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Daddy got hit with Covid-19. He was admitted on August 23rd. After nearly 4 weeks of fighting, his lungs gave up. He fought till his very last breath. We will miss you, daddy. R.I.P. We love you.

Many remember mom for her welcoming smile, her infectious laugh, her cooking, her generosity, and her enormous heart. But what I will always remember about my mother is her hands. When we were young, my mother would use her hands to feel if we had a fever. They might have been more accurate than a thermometer. Her hands carried us as babies, wiped our tears and dressed our wounds. Those same hands soothed my own children when they were in need comfort. Her hands showed me how to sew. She used to make my halloween costumes and sew matching outfits for my sister and I.Those hands also made beautifully crafted cakes for my birthdays when I was a little girl. I used to believe my mom’s hands were magic. There was nothing she couldn’t do. Those of you who have had the pleasure, know what an amazing cook she was. Her hands carefully sculpted every empanada and lumpia she made with such grace. Her beef curry is legendary! I’m still convinced that her mere touch may have been the secret ingredient. With those hands, mom taught me how to cook. When I would ask her for measurements, she would use the length of her finger as a unit of measure and say “this much”. As a nurse for 54 years, mom’s hands were a gift to each patient she ever cared for. She rubbed her patients’ backs before they went to sleep. Fed them, bathed them, nursed them to better health, and held their hands when nothing else could be done. In my darkest hour, mom held my hands and remained at my side, steadfast, until I was strong enough to stand on my own. Just six months before she died, her hands cared for my ailing father. Cared for him, soothed his pains, and held his hands when he peacefully passed away. A few years ago, I was speaking with a close friend of my mom’s and I was complaining that my hands were so dry and ugly. And this friend looked at my hands and said, “you know Normina, you have your mom’s hands. Hard working, just like your mom’s”. And this surprised me because being my father’s daughter, I never thought I had much of my mother in me. But those kind words from a friend made me see otherwise. My mother died of a virus that has taken the lives of over two hundred thousand people in this country alone. And like them, my mother died alone. It hurts me to think that she died with no one holding her hand the way she always held mine, the way she held Papa’s when he died. It seems so unfair that someone who gave so much, should die alone. It is something I will always struggle with. Two or three nights after her passing, I felt I needed a break from the pain and decided to lose myself in a movie. I watched “Mister Roger’s Neighborhood”. In the movie there was a scene where Fred Rogers whispered into a man’s ear as he lay on his death bed. When asked what he said, Fred responded “I asked him to pray for me. Because anyone going through what he’s going through must be awful close to God.” I’ve been thinking about that line for a while and it gives me hope that maybe, because she too was “going through what she was going through”, was awful close to God. I had always believed that my mother was too good for this world. If anyone deserved to be close to God, it was mom. So although we could not be at her side when she died and hold her magical hands one last time, maybe she wasn’t really alone.

After fighting complications with Covid-19 for nearly a month, James went to be with the Lord on August 7, 2020. He joins his mother, father, daughter and loved ones in heaven. He leaves behind his wife, 2 daughters, son-in-law, grand-daughter, his brothers, sisters and extended family. He is remembered by his loved ones including his co-workers and political group. He cared for the well-being of his community and shared the word of the Lord with those he came across. May he rest in eternal peace.

My eldest brother Andrew, who we called Jr., was in Florissant Valley Health & Rehabilitation Center. The center had been closed to all visitors to prevent the spread of Covid-19, so we weren’t able to see him. My dad was very concerned because he hadn’t heard from him, no one had. This was very unusual because Jr. called my dad and everyone else constantly. Since Jr. wasn’t answering his cell phone, my dad tried calling the phone at the center. My dad explained that he hadn’t been able to talk to his son for the past couple of days and he was worried. My dad asked if Jr. was okay and they said that he was okay and that they would give him the message. One day my brother, Bryan, called me and said he was sitting on the Rehab Center’s parking lot trying to contact Jr., but no one would help him. I told him where Jr.’s bedroom window was and said for him to knock on his window. He knocked, didn’t get an answer, so he turned around to leave. Bryan said as he turned to leave, the window blind suddenly shot all the way up and shook. Bryan was able to see my brother Jr. motionless in bed. Jr. picked his head up and turned toward the window then his head fell back down. Bryan tapped harder on the window calling Jr.’s name and asking him if he was sick. Bryan told me that Jr. was lethargic and that he didn’t appear to recognize him. One of the workers saw the blind and Bryan at the window, so she put on a gown and gloves and entered the room. Bryan asked her to pick up the phone and call him. When she called, she only said Jr. had pneumonia and had been diagnosed that morning. They hadn’t notified us of his illness. We had them call an ambulance to send him to Barnes Jewish Hospital. As soon as he made it there, he was placed on a ventilator and diagnosed with Covid-19 the following day. Jr.’s family, friends, and fellow church members prayed daily for his total healing and restoration. After 2 weeks, Jr. passed without his family by his side and without hearing any words of love and encouragement from us. I was determined to make other families aware of the tragedy we endured from the negligence of the Rehab Center so I contacted Channel 4 News in St. Louis, MO and shared Jr.’s story.

We live in a state where our Governor does not believe in Covid.. my husband couldn’t get into an ICU bed.. there were none.. when he did they took him out less then 12 hours later claiming his blood pressure was “normal” again. Right when he got out again it was not normal and his temps spiked again.. we fought so hard to keep covid away.. we believe it came from a unmasked paramedic that came into our home for a low blood sugar week before..

This here is my grandpa. His name is Trine Martinez. He was a beloved husband, father, grandfather and great-grandfather. At only 77 years young, he lost his three week battle to Covid-19 in the hospital, on April 21st. My family’s life will never be the same without him. He was an amazing man and would help out anyone from the kindness of his heart. He will be deeply missed. We love you grandpa and you will remain in our hearts forever. 01/14/1977- 04/21/2020.

On the morning of May 10^th, Mother’s Day, my father lost his 18-day battle with the coronavirus. He left behind not only a devastated family, but hundreds of lives he touched. 

My father was the old man with the beard, armed with a quick wit and an infectious smile he charmed his way into the hearts of everyone he met. He brightened every path he crossed, and no one who met  him would ever forget him.

To me, he was Dad. A role model and an inspiration. The most amazing grandfather to my kids and the happy voice who would greet me every day when I came home from work.

I drove him to the hospital the night COVID began its war on his body. It was a long drive through the  streets of New York to get him there and I struggled to make small talk, something which was never an issue for us.

He didn’t respond much and at one point he even apologized saying speaking took too much energy. I wasn’t used to this, since my dad loved to talk, and I loved talking to him. We talked about everything from his love of history to my work in the NYC subways. 

Since the start of the pandemic and the shutdown of the city, I was deemed an essential worker. This  meant I was excluded from the rules and stay at home orders.

Furthermore, caring for my parents and kids, I was the designated shopper. Getting supplies and food, sanitizing everything that came into the  house, me going out while my family stayed inside.

We’ll never know for sure how my father caught the virus, and I’ll be left my life wondering if something I did brought it into the house and caused his death. 

Life since early March has been nothing short of a nightmare, and at times, such as when I got sick myself, was worse.

As we fielded calls with the hospital, and video chats when possible with dad, I fought off the fever, headaches and the worst body aches I’ve ever known.

Those weeks of me being sick and my father in the hospital was a horrible blur, and although time has slowed, it hasn’t gotten better in some ways. Restrictions are easing, but my own personal fear for my loved ones safety hasn’t. 

A new aspect to this virus has arisen as well, because now I have to hear all those who call this a hoax, a  conspiracy and a fake illness. Those who died were going to die anyway, right? Herd immunity sounds  great unless that includes your father. 

I will continue to remember my dad, John Walter and the other over 200,000 victims to a virus which is not a hoax or a conspiracy or a fake Illness. I’ll speak out for friends, for grandfathers, fathers,  sons, daughters, mothers and grandmothers. I am here for those who cannot be. I miss you dad.