In Memory of Jose Ramon Oporto

Jose and my mom are both from the same place in El Salvador. They were born in the 1960s in Coatepeque, Santa Ana. When they were small kids, his mother and my grandmother used to wash their clothes at the river together. In first grade, they had the same teacher. As they grew into teenagers, Jose attempted to get my mom’s attention to no avail. He would even ask my mom’s cousin, Oscar, to put in a good word for him with his “prima, la colochita.” However, my mom has always been reserved and skeptical when it came to romantic advances. “Ese bicho seco!” she would say after being exasperated by him. As a teenager, the last thing my mom was thinking about was dating. Life progressed and they lost track of each other.

Four years ago, Jose found my mom on Facebook. They became friends and quickly realized that they had both moved to the United States decades earlier. As chance would have it, they lived less than two hours from each other. They slowly began to know each other and reminisce about their youth. Two years later he moved to Richmond to be with my mom. From that moment on, where you saw my mom, you saw Jose. More likely than not, they would be holding hands. “La uña y la mugre” I would tease them.They seemed like two teenagers experiencing love for the first time. He would call her “amor” and she would call him “flaco”. They loved to be around each other.

At the end of May I stopped at my mom’s house as they were getting home from church. “Uyyyyyy que guapos andan! Deme su teléfono porque les tengo que tomar una foto” I happily teased my mom as I asked her to hand me her phone. They looked too good together for me not to capture them at that moment. I snapped the first picture but there was a glare. I made them switch sides with me and as I was trying to get the best shot, one of the cats had wandered over. I then snapped the picture you see above.

On August 13th, my mom called me and shyly, but very excitedly, shared that she was getting married. She gushed about how she had never felt loved like this. She shared how she had never felt so seen, understood, and cared for. We started discussing their civil ceremony plans and how she wanted help finding a dress.

On August 25th, Jose was convinced to go to the hospital. On September 30th, we were told he had Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer. On October 9th, we were told there was nothing more that could be medically done for him and the most humane thing we could do was to make him comfortable at home. On October 10th, he was released to hospice at my mom’s house.

Jose transitioned from this life Saturday morning, October 12th. He was 59. His birthday was on August 9th. Jose and my mom were married on September 9th.

I debated how much I should share or if I should even share anything at all. However, I have spent nearly every day the past two weeks learning about their love, hearing stories about their childhoods, and witnessing those quiet moments of tenderness, devotion and love. I witnessed how they comforted each other amidst their immense grief after each devastating update on his condition. I witnessed what it means to be there for your partner “in sickness and in health.” I felt their love story.

While all these words, memories, and pain are pulsing through my entire body, they will never be able to leave my lips. I write them down instead and share them to attempt to portray the devastating loss this is. For Jose. For my mom. For Jose and my mom. If you are able to ease some of the loss either by contributing to his funeral funds or by sending prayers, their impact would be greatly felt.

With immense gratitude,

Nidia Menjivar, Jose Ramon Oporto’s bonus daughter