Living a Nightmare

Yadira Betances

June 06, 2007 02:06 am

— NEW YORK | It is midmorning at Maria del Rosario Duran's home. Family members, friends and neighbors sit in awkward silence. The TV news plays in the background, but the sound is muted.
The quiet is broken occasionally by a heavy sigh from Duran or her sister popping her head in from the kitchen offering those waiting an espresso or a cold drink.
This is how the family of missing Army Spc. Alex Jimenez spends their day | waiting, waiting and waiting for word from Iraq that 25-year-old Alex has been found. But yesterday was no different from the previous 23 days.
Jimenez is still missing.
The soldier from Lawrence has been gone since May 12 when terrorists ambushed his Army convoy in a notorious section of Iraq known as the "Triangle of Death."
Duran allowed The Eagle-Tribune to spend the day in her home yesterday, sharing stories about her son Alex, as she, her other children and many extended family members prayed and waited for news. She wished to thank the people of Lawrence | where Alex lives | for their outpouring of support, which she says helps her get through each passing day.
By Duran's side is Alex's father, Ramon "Andy" Jimenez, who lives on Albion Street in Lawrence. As soon as he was told of his son's capture, the 53-year-old construction worker drove to New York where he has remained.
He's distraught. He cries as soon as he begins talking about his son, a rare sight among Hispanic men who are groomed to be macho and seldom show emotion.
"In my heart, I know he's fine," Andy Jimenez says, twirling a pen. "Even though I believe in God, I do get discouraged and think I'll never see him again."
Andy Jimenez stops, holding his face with his hands.
"Excuse me," he said, as he reached in his pocket to get a handkerchief and wipe the tears from his bloodshot eyes. "But those are passing thoughts because I know we're going to see him again."
'The Lord is my Shepherd'
The single-family house owned by Duran's family for the past 27 years sits on 37th Street in the Corona neighborhood in the borough of Queens. Modest houses line the street, each separated by only a few inches in land. But their true closeness is shown in the yellow ribbons that adorn most front doors, hung in hopes of Alex's return.
Outside Duran's home is an iron fence painted in white and also adorned in yellow ribbons. A large American flag flies over a bed of yellow flowers planted for Alex.
The meticulously kept house is packed with family and friends. They sit on a plastic-covered, coffee-colored couch, occasionally looking at pictures of Alex, handsome in his military uniform, standing proudly in front of an American flag.
Prayer candles are lit nearby adorned with images of St. Michael the Archangel and the Divine Infant Jesus. A small statue of Our Lady of Altagracia, the patroness of the Dominican Republic, as well as a crucifix, wooden rosary beads, a crystal vase of holy water and a few pink roses complete the makeshift altar.
Duran takes out a black folder where she keeps Alex's childhood mementos, including a picture of a proud 7-year-old in Army fatigues. There are now newspaper clippings in there of his capture, along with postcards he had sent home during his two tours in Iraq. Some of those notes are on pieces of used cardboard because he couldn't find a postcard to mail.
Tears fall as Duran begins to read one of those cards.
"To my dear family," was all she could muster before crying again. "I didn't like to read them too often because I get too emotional."
Duran has the news on the TV all day and is always checking the Internet for news about Alex. A devout Catholic, she keeps a black-and-white photograph of Alex tucked in her Bible, marking Psalm 23. It reads, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want."
"From the moment I get up, I think of him and wonder, 'My son, my son, where are you?' I can't concentrate on anything until I have information about him."
Terrorists' claims weigh heavy on family
Cell phones are constantly ringing for Duran and Andy Jimenez, callers with well wishes and questions: Is there any news?
The only news came Monday, when an Islamic militant group with ties to al-Qaida broadcast images of Alex's Army identification card and claimed he and his missing comrade were dead. The family doesn't believe it. The terrorists offered no real proof in their video.
But the news weighs heavily on their minds.
"You ask yourself so many questions that there are no answers to right now," Duran said.
The news prompted Nereyda Fernandez of Bradford to drive down Monday to visit Duran, who is her husband's aunt. She drove back to Bradford yesterday afternoon.
"I wanted to come see you, and be with you," she told Duran as they sat.
Duran then sits in the foyer with longtime friend Zunilda Santos, who was with her at the hospital during Alex's birth. During the delivery, Santos would rub Duran's stomach and get her tea.
Before Santos leaves, Duran asks her to buy bags of ice, soft drinks and cans of coffee to have ready for those attending the prayer service at the home last night.
As Santos walks away, in comes Alex's cousin Boris Fermin Duran, 34.
"I never thought this could happen," Fermin Duran said as he leaned against the wall in the foyer. "It has brought us closer together as a family, which is where we draw our strength."
Fermin Duran, who looks like a quarterback, taught Alex weight-lifting with homemade weights. It became a passion for Alex, noted in photographs taken in Iraq by The Associated Press in February.
Duran and Fernandez sit under a red tent the family has set up in the backyard. Two women join them, greeting the mother with a kiss.
Luz Elena Palacio says "hello," while Oliva Rodriguez embraces Duran and starts crying.
Rodriguez's son is in Iraq and she has not heard from him for a month.
"I wanted to see her because I admire her strength," Rodriguez said. "I want to know how she deals with her pain so I can gain strength from her."
For Alex's younger brothers, the pain is almost too much
Alex's youngest brother, Bryant, sits on the home's stoop with his friend Louis Villanueva. The 15-year-old is dressed in jean shorts and a black T-shirt, and has become quiet and reserved since the disappearance of Alex.
"We're waiting for good news," Bryant said, as he played with the straw from his juice pouch.
Bryant, a freshman at Flushing High School, has not missed one day of school since learning of his brother's kidnapping.
"I'm going because Alex used to tell me to do well in school," Bryant said, lowering his head and teary-eyed. "I don't concentrate in school. I'm sad because this is happening."
Bryant said the support of friends, family and prayers have helped him deal with Alex's disappearance, though it's hard for him to talk about it.
"It's hard when people ask me about it in school because I start thinking about him," Bryant said.
Alex's other brother, 19-year-old Andy, is not taking his disappearance well. He remains upstairs in his bedroom and rarely leaves. His family expresses deep concern.
Alex's stepbrother, Javier Jimenez, 30, stopped by the house after work, as he does daily. He talked of the terrorist video, calling it a tactic not to be taken seriously.
"This is something they are trying to do to mess with our heads," said Javier, who once lived in Lawrence and attended Greater Lawrence Technical School for one year before moving back to New York. "It's a mind game. They are trying to put fear in us because it's easier for them to do that than to let us know the final answer."
Alex's disappearance also has been tough on his grandfather, 89-year-old Agustin Duran. A picture of Agustin and Flerida, his wife of 62 years, hangs in Duran's living room. Flerida died in December.
"It's doubly painful because I lost the love of my life six months ago and now we don't know Alex's fate," said Agustin Duran.
Alex was able to come home from Iraq for two weeks to attend the wake in Corona and the burial in the Dominican Republic.
"He was a model grandson in every sense of the word," the grandfather said.
Hope perseveres
As she often does, Duran's anguish turns into a glimmer of hope.
She begins talking about plans she and Alex had made once he returned from Iraq. He was going to build a gym at Duran's home in Navarette, Dominican Republic, and an apartment so he could live with her. They also were going to the Basilica of Our Lady of Altagracia in Higuey, Dominican Republic, to give her thanks for his safe return.
Duran looks up and with tears in her eyes said that's a trip she hopes to make.
She talked about the care packages she sent Alex, which usually included Dominican salami, crackers, Chef Boyardee, sports magazines and music CDs. She holds his photo and begins to cry.
"Mi muchachito lindo," said Duran, which in English means "My beautiful boy."
Alex's father consoles himself by thinking of the welcome home party he wants to throw for his son.
"I think they're going to take me to the hospital because emotionally, it would be too overwhelming when I see him again," said Andy Jimenez, as he sat on a folding chair in the back porch.
Andy Jimenez puts his head down and smiles as he envisions seeing his son again.
"When I see him again, I'm going to hug him, kiss him and tell him how much I love him," he said. "You can't tell your children enough how much you love them."

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