I never thought I would be writing something like this about my grandfather. It is hard to know where to begin when someone you love needs help and you are trying to find the words that might convince someone to stop and read. His name is Ramiro Luis Durán León. He is 77 years old, and right now he is in Venezuela needing urgent surgery for a very large aneurysm in his aorta.

He is my grandfather, my mom’s dad, a husband, a father to three daughters, and a grandfather to six grandchildren. Our whole family is trying to help him get the care he needs. I am writing this, but I am not asking alone. Behind these words are his daughters, his grandchildren, his wife, and a family that loves him and is scared.

I want to tell you a little about him, because it hurts to introduce someone who has lived such a full life by explaining what is wrong with his body.

My grandfather grew up in Boconó, in the mountains of Trujillo, Venezuela. He was the youngest of his siblings, raised in a simple home surrounded by coffee farms and animals. He became a schoolteacher and spent years teaching children in rural communities, sometimes traveling to their schools on horseback. People came to know him as “el Maestro Ramiro.” Long before we knew him as Dad or Grandpa, there were children who knew him as the teacher who made that journey to help them learn.

He has always loved words. He writes stories, novels, and poems, putting pieces of his life and the things he believes into pages. Over the years, he has written hundreds of books and manuscripts, and three of his books have been published on Amazon. To us, there is something very special about that. Those pages hold parts of him: his memories, his imagination, the things he wants to teach and the feelings he has found a way to put into words.

His faith has been part of his life for as long as our family can remember. He has served in church and shared what he believes through conversations, encouragement, and poetry. He likes helping people make sense of what they are going through, drawing on the mistakes and lessons of his own life.

He also loves music and romance. He won my grandmother’s heart with nighttime serenades. Today she is 83, and they are still there together in Venezuela, after raising their daughters and watching their family grow. It is painful to think of everything they are facing while so many of us are far away.

My grandfather is a carpenter, too, and being useful has always mattered to him. A leaking pipe, something broken in the house, a neighbor who needs a hand—he wants to be the one who can help. Even his exercise weights were things he made himself, using cement and car parts. He has never needed much to find something worth doing.

That is the person our family knows. Someone who would rather figure out how to fix a problem than sit and wait for someone else to do it. Seeing him have to stop, knowing that this time he cannot solve it with his own hands, has been very hard.

And for my mom and her sisters, this is their dad. The person they grew up with. I think about that a lot. I am worried about my grandfather, and at the same time I know my mom is afraid for her father. Each of us is carrying this in our own way, and we are doing what we can together.

Doctors found a very large abdominal aortic aneurysm, measuring approximately 9.3 by 11 centimeters, along with aneurysms affecting both iliac arteries. His medical team has recommended urgent specialized imaging to plan the surgery he needs. Our family is trying to make that care possible as quickly as we can.

The treatment must largely be paid for directly in Venezuela, and his insurance will not cover the necessary care. We are raising money for his imaging, surgical planning, hospitalization, surgery, medications, and recovery. Any funds beyond his immediate treatment expenses will go toward follow-up appointments and continued care.

Asking for money is uncomfortable. There is no easy way to put something this personal in front of strangers. We wish we could cover everything ourselves and simply tell him that it is taken care of. But we cannot do this alone, and we love him too much to let the difficulty of asking keep us from trying.

We want him to have the chance to come home to his wife and get back to the life he loves. To sit down with another page to write. To talk with his daughters and grandchildren without every conversation carrying this worry. The ordinary things we used to take for granted feel so important now.

If you can help with any amount, our family would be deeply grateful. If you cannot donate, please share his story. It may reach an old student, a friend, a neighbor, or someone who has never met him but wants to help.

Thank you for taking the time to know a little about my grandfather and my mom’s dad. He has spent so much of his life finding ways to help other people. We are doing everything we can to be there for him now.