ESTA ES SU CASA--JULY 2014

ESTA ES SU CASA--JULY 2014

THE BIG PICTURE

I know I’m a pest, and I know there’s no one who can wipe away my credit-card debts, but you have been so wonderful to carry us through the “emergencies”! And these continue....

I think you know the big story of June, namely, Chemo’s sudden and scary sickness. We were in Tegucigalpa to visit Chemo’s brother Marcos. Chemo got his teeth cleaned and a few hours later was running a 103º fever. It abated a bit with some pills, but returned during the night, so at 6:00 in the morning we went to a private clinic where a wonderful young Doctor Celeste and an even kinder nurse Hilda went to work on him. They gave him a big shot in the butt, an intravenous in the arm, drew blood, and a cool, moist towel for his head. The blood results suggested Dengue Fever, which would have to be monitored for at least 5 more days, another blood draw every day. 

They dismissed the idea that the teeth-cleaning had anything to do with it, but some of you have confirmed the pre-medication advised for heart patients before any dental procedure. The dentist here had said it was unnecessary for only a cleaning, and Chemo has not had a problem before, but I do think we’ll play it safer in the future. 

Anyway, Chemo’s platelet numbers finally started trending upward, and we could go home, a week later than we had planned, “dead broke,” as they say. But thanks to you, my finances got a transfusion, too! 

Catching up on the emergency at the end of last month’s letter, let me note that Dania finally brought little Elio home after a week in the Yoro hospital following her cesarean section. I didn’t even want to think about her stretching up the high steps into the bus, the dirt roads that shake anything loose even if it’s “sewn up,” and the last 40 minutes from Victoria to Las Vegas in a moto-taxi that, in Dania’s condition, had to feel like a cement mixer made out of tinfoil. But she got a big welcome at the house, and lots of loving care. Like Chemo’s numbers, she soon trended upward till I could catch a happy smile on her pain-free face.

Not all emergencies are medical! Helen celebrated her 15th birthday, the special one for a young lady, the QUINCEAÑERA. So I told her mom Maricela, “Let’s do it up right!” She started figuring, just the family, cousins, etc. “That’s 90 kids right there.” OK, we’re gonna need a bigger cake! In fact, we ordered two of Carlota’s specialties, one of them topped with a quinceañera figurine. Chemo brought his computer, its iTunes loaded with songs, and he provided the music for the feast. There were balloons, games, even little gifts that some kids brought. At Mass on Sunday, Padre Jaime gave Helen a special blessing. You know, Helen has cerebral palsy, so she’ll never have a “normal” life; but neither will any of us if we fail to love her. 

Santa, my “girlfriend” in El Progreso, celebrates her birthday the same day as Helen, so we headed there the next day. Now that her kids are having kids, she’s sort of calmed down on the “when are we getting married?” pursuits, so we can just laugh and enjoy the time together, me blushing at her numerous double entendres. 

And I’m not the only “celebrity” anymore. Santa’s eldest, Jorge (better known by his nickname Nangui, for his flat nose), was featured in a story in “Diez,” a daily sports paper. They showed me the story--Nangui, 28, the star of the El Progreso soccer club, working hard during the day at construction sites to make a good home for his pregnant wife Marta expecting their first baby. The full-page story had pictures and everything, Nangui on the pitch and on the job. I tried like heck to find the story online, but it seems “Diez” considers sports too ephemeral to keep an archive of its items. 

For the second year in a row, Felix Cruz (the big guy that rescued my iPad from his nephew who had stolen it) arranged a special soccer game between kids from Las Vegas, here, and others now living in San Pedro Sula. I saw another chance to visit Maria and Fermin in Morazan on the way back, so off we went, a dozen or so, Saturday, June 28, in Marcelo’s van; he does a lot of little charters like this. 

When we passed the main square in San Pedro and saw it packed with revelers, loud music and drink abundant, it finally dawned on me why Felix chose this date. You see, San Pedro Sula is named for St. Peter, whose feast is celebrated June 29, a Sunday this year. At the soccer park, the interest in the game was actually second to the excitement for the “carnaval” that night, and some were already passing around beers. To me it seemed the perfect storm: hordes of people, bottomless booze, thieves abounding. I knew I’d lose Chemo in the crowd in the first fifteen minutes. So I finally persuaded him to leave the game a little early to catch a bus to Morazan, where we arrived about 7:00 p.m. Chemo slept the whole way, so I guess he knew he couldn’t party till dawn anyway. He had played about 15 minutes in the game on a hot day and got so tired he kept signaling to the ref for a substitution. So he was totally exhausted, as perhaps anyone who’s recently had a life-threatening illness would be!

In Morazan, Fermin and Maria greeted us with the somber news that Eduard, their 20-year-old son, would be heading for the United States on Monday, a venture postponed a month ago. Fermin just kept welling up with tears. “I’m not so worried that he’s going; I’m worried he’ll never come back.” Come back alive, that is. Maria was somehow more hopeful, that strength of a mother that even a husband has to depend on. Eduard would  be going with his brother-in-law Freddy, the husband of his sister Arlin, and another cousin, Rafael. Now when I heard that name, something clicked. In the Book of Tobit in the Bible, Tobit sends his son Tobias on a long journey to a foreign land, accompanied by a guardian angel in disguise, Raphael. So I told the guys that; okay, I guess it’s pure sentiment, but it gives me, and maybe them, more hope for their safe passage. 

Sunday the 29th was an emotional day. First of all, it’s Fermin’s father’s 73rd birthday; his name is Pedro, too, you see. While he was celebrating with friends and neighbors from the church where he pastors, next door at Arlin and Freddy’s house, a group was gathering who would be sending their loved ones up to the States. Fermin felt bad that he was not with his father, but, as he said, “Miguel, I just can’t do it today.” When Freddy asked Fermin to say a prayer, we all embraced shoulder-to-shoulder while Fermin (I swear he was touched by an angel!) offered this full and winding prayer that seemed to mark every step the immigrants were about to take; he went on, in gentle swirls of praise, thanksgiving, and petition, begging God’s mercy and protection and care, for those going and those staying behind, till everyone was crying, including Fermin, all of us helplessly humbled before God’s loving will. Once all the folks departed, including Pedro’s guests, just the family gathered together at Pedro’s house, to ponder what the future would bring. For the moment, it meant a meal; Maria went out and picked up some Chinese. (Food, you understand.)

On Monday, I tagged along to San Pedro, where the “illegal aliens” would meet up with their “coyote” at the huge bus terminal just outside the city. This man is trustworthy and true, linked with cohorts all along the way who provide lodging, food, and extra clothes (they carry only a tiny fanny pack), as well as experienced guidance in circumventing the “federales.” But I have to say the last photo I took, of Freddy desperately hugging his wife Arlin and child Fredito, is just too heart-wrenching for public viewing. And typical of such moments, Fermin suddenly remembered, “Oh my God! I forgot to give Freddy his license; it’s his only ID!” So off he runs, catching them just before they board the bus. 

First stop, Guatemala, where a former neighbor of Fermin was waiting for them, and by golly about 8:30 last night, a text message announced their safe arrival! Now for four days or more in Mexico, the dark side of the moon, no communication at all till they’re inside “America.” 

You can hardly blame people for running out of a burning building, especially when the United States stokes the flames with its filthy drug habits that kill 21 Hondurans a day in the traffickers’ crossfire, and the scrofulous economy that results  from such corruption. I’m only here to say it doesn’t have to be like this. 

But today, July 1, Maria returned to work, after 2 months’ rest from an operation; her little fourth graders squealed with delight to see her again. Some people have kids, and some special people treat other people’s kids just like their own. 

Like you treat me!

Miguel