Calling Home

My wife (Morena) calls her Mother and Sisters in El Salvador 3-4 times per week... Needless to say, we go through a lot of phone cards in our house.

She is like the coordinator of all the family activities. It's not an official title, but it's usually up to my wife to be the conveyor of all family news, messages, and money to be sent home... She has 7 brothers and sister's in the US and 4 in El Salvador (I won't even begin to get into los tios, sobrinos y primos).

It's a big family and my wife is the one who keeps in touch with EVERYBODY.

Half of the family in the Los Estadios Unidos lives here in the DC area and the other half lives in the Houston... You can probably see where this is going... She spent last night on the phone tracking down and making contact with all of la familia in Houston. She had to make sure everyone was safe and had a ride out of the city and a place to stay. It was a long process with most of the phone lines jammed and people busy trying to pack up their lives into their cars... but finally, around 10:30 she had talked with everyone and could call mi suegra and let her know that everyone got out and was safe.

I guess my point is this... What about the families that don't have a Morena, a family coordinator?

I remember when we were first dating... We had just eaten at one of our favorite restaurants in Langley Park and were driving along University Boulevard. For those of you not familiar with the area, it's near the University of Maryland and is the hub of the Central American community in Maryland. There are lots of problems with poverty, unemployment, gangs, etc...

But for every gang member causing problems, there are 100 hard working families just trying to make enough money to pay the bills and hopefully a little extra to send back to mom...

So there we were driving along University Blvd when traffic came to a halt. As we inched along closer to our turn off, it became apparent that there was an accident. Eventually we passed right in front of what used to be a Honda Civic. Now it was nothing more than a twisted hunk of metal wrapped around a telephone pole...

There was a police officer sweeping up shattered glass, and the Civic's bumper was lying on the street with a "Yo Amo Guatemala" bumper sticker facing up.

All the remaining paramedics and police officers that were still on the scene went about their work in a quiet and diligent manner. The driver of the vehicle had most likely been rushed from the scene long ago. We didn't have to see him being taken away to know that he was probably in bad shape.

We drove past in silence... Morena was turned away, still looking out the passenger side window. Finally I tapped her on the thigh. When she turned to look at me I could see tears streaming down her face. I had never seen her cry.

"Que Paso?" I asked.

It was then she told me the story of her older brother Saul. He had died in Los Angeles several years ago in a car accident probably not unlike the one we had just passed. I had heard him mentioned by other family members, and I knew he had died young, leaving behind a wife and two sons. But I had never heard Morena talk about it.

She was about to turn 17 years old when it happened, just a school girl. Her father had also died in a car accident the year before, and now this... She told me about how crushed her mother had been.

Saul had left home at 16, trying to escape the war and maybe earn enough money to come home and start a business. "I'll be home soon," he told everyone as he left the house. They never got to see him again until 10 years later, when he returned in a coffin.

He got a job here in DC with his older brothers who had preceded him in coming to the US... Before he knew it he had a car payment, then a wife, and shortly after that, children.

Eventually he decided to move his family to Los Angeles. "Alla tiene buen trabajo!" he told everyone. His brothers didn't want him to go.

Then one morning they got the call... Morena wanted to be strong for her mother so she burried her pain. Someone needed to take care of the house. Someone had to make sure all of the nieces and nephews her mother was raising got to school on time. The world was cold and cruel, and it would not stop turning while they grieved.

Morena made it her job to keep things going. She loved going to school and dreamed of going to a University one day. But there was no time for that now, only time for work... So when it was time to go back to school, she never went. When her mother asked her why she didn't go back she swallowed her tears and lied, "I never liked going anyway."

And that was that...

There was no time to be a teenage girl, no time to cry. Only time to be strong... So here she was 10 years later, crying for her loss for the first time.

She cried for her brother, and she cried for the mystery man who drove the crushed Civic.

"His family won't know what happened to him," she told me as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks. How could we know if this man did or did not have someone to call home for him? In Morena's mind he had nobody, and nothing I could say would convince her otherwise.

I didn't know what to do. I pulled into an empty parking lot and took her by the hand.

"It's so hard. It feels so helpless, so far away. And all you can do is wait... Wait for the phone to ring, wait for someone to call and say 'it's not true, it wasn't him', but nobody calls..."

She was not in my car, she was not even in this country right now. She was a school girl in El Salvador.

I let her talk. I could see the tenderness and the vulnerability that she tried so hard to hide. I was touched that she was sharing all this with me.

I thought about my own broken family... Her family was spread out across the continent but the passion and love that held them together was so much stronger than anything I had ever known.

Looking back on it now, that may have been when I really fell for her. I can't really pinpoint when it happened but if I had to choose one specific moment, that would probably be it; In my car, at night, in the middle of the ghetto, staring at MS-13 graffiti, and holding her hand as she cried...

I thought about that moment last night.

I crawled into bed where Morena was already fast asleep, the telephone and calling card still close by... She made it her duty to make sure nobody was at home in El Salvador waiting and worrying for news from Houston.

But what about all the people who didn't have una hermana o una tia to call back home? As I pulled myself under the blanket and next to her tired body, I took a hold of her hand.

I thought about all the people in Central America who can't sleep because they're waiting to hear news from their relatives... I thought about that mystery man from Guatemala who was driving the Civic. Where was he now? Did he survive the accident? Did he know anyone to call home and tell his mother what happened? Did he have a wife? Did he have kids?

Just before I fell asleep I said a short prayer. I don't know if I believe in God, and I can't remember the last time I prayed. But I hope someone somewhere was listening.