“Dad, help!” Nina is inside, but she can yell.

“What?”

“The tube popped out again!”

I hear the fast rumble of his feet pounding on the stairs inside the house as I run up the balcony stairs. In moments, Caroline and I hover in the doorway of our parents bedroom. Watching as Dad grabs a wire coat hanger and slips it carefully in the gastro-tube that feeds Mom. My eldest sister, Nina, keeps her hand on the gauze pads pressed up against Mom’s stomach so that no more of the acidic stomach fluid could ooze out and add to the pink flesh already swelling around the tube.

“Ok, get ready” Dad is steady, moving the tube over Mom’s stomach.

“Now.” He moves Nina’s hand and the gauze aside and slides the tube back in.

Mom winces a bit, but then opens her eyes wide and looks at us. “Oh, Arturo, I’m so sorry to make you worry so much.” Her face is still scarred and malformed since all the operations on her skull, but her eyes and voice still hold oceans of love.

Dad carefully wipes her stomach. “What are you talking about Uli, you didn’t do that on purpose. Let’s just get you cleaned up and then we can eat too.” It’s amazing how gentle he is with her.

“I’m on a strict diet, do you know what ‘DIET’ stands for?” Mom is always trying to make us smile, even if she quickly forgets if she’s just told us the same joke. “Did I Eat That – DIET…” She looks up, and receives, the roomful of smiles she expects.

The emergency is handled, we file out to wash our hands, and dig into the pizza.