The Hidden Saints Among Us

“Many men and women – whose names we do not know – honor our people, honor our Church because they are strong in carrying forward their lives, their work, their family, their faith – these our brothers and sisters are saints! Everyday saints! Hidden saints among us!” Pope Francis in his Audience: The gift of fortitude, May 14, 2014

Today, my stepfather would have celebrated his 97th birthday. He came into my life when I was just five years old. Two years later, I left my birth country with him and my mother. My father stayed behind, and I did not see him for twenty-five years. When we first arrived in Spain, I would call my stepfather by his name. One day, I was running up the stairs in the building where we lived, calling out: “Ramón, Ramón.” A neighbor heard me, and she said: “In this country, we call our fathers ‘Padre’ or ‘Papá.’ We do not call them by their name.” I did not know how to answer her. My mother had warned me not to tell anyone that he was not my real father. Therefore, when I finally reached our apartment, I asked her: “Do you think Ramón would mind if I started calling him ‘Papá’?” She said, “Why don’t you ask him?” I went up to him, told him what happened with the neighbor, and I asked him if I could start calling him “Papá.” He answered me, with tears in his eyes, “Of course, you can call me ‘Papá,’ but never forget that you have a real ‘Papá’ in Cuba.” His answer showed me that this humble man had a heart of gold, even though at the age of eight when I had this conversation with him, I didn’t fully grasp it.

Even though I missed my own father tremendously, my stepfather always made me feel like I was his daughter. He simply lived for my mother and me. Everything that he did was for us. He always put us first. He was a hard worker. He was a man of incredible faith. We never missed a Sunday mass. My mother and he never had other children, so I was his princess. However, he did not spoil me. He was actually very strict, and to this day, I am grateful for it because I am the woman that I am today because he showed me discipline in a loving way. He never raised his voice nor hit me, but if I did something wrong, he punished me. I’ll never forget a birthday party that I was looking forward to attending, but I got a bad grade at school. I was not allowed to go to that birthday party. It taught me that every action has a consequence, and I made sure to study harder next time so I would get a good grade.

I am sure everyone can think of someone in their lives that is a hidden saint. They will never be recognized by the Church. They probably don’t have any big miracles credited to them. But they lived their lives with humility, sacrifice, and without ever expecting a reward. My “papi” (that is how I always referred to him) was one of those hidden saints. I always admired the fact that he never ate meat on Fridays. One day I asked him why he did that, after all, the Church only required this sacrifice during Lent. He told me that he had been blessed to have been able to leave Cuba, but many people, including three of his four siblings, were still there suffering hunger and misery. He told me that he would not eat meat on Fridays as a sacrifice for them.

He was very strict about not wasting food. I was a very picky eater, and he would get very upset at me if I did not clean my plate. I was not allowed to leave not even a grain of rice on my plate. He would tell me that the children in Cuba or in China would give anything for a plate of rice. When I became a snarky teenager, I recall one time when he told me that, and I replied: “Why don’t you just send it to them? My eating it is not going to take away their hunger.” I will never forget how mad he got. After that, I never answered back. He taught me how important it was to help those in need. To this day, I have a hard time leaving food on my plate. If I go to a restaurant and I can’t finish eating the big portion they served me, I request a take-out container. Yes, we eat a lot of leftovers.

He also taught me the importance of hard work. Even though he had not been able to attend university, he learned English, giving him an advantage when we moved to the United States from Spain. He always worked in banking, and he was always the last person to leave the bank. He was so responsible that I don’t recall him ever taking a day off, except for his 2-week vacation.

He was always the person that would give a helping hand to anyone who needed it, and he did it humbly without expecting any recognition. But I was always watching, and he taught me more by his actions than by his words. When my father was finally able to leave Cuba, I was 33 years old, married, and with three kids. All of a sudden, I had two dads, the one whose blood was running through my veins but who was practically a stranger to me, and the one who had raised me. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I was not sure how they would feel with each other. Should I invite them both to our family gatherings? My “papi” made it very easy for me. He told me: “Remember that this is your father. I only stepped into his shoes for a little while. But he is here now, and you need to allow him to be part of your life, to get to know your children because he is their grandfather.” With those words, he removed all my worries. I was able to include them both in all our gatherings without feeling like I had to choose. And my “papi” always made sure that my father felt like he was an important part of our family.

My “papi” left us nine years ago. His last three years were very difficult. He almost lost a leg, and when we told him that they might need to amputate, his response was: “I am so sorry for you.” Even during his illness, he was not thinking of himself, he was thinking of us and not becoming a burden to us. Thankfully, the doctors were able to save his leg, but then an aggressive cancer would take him from us. And yet, even in his pain, he never complained. His only concern was that he was leaving my mother, the wife that he adored with all his heart, alone. But I promised him that she would not be alone, that she would always have me.

He taught me how to die with incredible dignity and surrendering it all to God. I know that he is in a very special place in heaven. I was very blessed that I had a saint here on earth taking care of me, protecting me, and teaching me what was right and what was wrong. I always have a special place in my heart for him, and when I pray to the saints for their intercession, I pray to him too because I know that he is looking out for my children, his grandchildren, and for the two great-grandchildren that he never got to meet in person. The youngest bears his name, Ramón, and I will always make sure to talk to him and his older brother about the saint great-grandfather that they have in heaven.

Happy birthday in heaven, Papi, and please, pray for us.