Miracles on Miracles

Chapter 7

As Carmen unpacked her luggage, she found her gratitude journal. During the tour, she had barely picked it up. Certainly, there were plenty of things to be grateful for on the tour, but she had been so busy that she never had time to even write them down. Now, as she stared at it, she didn't know what to write. Her life had taken a significant downturn, and the little reasons for celebration seemed few and far between.

She heard some noises coming from the kitchen. So, she picked up her journal and walked out of her room to see the source of the commotion. In the kitchen, she found her cousin, Aracely, waist deep in their grandmother's refrigerator.

"Ita," she said, "did you know that your fridge is broken?" she asked as she pulled out the contents of the aging appliance and laid them on the counter. "It's not even cold at all," she informed her grandmother.

"Ay, pues, ¿ya que? Todo se me va a la chingada a la vez," Ita complained that everything had managed to go to shit all at the same time.

Aracely looked up from her project to see Carmen standing there watching her. "Don't you think all that bending over isn't good for you this late in pregnancy?" Carmen asked her older cousin who was pregnant with her third child.

"It's fine," Aracely replied. "Pregnancy isn't a sickness," she reminded Carmen. "What's the book for?" she asked, eyeing Carmen's leather-bound journal.

"Oh, it's where I write things I'm grateful for," she explained. "But I'm at a loss at the moment about what to write. Things have gone to shit for me," she admitted.

"Are you still breathing?" Aracely asked. "Because if you are, then you have something to be grateful for." Her words reminded her of something Carmen's mom always said, "You don't have to wait for things to be great before you can be grateful,"

Just then, the sound of the bread truck blasted over their conversation. "Run and get some pan," Aracely told Carmen, who obliged happily. Buying Mexican sweet breads was one of Carmen's favorite things to do. She ran outside and followed the bread truck's song until she found it on the next street over. The panadero didn't have a bakery location. He just sold his wares from the back of his truck.

Carmen inspected the bread. "Tres conchas, dos besos, y una lengua," she told the bread maker who picked out her selections with plastic tongs and placed them in a bag. Carmen paid him and went back to the house. She couldn't keep herself from opening the bag and inhaling the smell of freshly baked bread.

She set the bag of bread on the table and picked up her journal. She wrote, "Number 39 – Fresh bread." It might not be a huge miracle, but in times of trouble, you had to hold onto whatever you could.

"Frijoles para tu ito," her grandmother said, handing her a plate with pinto beans that had been refried into a paste. Carmen took the plate and went to the bedroom, hoping to interest her grandfather in some breakfast. He lay there with his mouth hanging open. La Enfermera Julia, their hospice nurse, had told Carmen that it took a lot of muscles to keep your mouth closed. She had explained that someone who is at the end of life simply doesn't have the energy to keep their mouth closed. As with all of Ito's concerning symptoms, la Enfermera Julia always found a way to normalize them.

"Frijolitos para mi ito," Carmen called out, but her grandfather made no reply. She held a spoonful of the beans to his lips, but he did not make any move to eat them. "Come on, you've gotta eat," Carmen cajoled.

Aracely, who had by now come to the door of the bedroom, said, "You can't make him eat if he doesn't want it."

"I know, but he'll die if he stops eating," Carmen protested.

"Exactly," her cousin replied dryly.

"Don't you care that he's dying?" Carmen asked.

Aracely sighed. "Of course, I care, but our bodies know how to be born and they know how to die," she explained.

"I don't know," Carmen replied. "I just can't stand to see him not eating." With that, she got up and went outside to get some air. She happened to see an ice cream cart vendor cycling by. She waved him to a stop and bought a small cup of mamey-flavored ice cream. She had never actually seen fruit with orange-pink flesh, but it was her favorite flavor, by far. It had a wonderful mix of flavor notes like sweet potato, pumpkin, honey, and apricot.

She brought the ice cream to her ito and let him smell it. "Rico," she said as she touched the spoon to his mouth, wiping a bit of the ice cream all along his chapped lips. "Just have a little," she coaxed. To Carmen's relief, her grandpa licked his lips and seemed interested in having a bit more. So, she sat and patiently fed him ice cream until all that was left was the melted part, which she spooned into his mouth as well.

Just then, their hospice nurse entered the room. Carmen threw the paper bowl into the trash, but Julia had already seen it.

"I didn't hear you come in," Carmen explained. "I was just giving him a treat," she added.

'No worries," la Enfermera Julia replied.

"He doesn't seem to want to eat real food. All I can get him to eat is ice cream," Carmen complained.

"It's all good," Julia answered. "I don't care if he eats ice cream all day. The poor man deserves to get to eat whatever he wants," she assured Carmen. Then addressing her grandfather, Julia spoke up louder, "Señor, ¿cómo está?" she asked him, being careful to use the formal, more polite way of speaking with the older man. To no one's surprise, Ito did not reply. "I'm going to change your sheets now," she called out. She rolled his small frame over in bed until he was on his side. She pulled the dirty sheets out from under him and then put new sheets on the open side of the bed. She rolled him onto the new sheet and then pulled it across the bed to secure it. To Carmen, it always seemed like a magic trick how the nurse could change the bed sheets without having to get him out of bed. Most of what Julia did seemed rather miraculous. Carmen made a mental note to herself to write down in her notebook Number 40 – Nurse Julia.

After having left the bedroom, Carmen decided to set up a Caring Bridge account so that she could keep the whole family up to date on Ito's condition. She also thought that journaling might help her to process her own feelings. And so, she began.

Ito ate some ice cream this morning. It probably felt good in his parched mouth. When he refuses to drink, I have to sponge his lips and tongue with a little xylitol mouthwash to keep his mouth from drying out too much. I never really thought I'd be the one to have to take care of him. He used to carry me on his back when I was a kid. Now, I'm changing his diapers. It's really unfair and I know it shames him, but what else can I do? I have to keep him clean, and Ita is too weak to move him. Death vigil is pretty much a shit show, guys. But I was grateful for the fresh conchas with the pink sugar that I bought this morning. I'm searching for those miracles, y'all. Let me know if you guys find any wherever you are right now.

After a few minutes, a comment came in from her dad saying, "Thank you for being there with him when I can't." Then, to Carmen's surprise, Yunho posted as well.

"One moment at a time. You've got this!" he had written. It was just a few words, but she wrote them down in her gratitude journal. His words were Miracle 41 on her list.