The Call I Hoped Would Never Come
It’s 3 a.m. in New York, and I’m fast asleep. Suddenly, my phone rings. It’s my mom calling from India. Her voice trembles. “Beta, we’re at Banker’s Heart Hospital. Dad is being prepped for angioplasty.”
For those unfamiliar, angioplasty is a procedure to clear blocked arteries in the heart. As we age, our arteries, especially in people with high cholesterol, can narrow, putting extra stress on the heart. During angioplasty, doctors insert a small stent to keep the artery open and prevent further blockage.
I manage to stay calm for a minute, ask a couple of questions, and wish my dad luck before they take him in.
Then reality hits.
I’m wide awake, heart racing, tears streaming, my mind spinning with fear. Heart disease runs in my dad’s family, and I’m terrified. I’m thousands of miles away, and it would take at least 48 hours for me to get home. To make it worse, my relationship with my parents has been strained lately, and guilt starts to eat at me. I don’t want the last few months of tension to be the final memories I have of my dad. Suddenly, the distance feels unbearable.
As an immigrant, this is the constant tension—torn between two worlds. Some days, I’m excited about the life I’m building in the U.S. But moments like this make me question everything. I’m 28; my parents are nearing 60. Should I move back to spend more time with them? But what about my dreams here?
Ten minutes pass, but they feel like hours. I take a deep breath and realize I need to get home. Fast. But there’s a problem: I don’t have an Indian visa, and it’s Labor Day. The embassies are closed. Over the next ten hours, I scramble to secure an emergency visa. Friends and family rally around me — they research visa options, help me get a money order, take over my responsibilities at work, and check in on me constantly. I’m so grateful for them.
Thankfully, all is well now. My dad underwent two angioplasties. My mom later tells me one was especially risky, with a 50/50 chance of complications. But he’s fine now—back on his feet, working, and already planning his next marathon. His resilience amazes me.
Now, on my flight back, I already know life will return to normal. The routine will take over, and this moment will fade, but something inside me feels heavier. Something has to change — right?
There’s a guilt I can’t shake. I’m living thousands of miles away while my parents grow older. I tell myself I should act, make a decision, but I can’t. I don’t have the courage—or maybe I just don’t want to. It feels safer to stay in this limbo, even though I know it’s not enough.
I’m stuck, torn between the life I’m chasing here and the life I’ve left behind. And the hardest part is, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to choose.