Please Help The Gramajo Family

I’ll never forget October 5, 2021, see that was Mom’s birthday. We should have woken up early, quietly sneaked around the house, got her presents out, placed candles on her cake, and crept up to her room to sing her happy Birthday. I would have kissed her cheek and held her tight. My arms would have enveloped her small frame, her eyes would have gazed at me with love and kindness. My dad would have given her red roses and they would have told the story of how they met for the zillionth time. There would have been a small back and forth, my dad would have teased my mom and kissed her and she’d be so cute, it was just her. The world, my world would have been bright and rosy. Instead, I woke up to red and white lights and blaring sirens. I couldn’t comprehend how my parents had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance, it was Covid-19.

Everything changed from then on, my father’s strength and constant comfort were nowhere to be found. My mother’s unconditional love and care which were the pillars of our household were gone. It was hard, I’d never felt so alone, the house became a lifeless pit of doubt and uncertainty.

My parents struggled to survive, breathing became an impossible task to maintain oxygen in their lungs. They could barely move and it was difficult to stay sane as they were gasping for breath. See, living in a hospital is nothing like home, you’re fighting for your life, it's not a check up. The walls are blanched and gray, there’s a constant sound of monitors. You’re picked and prodded with needles. You can wait for hours asking for a glass of water, and if you bother too much medical staff puts you to sleep, and you pray that you can be at a good hospital where people are humane. But, doctors and nurses only seemed to care when I was there at their bedside.

Still my mom and dad were lucky, they were together in the same hospital room. Two polar opposites clung dearly to one another for life and the love they shared. My dad had always been lively and boisterous, and my mom was shy and adorkable. But as long as I’ve had memory they never left one another, in good and bad times, in sickness and health, their marriage was an ever constant union. My father protected the woman he loved for 30 years and he did so in the hospital. He encouraged her to eat, when she felt as if she couldn’t go on, and pushed her to survive. Mammi’s constant prayers were there and her love was always evident in the little things, from a tender look and soft words of the future they would lead. They were each other's strength.

Meanwhile, I struggled with the house, keeping up with the payments, fixing everything that broke down, and racing from the hospital to work and home. But I had hope, we had hope.

I was dressed in a thin disposable garb over my clothes, booties, mask, and hair net. Their hospital room was filled with machines whirring and an incessant peep that made me believe in a tomorrow. It meant they were alive. My parents fought for their lives. They couldn’t get up, they struggled to breath and eat. My mother's rosy face was now hollow and pale. Her lips were cracked, and there were creases on her face that had not been there. Her beautiful limbs once so vibrate and filled with vigor were sapped; her arms and legs looked like twigs. I loved to play with her curly black hair as a little girl, and now that she laid there she had patches of bald spots. Even then she was and still is the most beautiful woman I have ever met. My mom amazed me how she didn’t complain or murmur. Her small hands now with an IV on her wrist held my hands. She always had warm hands and feet and I’ve always had cold hands and feet. But she was freezing to the touch. “Baby are you okay, are you eating?” She asked me. I never could understand how she could worry more about my health than her own in that hospital bed. “Mammi I’m fine, have you been eating?” That was my fear. She always struggled to eat when she was worried and she needed her strength more than ever. “I eat as much as I can, have you taken your vitamins?” Mammi always asked that, she knew I forgot them so she’d remind me, “you know I love you that’s why I ask” she tried to smile but it hurt her face with the mask taped on. She cared for others more than herself. So there was hope, mammi was getting better, the oxygenation in her blood flow was improving, her airflow was decreasing. There was light in her eyes, yes, Mammi had tubes surrounding her everywhere but she wanted to be back home, it was going to be Christmas soon and we still had to celebrate her birthday. I made her promise me that she’d teach me how to make champurrado (a Mexican drink) and she'd come back.

But my dad was fading fast. As a little girl growing up you see your dad as a superhero. He’s untouchable, strong, nothing can hurt him. That was shattered. Pappi’s skin was yellow and his facial features were extenuated. A large oxygen mask covered his face. His previously strong hands that had been able to fix anything were feeble at his sides. His right arm was wrapped in bandages, even so I could see the blackened skin and the blisters that covered his arm, it looked like gangrene. I had been warned that pappi might not make it. My father lay delusional, he couldn’t recognize me. His eyes darted back and forth in fear, anxious as he whispered to me “please look at my wife” over and over again as he struggled to breathe. In his incomprehensible pain he loved mammi more than himself. I wished I could have borne their pain as my own. “Daddy it’s me, stay with me, you have to eat” I gently caressed his brow, but he didn’t hear me. I wasn’t his daughter to him, I was just a person. There was a clot in his arm and the blood couldn’t flow throughout his body. The Doctors needed to operate, but they couldn’t successfully hold him under anesthesia to save him. They contemplated that if necessary the doctors would amputate his arm to save his life, but that was too risky. As I stood in front of my dad’s doctor searching for a definitive answer she simply remained silent. Doctors never say what they mean. You’d think that with their white gown and stethoscope they would be straightforward, but it’s always their eyes that give them away, the goner look. He wouldn't survive under the knife. Pappi was in the hands of God.

He didn’t come out of it for days. The swelling in his arm reached his shoulder, and Mammi was strong, she was there for him. Mammi said he would make it, they would be out. We just had to wait and pray. Then a miracle happened. He regained consciousness, and God saved pappi from death’s door. He lost the use of his right hand, but there was life. I saw the ingenuity of my dad from holding a fork with his left hand to trying to learn how to write. “Pappi, let me help you” I tried to feed him but he’d shake his head and look at me with the stubbornness of a mule “I have to, for you and mammi” he’d look over to her, his watchful gaze would remind her to drink her ensure, to brush her teeth, to do her breathing exercises, to giggle at their small inside jokes, to dream of the future, and to live. My father is a fighter, he never gave up. A new leaf had turned for Pappi, mammi held on.

But then they were separated, not to different rooms but they transferred my dad to a different hospital. When things were finally looking up, they got bad. Pappi was moved, since he began recuperating faster. He started his therapies there at first he could barely be able to push himself into a sitting position in bed much less walk. Covid had eaten away at his muscular strength. White knuckles would wrap tightly around his bed railings and with all the strength that he could muster he would sit upright, his frame shaking and taking long deep breaths. My father began putting all his effort into regaining his health so that he could be with his family but now that Pappi was at a different hospital Mammi started struggling with her anxiety.

The hours of loneliness without pappi got to her. I had to race between my dad, mom, work and bills. I felt as if I didn’t have enough time, there wasn’t enough time. Mammi tried to continue going. She was exhausted and desolate. I felt it, she couldn’t even cry when she wanted to. I’d see her small face and there was a tiredness in her spirit that had not been there. Still she held my hand in those tiny delicate fingers of hers. Sometimes I didn’t have time to eat with everything that was going on but that didn’t matter. To be near and serve her was a great joy and happiness. I’d cut her nails, massage her legs and arms, feed her, and simply talk about anything as long as I was in her presence. When I was there she couldn’t manage to talk too much, but I knew those loving eyes told me to tell her about my day. Telling her about what went on at work, grocery shopping, and my social interactions took her away from the hospital– it was her small reprieve. “Tete baby, God has a reason for this,” Mammi would say and I knew she was right. Those moments were great.

She got to 10% airflow. She was almost breathing on her own when they decided to move her to the same hospital as dad. She was so giddy she couldn’t wait to be near him even if they weren’t in the same room they would be together in the same place. Pappi and Mammi were reunited in the same hospital. They would send each other little texts and calls like love birds. There was love and I knew that as long as they were together they would survive. This peace only lasted for two days. The insurance moved my dad to a nursing home, it was last minute and I was unable to change anything.

My dad left once again except this time my mom didn’t get better. Her anxiety severely worsened and complications arose. They prescribed her drugs that made her hallucinate so that she’d try to take off her air mask constantly. I wanted her to sleep, I knew if she was asleep that her anxiety would cease and she’d get some rest. The doctors said it was normal she just needed to adjust and that this would end. That never happened. She didn’t adjust, her lungs failed and the doctors had to intubate her. The airflow was set to full capacity but it still didn’t help. God is my witness I prayed, I begged, and I supplicated for a miracle. Never throughout this entire course did I think I would lose my parents much less my mother. The doctors could do nothing, science had failed me and there was only my faith. I couldn’t imagine a world without my mom, her love and protection. So I believed with every fiber of my being that Mammi would make it that God would save her. As I laid in bed that night fear wracked my body and I couldn’t sleep and when slumber did take me I woke in fear, then I received that dreaded call.

People say that angels come into your life for a reason and a season, but I was blessed to have lived with an angel for 25 years of my life. My mother died on December 14, 2021 at 1:19 a.m. I wasn’t there to hold her hand or tell her I love you more than life itself, I wasn’t able to. I can’t say that this story has a happy ending, because I have lost a friend, partner, confidant, and a mother. Through her I was able to witness the love of Christ. My mom Ruth Roman loved and cared for others more than herself; she was a woman with hopes and dreams. But I know now she’s resting in the arms of Jesus and there is no way she would ever want to come back, Heaven is too beautiful to leave. My heart is broken, there are so many what-ifs, but it’s definitive she’s gone and she’ll never teach me how to make champurado, we will never have another christmas together, we will never be able to celebrate her birthday. I would have given my life in exchange for hers, but I see now that she taught me that life is worth living not because of fortune or fame but the love we share for one another. That’s essentially it, all we ever want in life is to be loved and I know in my heart of hearts she would have loved me no matter what, and I have lost that, and the only way I’ll ever be with her again is when it’s my time. We don’t know how long we have in this world but each day is a miracle because there are no tomorrows assured.

I am asking for your help today and in the days to come. Death has overtaken my family in many forms physically, financially, and spiritually. I have no idea how I will be able to bury mammi so that I can lay her to rest. We never anticipated that this would happen and her death has left a void that cannot be filled. My father is alive but his vigor has been cut down. I don’t know how I will be able to pay for his physical therapy and medical expenses. He cannot use his right arm and his mobility has been limited. I don’t know if I will lose my father from grief due to the loss of his wife. I don’t know if I will be able to maintain the home that they spent their entire lives trying to protect. But I ask for your support and aid now that we are caught in this financial burden and grieving the loss of my mother. Thank you and may God bless you.