  Someone came and just hugged me.  That was my first experience with death and somehow, God, family and friends got me through it. 

Nine months after losing my mother, when I was still 15, it happened again.  Dad had just woken me up after nine or ten one night, to tell me that he would be back in a little while, he was just going to drop his friend home in Esperanza.  I was just falling back asleep when I heard a snoring sound coming from the bed beside mine in our shared bedroom.  I turned over in the room that was half lit with a dim night light and said “Ger stop snoring” and rolled back over.  It continued so I got up to go wake her up.  That’s when I noticed that she wasn’t actually snoring. Her eyes were rolling back into the back of her head and her arms were twisted.  I didn’t know what to do so I tried to wake her up but she was not responding.  Soon the snoring sound stopped and she stopped moving.  I didn’t know the slightest thing about CPR but I tried giving CPR to my baby sister.  It didn’t work.  I just held her in my arms and cried and cried.  I knew that my little sister had died in my arms at just 12 years old. I remember screaming out my bedroom window, and across the yard for our chinese neighbor.  I saw him standing there peeping out near his house but he probably thought we were being robbed or something so he didn’t come over.  I ran out the house and down the street to yell for our neighbor affectionately known as Miss K.  I don’t remember much else at all.  The days leading up to the funeral were all a blur.  I just remember I insisted I wanted to read my sister’s eulogy.  Somehow, this death brought back the hurt of losing our mother and it felt even harder to bear.  I didn’t want anybody to tell me how sorry they were, or that it was God’s plan, or that it would get better, or that she was now in a better place.  I preferred the silent, wordless hugs.  I had flashbacks to the day before my little sister’s death of how she complained to me of a stomach ache and a headache, so I had made her a can of Campbell’s soup because soup was what mom gave us when we were not feeling well.  I remember too that the day before she died I had been to the Blue Hole with my friends and when I got back she told me that she had missed me and that she loved me.  This meant a lot to me because Ger and I used to fight a lot and I’m glad her last encounter with me was not one of us fighting.  I always thought my little sister died of a broken heart.  When mom had died, I had convinced her that we should get diaries and write to our mother when we felt like it.  I know she did it because I read a few pages once where she was complaining about me saying I was fighting with her and that she missed her so much.  When Ger died, I buried her diary with her, without reading it, and to this day I regret it.  I don’t know how I survived losing my baby sister, but somehow, I did.  Must have been God, angels, family and friends again. 

For 20 years after that, it was just Dad, my brother Edward and me.  I took on a motherly role to take care of my mentally disabled brother and tend the house for us.  Dad and I learned to cook and share household responsibilities.  Eventually I left home and had my own life but I still took care of dad and Ed as best as I could. One day, when I was 35 years old, my dad called and asked if I could come over right away as something was wrong with my brother.  With a calmness I didn’t know I possessed, I drove over already knowing I’d find him dead.  When I got to my dad, Edward was outside on the front porch sitting down in his favorite chair, with his eyes closed but his head limp toward his lap.  He was lifeless.  My dad just sat there staring at him with tears falling down his cheeks.  I started crying too.  Death is never easy to deal with, but somehow I felt relieved in a way.  I had always feared that my brother would die a brutal death by falling down during one of his seizures, but he died peacefully sitting down. And I had always hoped without saying it out loud that my brother would not outlive my dad because I don’t know who would have been able to take care of him.  Those who knew my family, know that my brother was a handful to deal with and only my dad could control him.  Losing Edward was hard, but this time, I did believe he was in a better place and reunited with my mom and sister who he never stopped asking about despite the years.  

Since my brother died in 2019, it was just dad and me remaining from our family of five.  I’m glad my dad was able to enjoy those last few years.  I didn’t realize how caring for my brother had restricted him from doing things or going places even though he never ever complained.  In fact his best memories was how Edward would enjoy himself just floating around in a tube in a swimming pool.  Edward’s happiness was my dad’s happiness and he missed him dearly, because at first he didn’t know what to do with all the freedom he had after having nobody to take care of but himself.  After Edward died I started spending more time with my dad and taking him places we were not able to go before because my brother would not have been able to go.  

Last year, in December 2025, I got a call at work from my dad just before lunchtime saying he had fallen and if I could please come to take him to the doctor but to please don’t panic and don’t drive fast. Of course I drove fast.  When I got home, there was a big patch of blood on the top of his head but it was dry and the bleeding was controlled by a huge dab of salt that he had poured on it. He said he was cooking when he suddenly blacked out and fell backward and hit his head.  When he woke up he was lying in blood.  He cleaned it up before I got there so I had no idea how much blood he had lost.  I took him to the doctor to get it stitched up and I remember thinking what a tough little old man my dad was.  He was so calm and did not seem frail or fragile at all.  He handled the stitches like a champ.  Next I took him to a private doctor to try to figure out why he blacked out.  He did an EKG and an endoscopy and was given a ton of pills. The day before he died, we made an appointment to do an echocardiogram the following Wednesday.  

The day he died I went back to work because the doctor said he’d be fine, and he said he felt fine.  I left his pills all neatly packaged with alarms set on his phone for when he needed to take them.  I called him throughout the day to make sure he felt well. 

I called him at 7:00 p.m. to let him know I was doing a manicure so I’d be a little late to go visit him but I wanted to remind him to take his pill. Again, he sounded fine, and said he was fine.

When I got to his home about 20 minutes later he opened the door and said he wasn’t hungry but I insisted he should eat since he was taking so many pills.  He opened his food from lunch and it was still full so I pointed out that he hadn’t eaten and insisted he eat his oats.  I stood there to make sure.  About four spoonfuls in, the bowl just fell from his hands and he fell backwards on the bed with his eyes open and making a weird snoring sound.  It sounded familiar, like the sound my little sister had made 25 years earlier, except his arms did not twist, his eyes just went empty, even though they were wide open.  I shouted for his neighbor and friend who came running over quickly along with one of my dad’s other friends. 

They tried CPR until the ambulance came but I kind of knew he wouldn’t make it.  The life had already gone from his eyes and he was not responding to me no matter how much I begged him to stay with me. I’ll never forget how empty his eyes went when his bowl of oats fell out of his hands; my dad literally waited for me and I’m so happy that he did.  He didn’t die alone and I got to see him and know he didn’t suffer.  When the paramedics said there was nothing more they could do for him I just hugged him and kissed his face over and over and told him how much I loved him. He never closed his eyes until someone did it for him.  

Losing my dad has felt the hardest.  Maybe because I knew him the longest. Or maybe because now I’m the only one left of our immediate family of five. My dad and I shared a bond that needs its own essay but suffice it to say, my heart is shattered. 

For each of these four losses, a piece of my heart was lost, yet they still complete me and my heart is full with all the memories and love I will always hold for them.