Loss

My school family suffered traumatic loss yesterday when one of our children, Luis, passed away.

Nine year-old Luis, or as we called him, Junior was sunshine, pure and unfiltered.

He was born in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico to a young couple with few means. Junior had special needs that could not be addressed in his hometown, so his parents dropped everything in their lives and came to America in search of help for their son. They had nothing, but were willing to work beyond hard to give their son a chance. They left every friend and family member they knew.

As fate had it when they were about to give up all hope, they found an apartment in the community around my elementary school. As I recall, Junior's father had a job near Bristol and traveled back to Roanoke as often as he could to be with his wife, daughters, and son. I've never in all my years of teaching seen parental love demonstrated in such a determined and personal way.

The first time I met Junior was when I volunteered for a delivery detail. Since Junior's parents had absolutely nothing in their apartment- not even a single chair, our school principal, herself a Cuban refugee, organized a furniture donation drive. We loaded up several pickups of furniture and necessities donated by teachers and the school community. I'll never forget the mother crying with tears of appreciation as we brought in diapers, food, tables, chairs, and beds. Staring at their empty apartment, I came face to face with the stark reality of true poverty. Yet despite the poverty, Junior's family was rich in more important ways.

I'm told that when Junior passed away last night in his father's arms, his dad could not bare to let him go.

To the Ramos family, I lift you up in prayer. To the readers of this blog, thank you for listening. I felt a strong need to tell the small part that I know of his tale.