Peace for Papi: Life after Tragedy

Peace for Papi: Life after Tragedy

Sandra Leon

03/08/2022

Living in Miami hasn't always been the greatest. This is where my family became victims of gun violence. Everyone who did not know me pictured me as this dark curly haired ten year old girl who always played with Barbies at resseus(respell), or the girl who knew all the hand games. All my classmates would circle around my twin sister and I almost everyday. “Play Ms.Sue!!” They’ll yell. Rolling my eyes with a slight smirk on my face, I grabbed my sister’s hand and start chanting,
“Ms.Sue, Ms.Sue, Her real name’s Suzanna She lives in Alabama sitting in her rocking chair and eating baby crackers watching that clock, go tick tock , tick tock chihuahua tick tock tick tock chihuahua.. ABCDEFG wash those boy germs off of me! First one to talk is a black eyed bee!” Smiling and out of breath we posed back to back with our arms crossed waiting for the reaction of our peers. My twin sister and I loved the attention.
I remember one specific Friday in April of 2010, my twin Alexsandra and I would always walk home from school with our younger sister Jesenia who was in kindergarden at the time. Nothing seemed different; we got home like any other day to the smell of Fabuloso and bleach. My mom was cleaning like she always did. Cleaning was and is my mom’s way of dealing with stress and i didnt realize that until I got older. My mom is a great mom. “Wash your hands eat and take a bath,” my mom yelled from her bathroom to us in the living room. Everyday after school, we had a routine. It was the same thing Monday-Friday: Wash your hands, snack, bathe, homework, dinner, bedtime. Our apartment wasn't that big; however, it was perfect for our family of 6 which consisted of My dad, who was a veteren(spelling) at the time, my mom and three younger siblings. Everyday after our bath, Tiana who was two at the time and the youngest of us all wanted to play.
(fix)My dad would usually be playing video games in the living room when we would get home. As soon as we are done with our baths, I would sit with him and watch him play . “Hey mama , scratch my back,” he would suggest. My father always wanted us to scratch his back, I think it was mostly because his mother would do it all the time for him when he was a kid. I guess having his back scratched was his comfort zone , his way of feeling secure with his kids and wife. I loved it, but I always tried to get something out of the situation. I mean as a child who wouldn’t? He does something for me, I do something for him you know ? I would look at him and say “What’s in it for me ?” He would just laugh and say, “ I’ll get you a chocolate bar.” “Deal!” I would then scratch his back for about 30 mins as I watched him play, and ask him about different strategies he can use to win and then go about my business.
At around 8 pm we ate as a family, like always. But this time my parents had dress clothes on. I asked “Where are you guys going?”
“We’re going out, so you know the rules. Do not open the door for anybody, call if anything and make sure Jessi and Tiana are good,” my mom responded. This was nothing new, because almost every weekend my parents went out. My sister Alex and I were always happy to know they were going out because we could stay up as long as we wanted! We would play music super loud, dance, and eat snacks late at night because mom wasn't around to bother us or tell us to go to bed. It was some of our best moments, if i am being honest.
Something felt off about this night though. I specifically remember calling my parents because I found some ants in my room. I had a phobia of ants as a child. My dad came home and vacuumed up the ants , and then was in a rush to leave. I tried to ask him what time he was coming home but he stormed off as he seemed pretty upset as he was on the phone with someone. I could not have known this could have possibly been the last time I saw or spoke to my father. I could not have known this was the last time I saw the way my father walked straight and tall. I could not have known this was the last time I could have heard him talk with a serious tone, or spoke to us with so much love and care no matter what . My father was the type of man who was very serious but had a soft spot for his children . He kissed me on the head before he left as he was speaking on the phone , I yelled “I love you papi ,” as he walked right out the door .
Usually, by the time I wake up in the morning they are always home. But this wasn't like any other weekend. My parents were not home when I woke up in the morning. I called them about 30 times with no answer. What could they possibly be doing, I thought. Being home alone, scard, and nobody else to call. I grabbed all three of my siblings and we walked outside to the humidity in Miami weather we were used to it. I found my neighbors and let them know what's going on . Maybe they could help, I thought. My neighbors tried doing exactly what I did which was call. No answers. Realizing they weren't doing anything different I went back up to my apartment and fed my siblings because they were hungry. Being the oldest, I felt like I had to help my siblings, because my mom left me in charge. If anything happened to my parents I was prepared to take care of them. Honestly being the oldest sibling, I always felt this type of responsibility for my sisters . I felt like I was a second mom . Even though my mom was around a lot , she was working , and doing house things . My sisters deserved so much and we gave them everything they deserved. I believe since I was the oldest I only had myself to look up to, however these girls had me to look up to. Even at 10 years old, I always had this idea that ‘this is your responsibility to help them , carry them , be there for them’
As the morning continued, I baked these Easter cookies from the fridge and tried to feed these children. I did not know what I was doing cooking cookies at 10 am for a 10 year old, 6 year old and a 2 year old. They did come out pretty decent and it satisfied my siblings. I mean it was sugar. At around 1 pm ,my mom walked through the door with Mcdonalds and looked a mess. She still had her black short dress from the night before on which looked dirty. Her long beautiful light brown pony tail was now a mess of baby hairs sticking out in all directions . She kicked her heels off and sighed heavily. We all just stared at her until I finally said “Where’s Papi?” She replies with a weak and defeated tone. “Come into my room Alex and Sandra.” I knew from the sound of her voice this wasn't good, ethier my dad is in trouble or he's just at his friends house. At this time I knew my father had many friends , but when he was gone like this it usually resulted in him coming back home with his face all bruised up, or agruing with my mom over something stupid he had done . However, this time I could feel the tension as I crawled onto my parents bed thinking what could've happened. My mom stared at us blankly for a few seconds until she finally said, “Papi got hurt; someone hurt him. The man got a gun and shot Papi in the head.”
We gasped. What the hell is she talking about? “Is he alive?” my sister asks as I bit my lip and try so hard to fight back my tears. My mother continued, “He is alive but he's sleeping right now. They don't know when papi is gonna wake up and if he wakes up he will be like a little brother. He won't be the same anymore.” my mom tried to explain to us the severity but not trying to scare us. But I was scared, I really was. I didn't want to lose my dad. The only thoughts I had was who gave this stranger a gun and why did he do this to my dad.
After 12 years of reflection, I have a better understanding of what really happened and why this stranger did this to my father. This stranger was not a stranger to my father. This stranger was a 6’1 black man who was a rival gang member. A week before my father’s tragic incident, this man and my father had an altercation at a latin club. Mind you, my father is what we call in Goulds a “chico”, due to his mixed race because of his black father and Hispanic mother. Living in the hood was not easy for my dad. His whole entire life he had to deal with not being white enough for the white kids and not being black enough for the black kids . This caused him to get into gangs at a very young age. Not only was he just around it, but it was like he couldn’t escape the inevitable. His uncles were gang members, his father a gang member, and it was all around him . My father is 5’9 and at the time of his tragic incident he had recently gotten discharged from the army so he was a big guy. The altercation not only involved lots of cursing but ended with my dad knocking the guy out. Wanting revenge, the man showed up with a grey hoodie and sweatpants to the Latin club again the next week, knowing that my father was a regular at that club on Friday nights. My dad was not a part of this gang he was “protecting” but he was affiliated with them. The man told some of the gang members to retrieve my father who was inside the club with my mother. My father came outside to see what all the fuss was about and as he did, the man pulled out a 22 .
Shocked, my father threw his hands up in the air and said, “Yo, we can talk about this man … It doesn't gotta be like this.” Falling onto his knees, he tries to plead with the guy as he looked at his friends and wife on the side lines staring. It was like one of those slow motion scenes in movies where you can hear everyone’s heart beating loudly awaiting the tragic event. “I don’t care bro. You disrespected me,” as he pulled the gun up to my dad’s face . “COME ON BRO! I GOT KIDS MAN!” my father yelled, trying to get through to disarm the man. The man looked at him with no mercy and pulled the trigger . The millisecond it took for that man to pull the trigger my dad’s best friend A.D lunged and pushed the man's hand into a position where instead of the bullet hitting my father in the middle of the head , it shot him in the left temple. This is what saved my father’s life . If it wasn’t for A.D, my dad wouldn’t be here . As soon as that happens my father falls onto the street, and a shootout begins . Everyone pulls out their guns and starts shooting , “BOOM BOOM BOOM!” Fills the air . My mom was nearly deaf from all the gunshots, but all she thought about was she needed to get my husband out of there. She got one of the gang members to cover her as she dragged my dad inside the building . The man covering my mother got shot in the leg, but continues to cover her, it was like war. The man who shot my dad finally runs off after he got shot in the stomach and the leg. My mom calls 911 as a friend of my dad’s, who was a military doctor, patched the hole that he’s bleeding out of and gave my father CPR . The ambulance never made it to the club so my mom had to drive him to the hospital herself.
When My father and mother arrived at the hospital the doctor tried to revive him because his heart stopped beating. After 17 minutes of long effort the doctors were finally able to get his heart beat back. However he was in a coma for 2 weeks. The doctors had to wait for the bullet to stop traveling in his head before he could get surgery . Finally he received 3 surgeries and woke up. He had to stay in the hospital for 3 months ,where he learned how to walk again, and talk again. In transition to the grueling physical therapy the doctors had to teach him basic everyday activities such as brushing his teeth, going grocery shopping, and how to read and write. My father experienced short term memory loss and couldn’t remember his youngest daughters Jessi and Tiana. When he was told those were also his children he said “they are beautiful” as he hugged them and cried . He is also now deaf without an eardrum in his left ear .
All because he decided to walk down the wrong path, he woke up a different man. The man that he always wanted to be. Like I mentioned earlier my father was a very serious man, and to be honest, he still is . When he woke up , he woke up with the urge to change and live a better life for all of us . Now, my father was able to get loose and tell jokes. Before his shooting he seemed trapped in his own head but now he is free.
My mom told us this story when I was 13 years old , I realized how strong my father was and God kept him in our life for a reason. We needed our father, and he is still around, tickling us, giving us wet willies, and telling us how much he loves us. Occasionally he can be , super annoying but we love him for it . Not only do we see the amazing father he has become but we have also seen the aftermath of having a bullet go through his head. The bullet wound also brought on PTSD , anxiety , anger management issues, short term memory loss, depression, and random outbursts . It hasn't been easy, especially for my mother. But we learned that this is our new normal with my father . My mother explains how she had to fall in love with my father all over again. After 11 years together at that time, my mother had his chemistry down pact , as if it was her own . But now 20 years together , she explains it was so hard because relearning his flaws and relearning to love someone and having to forget who they were before was extremely difficult and heart breaking for her . However , This is our life and to be honest this was like a death; Peace For Papi.
At first seeing my father was hard because the progress he made was very, very slow . When my mom worked I took care of my father, who would have random seizures and forget our names. Honestly, this made me feel very bad. I understood that my father needed help but seeing the man who raised me, seeing the man who was always my hero, seeing the man who was always strong and never shed a tear, broken. Broke me. I had a difficult time watching him suffer more than anything. I remember one specific time when my mother was working at her job and I went outside with my friends to play. I thought my father was okay to be alone for an hour or two. I remember going back to the apartment to check on him to see him standing outside calling my sister Alex, and I name. He was looking for us. As soon as I came upstairs to see what the deal was, his hand got stiff. That was a sign of a seizure. He didn't have the kind of seizures many people picture. It was very short and silent. He would just have his hand get very stiff and he would stare into space unresponsive. “Papi?” I asked to get his attention and I was extremely worried. My little heart was beating out of my chest. “Papi!” I say louder. No response. I run straight for the fridge where my mom has big handwriting, here’s my number CALL IF ANYTHING. Although he was responsive very soon after, it was too intense for me to handle. My mom decided it was too early to go back to work. Today, I am happy that my father is in a great place. Now, my father’s seizures are gone. He has improved so much over the years. You can have a conversation with him and never know a bullet went through his head. Many people are surprised when they see how amazing he is right now. He still has multiple outbursts. He of course has moments where his anxiety is too much for him to handle, but he gets through it. He is the strongest person I know.
At 20 years old and living on my own, I have come to realize how much lives can change in a split second. As I become a girlfriend, an aunt, and a future mother I reminisce about this situation constantly and think about how this could happen to anyone i meet. This can happen to anyone I come into contact with. This can happen to anyone I love. Having gone through this situation opened my eyes as a young woman, to take life and run with it. As a woman, living in a family where things like this happen in almost every generation, we learn to be strong because we have to. We learn to be strong because we never know what may happen to our favorite people. It takes a toll on the women in my family. They always have to carry the family no matter what emotions they may be facing like being distressed, overwhelmed, heartbroken, and many many more. I have experienced very little of this but I know my mother and grandmother has had to pick themselves up no matter where they were in life. However, Nothing has been done to change the circumstances in Miami surrounding gun violence. My father is not the only person in my family to have been affected by gun violence. My grandfather was shot multiple times and was killed unfortunately. My cousin was also shot and killed. My father was the only person in my family to survive this tragic event. Personally, seeing it first hand with my father, took a great toll on my family . We would have never chosen this to be our new life. We would have never chosen this to be something we have to think about on a daily basis. We would have never chosen this to be our story. But it is. It is our truth.