Sit across the table from him. Notice how he has set a place for her. Ignore it. Watch him eat. You will see the slack noodle dangling lifelessly from his fork. Make him eat. Exaggerate your bites. Slurp as loudly as possible and do not forget to chug your milk. Your actions will draw his attention away from the empty seat at the head of the table. He will mimic you, trying to act normal.

Remember he is your dad. He may not be acting like it, but he is the one and only dad you have ever had and will ever get. Tell him that you want to see her. That he should see her. Notice the deep lines permanently engraved in his boyish face. Your dad will clench his hands into fists. Brace yourself.

He will tell you that as much as he wishes he could go, neither of you can. Notice how he neglects to mention the black ice outside. Do not ask him to drive you. If you do, he will lose it and lecture you on how cars are not, never have been, and never will be safe. Tell him you are going for a walk. He will give a weak smile and say okay. Leave. You must see her, and he is definitely not going to take you.

Be sure to dress appropriately. Put on your winter coat, hat, scarf, and gloves. Do not forget your traction boots. Call to let them know you are coming.

Step outside. Hear the cold wind whistling through the empty streets. Feel the snow crunching under your boots. Your foot will slide on some ice. Remember, it’s just ice. Trudge to the corner where the bus stops. Watch as the bus slowly rolls toward you, as the wheels crush anything in their path. They are in complete control. Take comfort in that.

The doors will snap open, waiting for you to enter. Your heart might skip a beat. Remember that buses are safe – one of the safest forms of transportation. Get on quickly, because a small line will have gathered behind you and the driver will beckon for you to move. Step into the bus.

Look up at the enormous brick building that looms over you. Watch as a snow flurry dances at the edge of the roof, sprinkling on you. Realize that you cannot feel the snow. Your face will be red and numb with cold. You will have been standing there for seven minutes. Enter through the revolving door and go up to the desk. Do not stroll up; walk like you have a purpose. You do have a purpose.

Do everything the nurse tells you. Follow her down the hallway, keeping up with her brisk pace. She will brief you on your mom’s condition, telling you what to expect. Nod solemnly, showing that you understand. Fold your hands behind your back to keep the shaking from showing. She will ask if you came with anyone today. Simply answer: no, it’s just me. Take a deep breath and compose yourself, hiding your emotions.

Place one foot in front of the other along the spotless tile floor. Raise your eyes to your mom on the bed. You will notice tubes hooked up to her and the useless way her legs lie there. Rush to her side, being sure not to step on or trip over any of the machines surrounding her.

The reality of the situation will hit you and all your emotions will flood through your body. Keep yourself in check. Think: she’s alive and everything is going to be okay. Push the thought that your whole life will be affected by this to the back of your mind. Forget that your dad is wallowing in sorrow at home. She will smile at you, but not with the glow you’re used to seeing.

Perch on the edge of the bed and hug and kiss her. Do not cry. If you cry, she will cry. She will fold you into her arms, whispering not to worry. Wait to say anything until you are positive that your voice will not betray your feelings. She will ask you how your day went. Answer: everything’s fine, Mom.

Describe the delicious ramen noodles that you and Dad had for lunch. Be enthusiastic. See the barely touched tray of hospital food at her bedside. Try to remind her how good the food is at home, but do not make her feel like she’s missing out; it is not her fault that she is here.

Tell her that you got an A on the essay she helped you with, whether or not it’s true. She needs good news. She will whisper how proud she is of you. Avoid glancing at her useless legs. She will ask: what are you doing in physics? Mumble something about energy and work. Say last night’s homework was hard but you were the only one to get problem 3b correct. If you mention your lab on car explosions it will be too soon. Way too soon. She will try to lift the mood by telling you one of her knock-knock jokes. Laugh, but not overenthusiastically. Don’t force it.

She will ask how you are feeling. Get up and wander around the room, paying close attention to all the medical equipment, mumbling something about how it reminds you of the technology exhibit at the science museum. You mustn’t tell her how you feel. You won’t even know what to feel.

As the silence begins to lengthen, you won’t be able to keep it in anymore and you will whisper: how about you? She will immediately begin chattering about how nice everyone is and how she’s learning to use a wheelchair. Notice how she makes everything seem positive, that she hasn’t mentioned Dad’s absence at all. She will ramble on, talking about how clean it is here and the free room service. Let her speak; she will need to get it out of her system.

Finally she will stop. A sad silence will settle over the room. Her eyes will become glassy, shining like headlights. Realize that she is reminiscing about the accident. You will be able to see the wheels turning in her head. You must snap her out of it. Remark about something, anything. Your mouth will betray you as questions begin flowing out.

She will turn her head toward you. See the IV lodged in her arm and the bland blue hospital gown that hangs on her small frame. She will look you directly in the eye, calculating whether you can handle the answers. Set your jaw in a determined line and wait, taking comfort in the steady rhythm of the heart monitor. The next time she opens her mouth, the truth of the past few days will come pouring out of her like a waterfall that’s been blocked for far too long. You may cry now.

Talk. Talk about how she’ll soon be up and like her usual self. Say: I’ve always wanted an elevator in our house! Keep a smile plastered on your face, trying to lighten the mood. It will not work.

The inevitable question will finally surface. She will ask where Dad is. Realize the nonchalant façade she has put up about Dad’s truancy. See how a little smile is painted on her face but that her eyes are full of anguish. The heart monitor will catch your attention because it is beeping faster now in anticipation of what you will say. See how in her eagerness she has managed to push herself up to a sitting position with her arms. Fierce hope and love will burn in her eyes. Open your mouth and ….

The small sob that escapes your mom will startle you. Turn around. Look at the dark shadow that has appeared in the doorway. You’ll be staring into the eyes of your dad.

Notice how the tips of his ears are bright pink. How he is gasping in large gulps of air. That his gloves are mismatched and he isn’t wearing the red scarf that he always wears. How his outfit has been thrown together as if in a rush. Realize that he ran there.

Watch as he gazes at Mom and she at him. How Mom’s shoulders are now shaking with sobs. See that tears are brimming in his eyes like a river that has been blocked up by a century-old dam and the dam is close to breaking. How he manages to get across the room to Mom in one fluid motion. Notice that you can barely see Mom anymore because she is enveloped in his arms. Their eyes are squeezed shut, but tears are running freely down their faces.