Diary of a Pandemic: Together, Apart
PHOTOS AND WORDS CAPTURE THE LONELINESS OF THE PANDEMIC FOR A TEXAS COUPLE MARRIED 51 YEARS BUT NOW LIVING IN ISOLATION, A FEW FEET APART
Editor’s Note: El Paso, at the far-west tip of Texas, is now a COVID-19 epicenter. The nation is viewing viral footage of prisoners wheeling gurneys onto refrigerated trucks, carrying bodies of coronavirus victims bundled in plastic. Against this backdrop, a young journalist chronicled a day in the isolated life of her grandparents, shielded by her family against COVID-19 exposure. This essay and photographs were first published in Borderzine, a magazine produced by the journalism program at the University of Texas, El Paso.
Ana Maria is 74 years old. Jose is 81.
The Becerras are a high-risk couple living in El Paso, Texas: The two have illnesses that weaken their immune systems and this has them fearful of contracting COVID-19. After a recent surgery, Ana Maria, who is my grandmother, socially distanced herself in her home to protect my grandfather from anything she may have contracted during her time at the hospital.
Like many elderly, my grandparents’ health problems have grown more serious as they have aged. My sister and cousin moved in with them to help, but as their issues progressed, my family developed a system of taking shifts so that someone could be with our grandparents at all times, or at least when possible.
On a recent Saturday near the end of the two-week at-home social distancing period, I photographed moments that showed how they were coping.
Married for 51 years, they struggled to stay 6 feet apart, manage day-to-day tasks, and wait out the loneliness.
After a hospital stay for surgery to remove her cancerous uterus, Ana Maria Becerra made efforts to isolate herself at home. She restricted herself to the bathroom and her bedroom in order to social distance from her family.
The COVID epicenter
El Paso has struggled to contain the spread of coronavirus, and most recently ranked among the top 20 cities in the nation with the highest rates of COVID-19 cases per capita.
For the first two weeks of November, El Paso averaged more than 23 COVID-19 deaths per day, according to data analysis by El Paso Matters. The people dying now were generally infected in October. Based on recent infection and mortality trends, El Paso Matters projects 1,000 more people may die before Christmas. El Paso’s Democratic county judge issued a stay-at-home order in late October that included closing nonessential businesses for two weeks to try to slow the spread of the infection. But Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton successfully sued to block the order, saying it went against Republican Gov. Greg Abbott’s plan to ease restrictions on businesses to restart the state’s economy.
As the pandemic rages in El Paso, my grandparents take as many precautions as they can to remain safe. My grandmother has lupus, which weakens her immune system and at times makes it difficult for her to move around the house. My grandfather’s most debilitating illness is Parkinson’s, and as the disease has progressed it has become more difficult for him to move on his own and even speak clearly. In addition, he has blurry vision due to macular degeneration in both eyes.
Their illnesses made regular daily activities difficult for them before the pandemic. Now, the pervasiveness of a virus that can be deadly to people with pre-existing conditions has raised the stakes. Before COVID-19, my family used to worry about how to make my grandparents’ lives more comfortable, while being there to help prevent injury from their frequent falls. I am part of a primary family support team that includes my parents, my siblings, my uncle and cousins who come and go from my grandparents house throughout the week. Now, we have the added worry that we may unwittingly bring a dangerous disease into their house.
Ana Maria Becerra becomes emotional due to the pain of the surgery and not being able to be with her husband.
Jose Becerra nervously looks at himself in the mirror as he prepares to leave his home amidst the coronavirus pandemic.
A lifelong love Letter
My grandparents met more than 60 years ago in San Luis de la Paz in Mexico’s Guanajuato state. Jose Becerra was born there, but went with his family to the United States when he was five. His father was a bracero -- “strong arms” in Spanish -- one of the hundreds of thousands of migrant farmworkers contracted to work in the United States during and after World War II. On holidays and vacations his family would visit San Luis de la Paz, and that’s where he met Ana Maria Loyola, who was 15 at the time. He was 21.
Soon after they met, my grandfather asked her to be his girlfriend and they began a 10-year courtship. They wrote letters frequently, but Jose was only able to visit in person every few years. Over the course of nearly a decade, they had spent less than a week together. Jose nonetheless proposed, and they were married two weeks later on Jan. 11, 1969, in Mexico. But before Ana Maria could move to the states, Jose had to become a U.S. citizen or they would face another decade living separately, waiting on her paperwork. With his new citizenship, they moved to Chicago, where he worked at a box-making company. They’ve seldom been apart since.
Four years into their marriage, the company transferred Jose to El Paso, where our family has grown. Ana Maria and Jose’s family now consists of their two children (and their spouses), seven grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren.
After not driving for several years, Jose Becerra, who has Parkinson’s disease, cautiously backs out of his driveway wearing a mask to protect himself from COVID-19 as he goes out to buy lunch.
Ana Maria Becerra stops eating the lunch her husband brought home for her in order to answer a phone call from Del Sol Hospital. She speaks with a healthcare worker about social distancing guidelines to protect her high-risk husband within their home.
The pandemic is making people miss a lot about their old lives. I miss hugging my grandparents. My family isn’t big on displays of affection, but we all would greet my grandparents with a hug and a kiss on the head. But not now, when that direct contact could be passing along an illness. It’s particularly hard now because we don’t know how many hugs we have left.
Jose Becerra eats his lunch by the doorway of his bedroom to spend time with his wife while social distancing.
Necessary isolation
The pandemic has also essentially cut off Jose and Ana Maria from their families in central Mexico. The last time they had a visit from members of the Mexican side of the family was at their 50th wedding anniversary in El Paso, back in January of 2019. All they have is us, and occasionally we come with Facebook messages from their family to share with them.
After eating her meal, Ana Maria Becerra uses hand sanitizer.
Jose and Ana Maria’s 4-year-old great-granddaughter, Mia, is obsessed with slime. Every time she comes over she asks for her toys, and her favorite thing is to play with the slime. It makes my grandparents laugh.
But even as young as she is, Mia understands the family is there to help Jose and Ana Maria. She has started to do the same, recently waiting by the restroom holding my grandfather’s walker so that it is balanced for him. She helps us put him into bed by tucking him in or moving his shoes to a safe place. While these efforts may be small, they never go unnoticed; we all want to do what we can to help our grandparents. They have done so much for us. We know that while we can’t take away their pains, we can try to make their lives a bit easier.
Ana Maria Becerra looks at me from her bed.
I love hanging out in their room. Just sitting there, talking to them about anything, from telling them about my love life to laughing or crying with them about our day-to-day experiences. Conversation is often their favorite way to pass time during our visits. Not only does it make them fun, but we all believe that when they’re happier, they’re healthier.
We may not do things perfectly, and we do make mistakes, but it is clear that there is so much love in our family as we work to get through these hard times.
Jose Becerra spends some time catching up on paying medical bills.
I feel it’s important to mention how resilient my grandparents are. Through all their struggles, most often the first question they ask us is “How can we help?” It is something that has always left me in awe, that they could be sick in bed struggling to move and still trying to make sure we’ve eaten or that we aren’t sad. They want to be strong for us even in their weakest moments.
After the Walmart mass shooting of August 2019, our city embraced the slogan “El Paso Strong.” It worked to comfort our community after the tragedy with a message of hope and unity. Now, in 2020, I’m not sure anyone actually believes that slogan anymore. El Pasoans are not the most effective at social distancing; we see many media posts that show that many of our infections are due to community spread. It is hard to believe El Pasoans want to protect one another when we keep putting those who are so high risk in harm's way. Anytime my grandparents leave home, I pray that the precautions we’ve taken will be enough.
After recovering from her surgery, my grandmother, who became a citizen shortly after she was married, stood in line three hours in 90-degree heat to vote early, ahead of Election Day on Nov. 3. She is extremely unhappy with the direction the country is going. She said she wanted to do her part to vote President Trump out of office.
I felt her love for us as she made that sacrifice; waiting for hours to voice her wish for change. In a world of uncertainty, I know for sure that my grandparents are the strongest people I have ever met.
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Consuelo Martinez is a multimedia journalism student at the University of Texas at El Paso with a passion for photography. She will graduate in December 2021.