The Lion's Pride Lion's Pride Volume 12 (Spring 2019) | Page 55

the United States one week later and got to work right away. I was
working hard to provide my younger siblings with food and clothes for
school. I called once a week to check up on my siblings and, most
importantly, my dad. Every time I called, I prepared myself for bad
news. I was unsure of what would become of my father, since I was no
longer there to keep track of his whereabouts - or how many bottles of
alcohol he had before he ended up at the hospital. Every time I called,
my sister Sonia would pick up, and every time I asked for my father, she
would make excuses to why he couldn't come to the phone. “He’s
sleeping, in the shower, or out buying groceries,” she’d say, but I knew
the truth: I knew that he was slouched in a corner with the whiskey
bottle in one hand and completely out of it.
A month had passed since I had arrived to the States, and I received a
call from my uncle, Miguel. My father was ill. After hanging up, my
heart dropped because I knew how this would all end. I prepared myself
because I knew I had to be strong if anything was to happen. I had to not
break down because I had my younger siblings to worry about. The
weeklong trip felt like eternity. When I arrived back to Mexico City, my
father was in his bed - pale, sweating, with a weak look in his eyes and
with little color to his face. He had been diagnosed with end-stage liver
disease.
Weeks passed, and there was no sign of improvements. His health
began to decline rapidly. My uncles insisted on taking him back to his