Becky Reyes: Blog

This week's newsletter: Farewell, Rebecca Gaytán Reyes. We'll always love you...

Hello everyone,

We brought mom home to live with us on Friday, October 22. Scott and I cared for her until she passed peacefully at 8:15 on Friday morning, November 5.

The first couple of days were extremely difficult for her as she and my dad are fiercely independent. She kept thinking she was in the way and apologized profusely for interrupting our lives. It took a bit of convincing, but she finally understood that we were overjoyed to have her with us.

This beautiful woman was born in 1926 in Culiacán, Sinaloa, México, to a rancher who settled in Douglas, Arizona and bought a store right on the border in the 1930's (Gaytán’s store is still the first thing you see when you come in to Douglas from Agua Prieta, Sonora). Early in her life, she took over as the bookkeeper for the store and, as her interest in the family business waned, she eventually went to work for Bledsoe-Mauzy Motors in Douglas.

She met my dad in 1954, who told her that he probably wouldn't live into his 30's as he had already survived 2 bouts with Hodgkin's Disease and was told by his doctors that he "wouldn't live to be an old man". Mom went home and studied her brother's (Dr. Jorge Gaytán) medical books and decided that she didn't care. She went to dad and said they'd go through it together and that he'd never be alone, stating simply "I'll take whatever time the good Lord gives us together".


Becky Gaytán and Gilbert Reyes tied the knot on Friday, February 11, 1955, against the wishes of their families (after all, she WAS marrying a man who was DYING). She married my dad in a brown linen business suit with brown alligator pumps (dad obliged by wearing a brown suit as well), and they moved to Los Angeles, California to start their new life together and where dad could be near the VA hospital should any illness recur. She pushed my dad to finish college and he became a civil engineer for Los Angeles County. Mom and dad were together 56 years and married for 55. They had three children, I was born in 1958, my brother Tom was born in 1962 and my brother Joe was born in 1967.

In the 1980's, and in her mid-50's, she had burned-out keeping books for various lumber companies and wished for a change. My dad convinced her to go back to school and get her real estate license. Off came the make-up, high-heels and poufy hair. On came the sensible shoes, business suits and her real-estate pin. She made her way through Los Angeles, at times even braving the roughest neighborhoods to sell a house. Then came the kudos from the Board of Realtors and this woman eventually became a regional chairman (22) for the Los Angeles Board of Realtors.

In 1996, I came to live in Arizona primarily to help take care of my dad's mom, Nana. I moved to Bisbee where I met and married Scott and we had a child together. Mom decided it was time to retire and she and my dad (who had retired from the county in 1985) moved to Arizona to be with us. She and my dad helped me raise my son, Gil. They lived together in the house in which my dad was raised.

Some time, last year, mom started to complain about the pain in her back and feet. Mom broke both her ankles in the early 1960's (she was holding my brother Tom in her arms and she fell on some stairs - saved the baby but broke her ankles), and she suffered from damaged discs in her back in the late 1960's. Rather that be "all hopped up on drugs", she chose to endure the pain until it got to the point where she could no longer care for herself. Dad cared for her diligently and as best he could (she was very stubborn) until the last weeks of October of this year. We took over, and by that time, she was just a shell of her former self.

On Friday morning, November 5, I sensed that she would slip away soon, so I opened the curtains at 7:30am and sang Las Mañanitas to her. It took a bit of effort on my part because I could feel the emotion and tears welling up, but I heard her voice so clearly in my mind, "Don't give up now! C'mon, you've got to finish my song!" And so I finished singing Las Mañanitas to her, with a little chuckle at the end and lots of kisses on her forehead. She died 45 minutes later with the words, "We love you mama" ringing in her ears. She was 84 years old.

We buried her on Monday, per her request. She was not embalmed (she just KNEW that somewhere in our lineage, there's Jewish blood and she wanted to honor that), and the rite was carried out without pomp and circumstance. Mom was not like that. She like to keep things simple and practical. Only family and a few of my dad's buddies were in attendance. We'll be getting together, though, in February right after her birthday, and the whole family will come down and we'll celebrate her incredible life.

I want to thank you so much for all your support during this time. It meant a lot to me to hear from you. It's what kept me strong. I tried to answer all your e-mails, truly, it's what kept me strong (I had to say it again). I also want you to know that Scott was a trooper during the time we had her here. He took the lead in her care, and at the end, when she finally relented to morphine, it was his name that she called out for comfort, "Scott, I'm hurting". We had the most amazing hospice service come to our aid and they were with us from beginning to end. We are so grateful to her "doc", Angel Schroedl, CNP (and her staff) and Hospice Casa de la Paz. We would not have been able to care for mom the way we did if it were not for the amazing people involved there.

Thank you once more.