Papo Fuerte

On Monday, I arrived in Puerto Rico with a team of CATC Covenant Members at the house of Miriam and her husband Luis. Our job was to repair the leaking roof that was damaged during Hurricane Maria, over two years ago. Luis is a victim of severe Alzheimer's. For the past six years, he has rapidly declined into what is now a shell of a man. A walking body who seems to have no feelings, emotions, or response to anything around him. Miriam, in contrast, is vibrant, joyful, and full of life. She loves cooking and baking. She made us meal after meal while we were working, including cookies, cakes, muffins, and arroz con gandules (a traditional rice dish). She had a genuine love for us, and gratitude for what we were doing for her and her husband.

Miriam went on to share with us a little more about her husband. He had grown up in the neighborhood where they lived. Most of the people in the neighborhood were related to him in some form or fashion. Cousins, second cousins, uncles, aunts. He earned the nickname “Papo Fuerte.” His mother’s maiden name was Fuerte. But that is not solely how he got the nickname. Papo was a welder by trade. Basically, Papo could fix or build anything he put his mind to. You name it, Papo had built it. He built the entire concrete house 30 years ago where they are living to this day. He built the water tank used to irrigate all their land. Miriam told us the story of how he built a private elevator in someone’s personal home. Papo would also repair and build for everyone in the neighborhood. If anyone ever needed anything, he would not hesitate to build it for them and take care of his family. Fuerte means strong in Spanish. Papo was the neighborhoods strength… was.

Throughout the week as we got to know Miriam more, she started to reveal more of her story. Miriam grew up in the States. She was born and raised in Massachusetts. She met Papo when she was 18 years old. He was visiting family in the states and she was friends with his brother there. It was one of those “love at first sight” moments. So he brought her back with her to Puerto Rico. Their first few years Miriam lived with Papo and his parents. She did not speak a word of Spanish when she moved to Puerto Rico. She didn’t know a single person other then Papo. Family means everything to the people there and Miriam was an outsider. She lived isolated among a network of tight knit, impenetrable group of people who were caring for one another. Papo was her soul friend, family, caregiver, conversation partner. He was her everything - and they did everything together. She never left his side.

Then she went deeper to tell us of her husband’s addiction to Alcohol. This pricked a nerve with the other woman on our team. She told Miriam about how her late husband had passed away from alcohol poisoning. He was an alcoholic who abused and neglected her. His mistress was the bottle and it took his life in the end. She also shared how she never had the joy of being a mother. She was unable to have children and was deeply saddened by her barrenness. But she talked to Miriam about how God “never wastes a hurt in our lives.” She now has the opportunity to care for women who have been in abusive relationships. Women who have experienced barrenness. Women in heavy hurt and distress. She can care for them and empathize with them in a way she never would have been able to before - and she can still have this deep joy that comes only from her relationship with God. This immediately connected with Miriam.

We noticed while we were there working that people would pull up to the gate outside of Miriam’s home, and they would ask us “Como es Papo?” How is Papo? Is he ok? They were concerned. But no one asked if they could visit for awhile or if they could see Papo. No one asked Miriam how she was doing. She informed us that the family all around them rarely, if ever, came to visit after Papo’s health started to decline. They made themselves scarce and avoided confrontation. They did not invite Miriam to their parties. They didn’t call her to talk. They tended to avoid eye contact. Her only explanation - Papo Fuerte, the strong man, the foundation, the rock of the village has now been made weak. He has lost his strength. The man that once stood for stability has fallen - and they could not bear to enter into the pain. If they choose to not acknowledge it, then it was like it wasn’t there. It was like Miriam and Papo were not there. 

Miriam stood by Papo. She barely left his side all week while we were there. She loved him with the same, consistent care and gentleness - minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. From helping him out of bed at sunrise to tucking him in at night. From walking him into the bathroom and helping him every step of the way. She would feed him every bite of every meal and remind him to chew and swallow. Then repeat until he had a clean plate and wipe his face. She would take him on walks around the house. Pointing out all the work we were doing and letting him touch the tools that he used to know so well.

Then she told me in a moment of vulnerability about her conversations with her husband. Every day she talks to him. She tells him about what she is feeling. She tells him what she is thinking. She shares the gossip of the neighborhood. She tells him the jokes she can remember and gives him updates on their children in the states and on the other side of the island. She talks to him and always will pause - because maybe, just maybe this time he will respond back to her. But he has not responded back to her for six years. Just the same blank stare. Maybe a twitch here and there. A tear grew in the corner of her eye. She told me that sometimes she loses her control. She breaks down and weeps because her best friend, her love, is not really there. But then she gathers herself. And she serves. “He took care of me our whole lives. Now it is my turn to take care of him.” And she works. She will care for him until she is no longer able. Minute by minute. Day by Day. Year by year.

How did Miriam continue? Where was her fuerte, her strength coming from? I believe Miriam carries a deep joy. It is easy to consider joy as something that we have in times of happiness, comfort, and contentment. I witnessed Miriam’s laughter. I was able to look into her eyes as she told me the about the pain of her life-partner losing his mind and I could still see hope. This is not happiness, comfort, or contentment. This is trial, struggle, and hardship. This is the valley of the shadow of death. But Miriam’s joy went deeper - it was a the love and care of a servant’s heart that she only could have learned from walking with the servant of man. I believe Miriam encountered Jesus and receives her joy from him and him alone.

Miriam had lost her primary care-giver to a terrible disease. He was there, but he wasn’t there. She had to receive her care from the one, true Papo Fuerte. One who knows how to give good gifts to his children. One who will never leave us nor forsake us. One who loves us unconditionally, consistently, perfectly. He is the strong father.