After losing husband and both parents within weeks to COVID-19, suburban woman struggles with the unfathomable

A month after his 13th wedding anniversary, Saul Velazquez awoke one morning in early April with a dry cough and aching body.

Three days later, when he developed a fever, his wife, Mayra, drove him to the hospital near their home in the northwest suburbs.

Due to coronavirus safety precautions, with hospitals locked down, she was not allowed to go in with him. After watching him walk through the emergency room doors that evening, Mayra Velazquez drove off, not realizing it would be the last time she would be with “the love of my life.”

But COVID-19 was not done with the Hanover Park family.

In the days that followed, Velazquez would be forced to drop off both of her parents outside the hospital. The elderly couple, married 60 years and the heart of their large family, had developed telltale symptoms as well.

Her father, Francisco Gomez, 81, was the first to die on May 2. Her husband, Saul, 39, died May 12. And her mother, Maria Gomez, 78, hung on for nearly two more weeks. The heartbroken family prayed and cheered her on in videoconference calls.

But their hopes were dashed May 23 when she, too, succumbed to the virus.

The disease’s devastating toll on a single family, while heartbreaking, is not unheard of. The Tribune has identified at least two dozen Chicago-area families who suffered the loss of more than one member who was diagnosed with COVID-19.

In a cruel twist, it was the very closeness of some of these families that made them more susceptible to spreading the coronavirus in the first place, survivors have come to realize. For Mayra and Saul Velazquez, it was multigenerational living in the same home as her parents and two siblings that may have opened the door to tragedy.

Urging great care

In her first public comments after an unimaginable loss, Mayra Velazquez, 37, said she hopes it will serve as a cautionary tale for others to heed public safety guidelines, especially as Illinois has begun to slowly reopen.

The virus is tricky, she said, noting her family began wearing masks and sheltering at home as soon as the pandemic struck, but some in her household fell ill anyway.

“I don’t want anyone else to feel this pain,” Velazquez said. “People are so anxious to go out and lead a normal life. ... The only thing I would like is to be in my house with my parents and my husband.”

Since late March, when Gov. J.B. Pritzker announced a statewide stay-at-home order urging residents to stay indoors except for essential activities, Illinois cases have jumped from fewer than 600 with a handful of deaths, to about 121,000 with more than 5,400 fatalities.

With the state now on a downward trend in its count of new cases, the Chicago suburbs last week began reopening, although that process may be hit with delays after widespread disturbances here after the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis.

Officials have been easing restrictions on worship services and allowing outdoor dining, and letting hair salons and nonessential retail shops reopen. The city still is expected to take that step Wednesday, despite protests and looting that rocked the area over the last few days.

But as others try to return to some sense of normalcy, Velazquez knows her life will never be the same. Though no one else in the family has showed symptoms, relatives haven’t gathered yet to console each other for fear of losing another loved one.

It is not the norm for this large Mexican family. The youngest of eight children, Velazquez said Sundays were a special time for them. They always came together in her home for a big family meal. Her mother, Maria, often made her famous mole, refried beans, tamales and menudo soup.

“Everyone brings a dessert or a plate to share,” Velazquez said, describing how the family often sat together for hours, laughing, as her parents reminisced about the old days when they were all children.

“The virus took all that away from us," she said.

A pair of love stories

The thought of her husband and parents being absent when the family does gather again is unfathomable, Velazquez said.

Her parents met while growing up in the same town in Zacatecas, Mexico, northwest of Mexico City.

They married in Mexico, then immigrated as a young couple to find better opportunities. Francisco Gomez often worked two jobs to support his large family. Maria worked in the home, raising eight children.

“They taught us to work hard and always be respectful,” Velazquez said. “I don’t remember ever being in need of anything.”

She couldn’t recall ever seeing her parents argue. The couple loved taking long walks together and being with their 11 grandchildren. Her dad, in particular, often picked up his grandchildren from school or took them to the park.

Velazquez met her husband, Saul, through mutual friends about 23 years ago. They became friends, then began dating three years later. He popped the question during a night out with friends in 2005, and the couple wed before more than 400 guests at a March 2007 ceremony.

“He had the biggest heart,” she said, recalling his humble personality and the way he treated others. “When he made a friend, it was his friend for life."

She said her husband, a huge Chicago Bears fan, loved music, the outdoors or just “chilling at home” with her. Velazquez, who had only one sibling himself, embraced his wife’s large family.

“He knew what he was getting into,” she said, laughing.

A series of losses

As the pandemic began to spread, Mayra Velazquez said she was concerned, especially because her husband had diabetes and her parents were seniors. They sheltered at home and took precautions, such as wearing masks when they were out and repeatedly washing their hands.

Their efforts proved futile. Saul Velazquez was hospitalized April 7. He tested positive for the virus the next day, his wife said.

Both of her parents soon exhibited mild symptoms, but, without fevers, their doctor said it was likely they just had colds.

But, as their conditions worsened, Velazquez said she repeated the same heartbreaking routine, driving each to the hospital, two days apart, on April 13 and 15, without being able to go inside and remain at their bedsides.

“That was really hard,” she said. “You go to the hospital and drop them off not knowing if you’ll ever see them again.”

The family does not know who became infected first or where they caught it.

“It kills me,” Velazquez said. “We wore our masks and followed the guidelines since day one. So it’s very frustrating when we see others who are not taking the same precautions. We protected others, but they did not protect us."

For six weeks, with her husband in one hospital and parents together in another facility, she and her siblings began a daily routine of checking in with staff for updates or waiting for their phones to ring.

“I had anxiety every time I woke up and we would call to get an update on how their night went,” she said. “I don’t wish that on anyone. I wanted to be right there next to them and help. Out of everything, that’s what hurts the most, not being there with them.”

The family prayed and encouraged their loved ones to keep fighting through video and phone calls. They were on ventilators and unable to communicate through most of their hospitalization.

At times, her husband opened his eyes, giving his wife hope that he could hear her.

Her father was the first to die, nearly three weeks after he was hospitalized. The family never told him that his wife was in the same hospital, on the same floor, for fear he would become upset and grow even weaker.

Saul Velazquez died 10 days later. He did not know his father-in-law had died. As the nurse on the other end of the phone told Mayra Velazquez her husband was gone, she said those words were incomprehensible. He had been getting better.

How could she be a widow at 37, and facing that reality after just losing her father?

Two weeks passed, and the family held out hope for Maria Gomez -- the mother who always fed any visitor in her home and who gave the best advice when asked. As with their other sickened family members, they never told her that her husband had died.

She died after five weeks of hospitalization. The family last spoke to her two days before on a video call, letting her know “how much we loved and missed her and to keep fighting. She moved her head. We want to believe she heard us,” Velazquez said.

She said if her mother were here today, she would tell her, “You got this. You’re strong. You can do it.” She always knew how to make her feel better, the daughter said.

Her family’s grief is prolonged because normal rituals such as wakes and funerals are on hold. A friend set up a fundraising campaign to help defray medical and funeral costs. So far, more than 200 donors raised about $15,000.

“Losing the love of my life and the two other most important people to me, it’s definitely going to take me some time to process this, but I’m praying we’ll get through it,” Mayra Velazquez said. "My faith is strong.”

cmgutowski@chicagotribune.com

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