Love,

The Third Time Around

Me and Papa

By

Lynda Doyle-Rodriguez

 Reflections:JAVIER

Mi Amigo, Mi Esposo, Mi Amor;

 My Friend, My husband, My Love;

             In January 1991, thirteen years ago, while trying to bring a wrongful death suit against the orchards for his death, I found out that Javier was still married in Mexico. He had left his country fifteen years before, but being Catholic, he never divorced. His marriage in Mexico voided our union in my country, leaving me, no longer his wife, with no legal standing, I had no right to his name, no legal right to file a  wrongful death suit, I was no longer, Lynda Doyle-Hernandez. I was heartbroken and feeling very betrayed.  Like I had done when he died, I boxed-up our life together and stored it away, letting go of the past, I put this manuscript away. Today, I am almost sixty years old, sick and feeling that my time left on this earth may be short; I dug out this manuscript and put it back together. Like Javier had wanted me to, I tried to move forward with my life. After seven years of loving the man, but not the alcohol, we separated in August of 2000; I decided that he too, was already married, married to his bottle.  In his own way, Andres loves me and we have remained friends, I just could not compete with his bottle.

            While putting this manuscript back together, I had to relive those painful

memories of the past.  I discovered that even after all these years, I have never come

to grips with his death.  Physically, I may have boxed-up our life and stored it away,

But in my mind, in my heart and in my soul, Javier’s ghost lingers still……………..

            Fifteen years ago, pesticides were not an issue for the general public.  Pesticide

poison was only an issue to farm-workers, ‘they,’ were the only ones drying from it;

I feel that in today’s world, all that has changed.

            We have, organic farms, organic fruits, organic vegetables, and bottled water;

There must be a reason that those who can afford it, even those of us who can’t, prefer

our vegetables, our fruits grown without pesticides; we prefer our milk and our meats

from grain fed cattle; society now understands the danger associated with pesticides.

            When allowed in our food supply and our drinking water, these chemicals have

been linked to cancer, heart disease, respiratory and lung disease, and a host of other

health problems.

            Pesticides are no longer the problem for a few, ‘migrant workers,’ they have

become a problem for society as a whole.  From the men and women who pick the

crops, harvesting the fruits and vegetables on America’s farms and orchards, to those

of us, like you and me, who put fruit on our cereal and vegetables on our tables.

            This book is about, the pesticides that caused Javier’s sickness and his death;

It is about those employers whom did not feel it necessary to provide a safe working

environment and it is about the man himself

            But most importantly, this manuscript is a love story.  It is a storybook romance,

It is, ‘his story,’ it is, ‘my story,’ it is, ‘our story; it is the story of how two people, from

different backgrounds, two very different lifestyles, two different races, met, became

friends and fell in love.

            “Love, The Third Time Around, Me and Papa” is the story of our short life

together as husband and wife; it is the story about how sickness then death, robbed

Javier and Lynda of a future.

            Javier was a good man, always putting the needs of others before his own.

Javier was an honest man, he never cheated anyone out of anything, though, he was

cheated many times by others, thoughts of revenge never crossed his mind; if it wasn’t

his, if he didn’t work for it, he didn’t want it.

            This Mexican/Indian husband of mine had a very simple view of life; he gave

new meaning to God’s commandment of, ‘love thy neighbor as thy self,’ following

the golden rule, ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’

            After our marriage, we went out to the camp to collect the rest of his belongings.

Most of his good stuff that he had not taken with him were gone; his good Spanish tapes,

A brown western belt with its silver buckle of a cowboy roping a steer, two of his best

western shirts with pearl snaps on the cuffs and down the front.

            I became very angry over this wrong committed against him, “It’s okay mama,’

He said, “Dios saber,” (God knows), In His own time and in His own way, God would

make right whatever wrong had been done to him.

            “But papa, those were your things!” I protested, “You need to say something, you

need to get them back, no one had the right to take them!”  He pulled me into his arms,

“Its okay mi amor, (my love), whatever has been taken from me, God will take from

those who took from me.  It is not my job to pay back, it is God’s job.”

            His dark brown eyes were filled with pain; he was hurt to think that those he had

once considered his friends would steal from him.  “Mucho dolor mi corazon,”

(A lot of pain in my heart), “But its okay, if they need it more then me, they can have it.

“I don’t need it, I have you.”

            Javier gathered up whatever stuff he had left and we left the camp.  That is the

kind of man he was.

            When I married Javier on May 2, 1989, I did not marry for wealth or material

things of value.  Javier could not have given me any of those things.  I was looking for

more then material possessions, I was searching for love; something I had felt cheated

out of during the course of my life.

            In a lonely man, a poor man by the world’s standards, a man who made his

living by following the crops, my heart found the love it had been seeking.  Our short

life together was a storybook romance. Javier was, mi amigo, mi esposo, y mi amor;

(My friend, my husband and my love).

            Javier’s love tore down the walls I had built around my heart; his love took

away the anger and knocked the chip off my shoulder that I had carried for so long.

            When I married Javier on May 2, 1989, I did not marry for wealth and things of

material value.  Javier could not have given me any of those things.  No, when I married

mi amigo, and mi amor, (my friend and my love), I had been searching for something

much more valuable then material wealth, I had been searching for love.

            In a lonely and poor man, my heart found what it had been seeking, it found

love, something I felt I had been cheated out of during the course of my life.  Javier

taught me to open my heart, to trust again without the fear of being hurt, and by

refusing to sleep with me until he had placed that gold band on my finger, he taught

me to value my self worth.

            Javier carried within his heart and within his spirit a goodness that has forever

changed my life for the better.  I feel blessed to have been chosen by God, to have

shared the last few months of his life.  And I would not have missed that for all the

world and its wealth.  If I could go back in time, I would marry him all over again.

            Within those short eight months of marriage, Javier gave me his most prized

possession, he gave to me that, which can never be measured by the worlds standards;

He gave me, himself.

            Javier had no family in this country, like me, his memories were full of pain

and sadness.  When we first met in February of 1989, his life consisted of hard work followed by weekends of hard drinking.

            The alcohol of his choice was, ‘Budweiser beer,’ yet no matter how much he

would drink, he never became mean or nasty, Javier controlled the beer, he did not

let the beer control him.

            As our friendship deepened, slowly giving way to romance, then into love,

Javier found the courage to let go of the sadness of his past, and to let go of the beer.

            As we stood before our friends and my son, on that second day of May, 1989,

making our commitment to each other, Javier became a changed man, the sadness

of past memories was forgotten, he was happy to be alive, and laughter danced again

those dark Spanish eyes.

DOCUMENTING THE SICKNESS;

August 1989;

While Javier, my sister Carol and I, were picking tomatoes in the field in Martinsburg,

West VA.  Javier grabbed his chest, I rushed him to, Martinsburg City Hospital.

Diagnosis; Heart Attack:

August 22, 1989;

Follow up exam;

Diagnosis:  Coronary Heart Disease; Cardiovascular Disease;

Pulmonary Function Test / Results of chest x-rays,

Martinsburg City Hospital

Diagnosis;

Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease;

Result of; Pesticide exposure

Consistent with Symptoms; Clubbing of the nail beds of his fingernails;

Loose sounding but unproductive cough.

September 1989;

Javier collapsed in the orchard, St. Thomas, PA. Rushed to;

Chambersburg Hospital, Chambersburg PA.

Diagnosis: Coronary Heat Disease/ Pulmonary Cardiovascular Disease;

Unknown Bacterial Infection;

Note; Javier spent thirty days in Chambersburg Hospital, his doctors there

felt he needed a heart specialist, and when they could not find the source

of the bacterial infection, he was transferred to Hershey, PA.

October 1989; The Milton S. Hershey Medical Center, Hershey, PA.

Diagnosis:  Coronary Heart Disease/ Chronic Pulmonary Disease;

Bacterial infection; Diagnosis; Scarcoidosis.

Note; Left untreated scaroidosis forms bacterial infection, this infection

ate away at the Aorta Valve of Javier’s heart, the valve needed to be replaced.

October 1989; The Operation;

The operation to replace the Aorta Valve took 12 hours, it was a success,

He spent 10 days in ICU (intensive care unit), in the middle of October,

his kidneys failed, he was put on dialysis..

November 1989;

Milton S. Hershey Medical Center; Javier had a stroke;

Diagnosis:

Mild stroke, but it left Javier partially paralyzed on his right side, unable

to bathe, feed himself, dress himself, he would need rehabilitation.

December 1, 1989;

Chambersburg Hospital had an excellent Rehabilitation Program;

Javier was transferred back to Chambersburg; we were going home,

Almost.

December 2, 1989;

Javier was admitted to the rehab program, he was doing well, learning

to feed himself, to walk again, to bathe and do everyday tasks.  Both

of us were excited and happy, we thought for sure that he’d be home

for Christmas.

December 11, 1989:

While in Rehab, Javier had another crisis, without warning his blood

pressure dropped too low no matter how hard the doctors tried, Javier

died.

Autopsy Report;

Cause of death; Cardiac Failure/ Secondary to Hem pericardium and

Cardiac Tamponada; related to Chronic Congestive Heart Failure/ Congestive

Changes in the lungs.

Documenting The Reason Behind The Sickness;

UNSAFE WORKING ENVIRONMENTS;

Spring 1988; Martinsburg, West VA.

While working for the same employer, (I have chosen not to reveal the name of the employers involved); he was employed by when we first met, Javier rode the back of a tractor, spraying the apple trees with pesticides.  He wore no protective clothing, no gloves, not even a simple mask that would have protected his lungs.

April 1989; Winchester, VA.

Javier, along with a crew of men, pruned trees while pesticides were being sprayed

in the same block of trees where the men were working; Again, the same story, none

of the men were wearing protective clothing.  The air was thick with the spray, some

of the men were getting sick, vomiting; they did not want to continue working.

But were told, ‘if they didn’t keep working, they would not have employment.’

Under the threat of being fired, they kept working.

June 1989; Charles Town, W.VA;

While planting tomatoes, Javier and the others drank the water from the same

hose being used to irrigate the tomatoes.

It was a hot day and there was not water provided in the field, No one had warned

them that the water in the hose was filled with pesticides; they didn’t know until

the end of the day, when the employer found the men had been drinking the water

from the hose, his wife gave them, milk to drink; the employer said, “Its okay, don’t

worry you’ll be all right.” But my husband wasn’t, ‘all right,’ he died.

‘The Migrant Worker’

This poem is dedicated to the memory of;

Javier Ramirez Hernandez;

December 11, 1989;

Para tu mi amor, Para tu;

For you my love, for you;

‘Mi Amigo, Mi Espouso, Mi Amor;

My friend, My husband, My Love;

The Migrant Worker

From field to field he wanders,

From camp to camp he roams..

Never knowing a place to call..

Home…………………………

From the orange groves of …...

Sunny California to hot sand…

Beneath Florida grapefruit……

Trees…………………………..

From field to field he wanders..

From camp to camp he roams...

Never knowing a place to call...

Home………………………….

From sandy Florida to the…….

Tobacco fields of the Carolina’s

From sizzling heat of Southern..

Sun’s…………………………..

To frigid cold of Northern hills

The migrant worker…………..

‘The Migrant Worker’

From the Carolina’s to the apple

Orchards of West Virginia……..

Virginia and Pennsylvania……..

The migrant worker…………...

From field to field he wanders...

From camp to camp he roams…

Never knowing a place to call...

Home…………………………..

His labor is hard, his pay is low

His housing shameful an unfit...

The migrant worker…………...

Looking across the farms and…

Fields of this great country, you

Will see them there, planting and

Picking, harvesting the crops …

Climbing the trees, the migrant

Worker, breathing in dust and...

Sprays, pesticides that one-day..

Will take his life………………

At the age of 49 his work is…..

Done, his labor finished; he….

Has no more borders to cross...

No more fields to harvest….…

As friends and family lower….

His body into a pauper’s……..

Grave, will the world care that,

Pesticides took his life………

Only a few baskets of flowers

Litter his grave, he was not a,

King or a man of wealth, only

A migrant worker…………...

Whose life ended too soon….

‘The Migrant Worker’

From field to field he wanders,

From camp to camp he roams..

Never knowing a place to call,

Home………………………....

When the harvest is finished…

The season is done, he moves..

On; the migrant worker, from..

Field to field he wanders…….

From camp to camp he roams

Searching for better crops…...

Higher pay, decent housing…

The migrant worker…………

From field to field he wanders

From camp to camp he roams,

Searching out the elusive……

American Dream…………….

From field to field he wanders

From camp to camp he roams,

Never knowing a place to call,

Home………………………...

‘Love The Third Time Around,’

Me and Papi

By

Lynda Doyle-Rodriguez

Chapter 1

The Beginning:

            Lynn had been married twice, divorced twice, and she had been left broken

hearted by both relationships.  She had invested thirteen years in her first marriage to

Charles the father of her four children, two girls and two boys.  And in the end, all those

years had been wasted, just to have him turn his back on them.  Leaving Lynn and their

four children standing on the front porch of their home in Augusta, West Virginia, in

1975, crying after him as he walked away.

            After two years of being alone, Lynn thought she’d try it again; what she didn’t

know was that this, ‘mamma’s country boy,’ didn’t know anything and couldn’t do

anything and didn’t want to learn anything.  if Lynn had taken the blinders from her

eyes, she would have seen the relationship for what it was, not as she had wanted it to

be; but she either didn’t see it, or didn’t want to see it.  It was one of the worst mistakes

Lynn had ever made in her life.

            Whatever jobs he did work where few and only for his own spending money.

Lynn worked hard providing for her children, like rent, electric, food, transportation

And whatever else it took, their father never helped and country boy had just come

along for the ride; why Lynn had put up with it for seven long years was a question

she had no answer for.

            During those years Lynn tried to improve her education by going to college.

The end came when Lynn found out that he had abused her children.  He had a shotgun

in the closet, one night as he lay sleeping, Lynn took the shotgun down from the shelf,

as he lay sleeping, Lynn was tempted to shatter whatever brain cells he had across the

room; instead she grabbed her children and ran, leaving him with everything she had

worked for; but the safety of her children was more important than the material

possessions she left behind.

            It had taken years for her to rebuild her life, but now that children were grown,

the two girls with families of their own, and Charles her oldest son was busy making

his own way in the world; Shawn her youngest was the only child still with her.  It was

1989 and Lynn was busy too, trying to make the most out of the sour grapes life had

handed her.

            Her sister Carol was talking about, ‘love,’ and how Lynn needed to, ‘find it,’

again; how Lynn needed, ‘a man in her life,’ to make her feel wanted and needed.

            “Yeah right,” Lynn laughed, “I don’t need a man to make me complete and

whole, I’m doing just fine thank you.”

“One-day,” Carol said,” Love will come around for the third time,” she prophesied.

“When hell freezes over dear sister,” Lynn said, “When hell freezes over.”

            Carol was good at that, at making predictions, and it was uncanny how at times,

her sister’s words had a way of ringing true.  But not this time, this was one prophecy

that would never come to pass. 

            If it was the last thing Lynn needed or wanted, it was a man in her life.

Lynn and Shawn were doing just fine; she didn’t need or want any man coming along

messing with her head, to stir up her emotions, to fool around with her heart, then

stomp on it and render it into shreds.  And when the relationship was over, leaving

Lynn to pick up the broken and fragmented pieces

            It had been five years since her divorce from, ‘country boy,’ and angry over

the way life had treated her; Lynn vowed that she would never again be used, mistreated

and betrayed; she vowed never again to give away her heart only to have it torn into

shreds, and allow herself to be tossed aside like an old shoe that didn’t fit anymore.

            Brick by brick, Lynn had learned to erect walls around her heart and around her

emotions; and within those years of loneliness Lynn never let anyone come close enough

to touch the walls she had built around her heart, let alone tear them down.

            Lynn had been working to provide a home for herself and her son, but just three

years into her new life, fate threw her another curve, she became disabled.  It almost

killed Lynn when she had to stop working.

            “Neuropathy from diabetes,” the doctor had explained, “Neuropathy is nerve

damage, it’s in your feet and legs.”

“What happens now?” Lynn asked, “What can be done to fix the damage?”

Doctor Life shook his head, knowing Lynn did not understand, he tried to explain it

to her.

            “There is nothing we can do,” he said, “Your nerve endings are dead,

They are frayed like electric wires, only electric wires can be taped, nerve endings

cannot, I’m sorry but your prognosis for recovery is zero.”  Lynn still didn’t

understand.  She had one more question for doctor life;

“Prognosis for recovery is zero, what does this mean doctor?  What are you telling

me?”

            “Eventually,” he said,” I’d say within the next five years, once you lose all

the feeling in your limbs, you could end up facing the rest of your life in a wheel

chair, I’m sorry.”

  &nb