Keeping Grandma Safe and Warm
Donation protected
Hi, my name is Joel Frank. I'm a Brazilian, adopted by two Israelis in 1985, who lives in the United States. One month ago I embarked on the pursuit of my birth family. Here is what I found.
Above is a picture of a woman whose age is between 89 and 96. She lost a husband, two of her five offspring and a grandchild. She has fought hard for everything she possesses. Today she must decide each week whether she can afford medicine for herself and her disabled son (my uncle, Cerso) — or food. Her name is Naiva Rodrigues. She’s my kind and wonderful grandmother. I met her recently in the small town of Correia Pinto in Brazil while searching for my biological relations.
When Naiva opened the door of the wooden shack she calls home and saw my face, she screamed. At once she enveloped me in a tearful embrace. Through the voice of Rodimar, a prominant resident of Correia Pinto and fluent English speaker, and his wife Alesandra (who have become dear friends), I heard her say in Portugese, “Now I know why God has let me live so long. He wanted me to meet you.” As for me, for the first time in my life I was being touched by someone connected to me by blood.
My grandmother had tried to locate me, in vain, for years. She believed I had died, murdered for my organs, because this (it is widely believed) was the fate of other infants "given up for adoption" in South America. She carried a burden of guilt for three decades, as my adoption was her idea. She explained to me that she couldn't bear to see another grandchild slowly waste away from malnutrition. There simply wasn’t enough food for the family.
We spoke for five hours on that first day, with Rodimar’s help. I found out that my birth mother, Nelci, died at the age of 18 and that an older half-brother died within months of my adoption. At the age of three he was run over by a car outside my grandmother’s house. My birth mother, unable to deal with the loss of both sons, took her own life by throwing herself from a moving car.
Despite all the hardships my grandmother has endured, she is strong. She cooks and cleans. She is loved by her neighbors, because she is generous with the little she has and is always ready to do a kindness. She came close to tears when I ate lunch and drank coffee at her house the day after we met, telling me that visitors from other neighborhoods behaved as if they were too good to sit at her table. Later in the week I went grocery shopping for her, and she was upset with me. She asked me how, if I spend my money buying her so much food, would I have enough left to fly home again?
On the right is my grandmother’s old house (actually two connected houses, shared with my uncle) that she has to leave. On the left is the house she is moving into, not yet finished. She’s didn't have the funds to make it habitable and was obliged to use inexpensive, thin wood for construction. As a result, she needed more insulation from the cold. To solve that problem, she added extra coats of paint. She is currently attempting to secure electricity for the new house, but she’ll probably have to opt for a cheaper (and more dangerous, according to Rodimar) hookup — one that over time will be more costly.
I plan on helping my grandmother financially for whatever time she has remaining. But as a medical student, about to go into debt for hundreds of thousands of dollars to cover tuition fees, I can’t give her as much as she needs and deserves. If you have the ability (and desire) to make a donation on my grandmother’s behalf and also share my appeal on social media, it would mean the world to me — and her. The money I collect will pay for food, medicine and a safer, warmer home for this woman to whom I owe everything. It was Naiva who convinced my birth mother to put me up for adoption. She wanted me to escape the poverty in which she has always lived. Please help me to help her.
Above is a picture of a woman whose age is between 89 and 96. She lost a husband, two of her five offspring and a grandchild. She has fought hard for everything she possesses. Today she must decide each week whether she can afford medicine for herself and her disabled son (my uncle, Cerso) — or food. Her name is Naiva Rodrigues. She’s my kind and wonderful grandmother. I met her recently in the small town of Correia Pinto in Brazil while searching for my biological relations.
When Naiva opened the door of the wooden shack she calls home and saw my face, she screamed. At once she enveloped me in a tearful embrace. Through the voice of Rodimar, a prominant resident of Correia Pinto and fluent English speaker, and his wife Alesandra (who have become dear friends), I heard her say in Portugese, “Now I know why God has let me live so long. He wanted me to meet you.” As for me, for the first time in my life I was being touched by someone connected to me by blood.
My grandmother had tried to locate me, in vain, for years. She believed I had died, murdered for my organs, because this (it is widely believed) was the fate of other infants "given up for adoption" in South America. She carried a burden of guilt for three decades, as my adoption was her idea. She explained to me that she couldn't bear to see another grandchild slowly waste away from malnutrition. There simply wasn’t enough food for the family.
We spoke for five hours on that first day, with Rodimar’s help. I found out that my birth mother, Nelci, died at the age of 18 and that an older half-brother died within months of my adoption. At the age of three he was run over by a car outside my grandmother’s house. My birth mother, unable to deal with the loss of both sons, took her own life by throwing herself from a moving car.
Despite all the hardships my grandmother has endured, she is strong. She cooks and cleans. She is loved by her neighbors, because she is generous with the little she has and is always ready to do a kindness. She came close to tears when I ate lunch and drank coffee at her house the day after we met, telling me that visitors from other neighborhoods behaved as if they were too good to sit at her table. Later in the week I went grocery shopping for her, and she was upset with me. She asked me how, if I spend my money buying her so much food, would I have enough left to fly home again?
On the right is my grandmother’s old house (actually two connected houses, shared with my uncle) that she has to leave. On the left is the house she is moving into, not yet finished. She’s didn't have the funds to make it habitable and was obliged to use inexpensive, thin wood for construction. As a result, she needed more insulation from the cold. To solve that problem, she added extra coats of paint. She is currently attempting to secure electricity for the new house, but she’ll probably have to opt for a cheaper (and more dangerous, according to Rodimar) hookup — one that over time will be more costly.
I plan on helping my grandmother financially for whatever time she has remaining. But as a medical student, about to go into debt for hundreds of thousands of dollars to cover tuition fees, I can’t give her as much as she needs and deserves. If you have the ability (and desire) to make a donation on my grandmother’s behalf and also share my appeal on social media, it would mean the world to me — and her. The money I collect will pay for food, medicine and a safer, warmer home for this woman to whom I owe everything. It was Naiva who convinced my birth mother to put me up for adoption. She wanted me to escape the poverty in which she has always lived. Please help me to help her.
Organizer
Joel Frank
Organizer
Narberth, PA
