David Sedeno 
A mother's words -- 'I love you' -- live on
Star-Telegram Staff Writer
I never had the privilege of knowing Elena Pérez Sandoval, but from the number of people who gathered last week to celebrate her life, it is apparent that she was a special woman.
She would have loved the flowers that lined the chapel at Greenwood Funeral Home in Fort Worth. You can imagine how she would have greeted the more than 400 people who gathered for her wake, packing the chapel with a standing-room-only crowd that snaked into the parking lot.
And, she would have been honored by the rosary that was recited for her, a daily ritual of her own in which she prayed for her entire family.
And as the service began, you could sense calmness among the crowd -- a feeling that everything would be OK, that the love this woman bestowed not only on her family but also on many others in her community would live on even in death.
"Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit," the rosary began, setting in motion a litany of prayers.
Family life
Elena Pérez was born May 16, 1927, in Central Texas. At a young age, she joined her migrant-worker parents in the fields, moving from region to region, following the cash crops that would sustain them until the next growing season.
The family eventually moved to Fort Worth but continued to follow the crops. Elena dropped out of school in the fourth grade. In the early 1940s, when the Pérez family was among those that purchased lots in a little neighborhood west of downtown that would become known as Linwood, Elena knew she would have to continue helping her family financially.
After World War II, Elena -- by then known as Helen -- began working at the nearby Montgomery Ward store on Seventh Street. Jesse Sandoval, by then an honorably discharged sailor, began courting her.
Over a period of two years, he sent his brother and a Roman Catholic priest to Helen's parents, asking for her hand. Her parents refused each time.
"They thought I was a playboy," Sandoval would say later. "Maybe I was, but when I saw her after I came back from the Navy, I told myself that this was the woman for me and the woman that I would have my children with."
On Jan. 31, 1948, the two eloped. He was 21; she was 20. Her parents later insisted that they have a Catholic wedding, which they eventually did.
Jesse and Helen Sandoval started their family and a few years later built their own home at 2712 Weisenberger St. -- a two-bedroom, one-bath house a stone's throw from numerous relatives. The Sandoval home was always full of kids because the couple wanted to keep an eye on the children.
The Sandovals also began a lifelong commitment to the community, successfully pressing Fort Worth officials for paved streets, infrastructure and other amenities. They eventually would fight for the neighborhood after a devastating tornado swept through in 2000.
"They are people who invested in the community and never stopped working to make it a better neighborhood," said former City Councilwoman Wendy Davis, who represented the neighborhood and would get frequent calls from the couple.
The Sandovals got involved politically, working for mostly Democratic candidates and civil rights causes. With Jesse at the forefront, Helen was a strong supporter in the background. She later earned her GED and inspired her daughters, Eva and Yolanda, in their evolution as young Latinas coming of age in the 1960s.
The woman's role, especially that of a Latina, was a complicated one, Helen would explain. First, she had to be a good mother and a supporter of her husband. It did not mean, however, that they had to lose their independence or shy away from leadership opportunities.
"My mother never ran for public office, was never the president of anything, but she was the one who held everything together behind the scenes," said daughter Eva Bonilla. "She supported my dad. She supported us, told us that we could be whatever we wanted to be. "
And it was not the material things that the Sandoval children will remember about their mother, because there wasn't much. "My mother worked hard, sometimes two jobs, just to have a little pocket money for us," daughter Yolanda García said. "But she always made sure that we were taken care of, that my dad was taken care of. She always taught us to love each other, no matter what.
"I will never forget -- and people have reminded me these past few days -- that my mother always ended the conversation with, 'God bless you. I love you.'
"We never had a lot of money, but we never knew that we were poor because our mother's love made us rich," García said.
'The house is on fire!'
Shortly after 6 a.m. April 30, Jesse Sandoval, asleep on a couch in the couple's den, was awakened by a popping noise and smoke. The curtain behind the couch was on fire.
Arthritic and with bad lungs, he pulled the tubes from his nose that led to a portable oxygen tank and found his way to the other side of the 1,200-square-foot house.
"Hey, wake up! Wake up!" he told her. "We got to get out of here! The house is on fire!"
Helen, who had had cataract surgery on her right eye the previous day and was wearing a patch, got up and began following her husband. He stopped in the hallway to call 911, but he didn't have his glasses and couldn't see the numbers. He gave up and yelled, "Let's go!"
He walked out the front door and as soon as he reached the sidewalk, he turned around -- but his wife was not there. He wanted to go back in, but neighbors stopped him.
Inside, the smoke was heavy, and Helen was heading in the direction of the fire. The family clings to the thought that their motherheard the cries of Marina, the couple's brown Chihuahua, and that she tried to rescue it. Marina was found dead in a closet about 15 feet from where Helen was found. Helen was burned over 80 percent of her body and was airlifted to the burn unit at Parkland Memorial Hospital in Dallas.
Jesse was taken to Harris Methodist Fort Worth and was discharged the next evening. He immediately went to Parkland to be near his wife. The family was told that she had little chance of survival.
"You all don't know this woman," Jesse told the doctors. "She is a strong woman. If there is a chance for anyone to make it, it's going to be her. You just don't know her."
During the next couple of hours, Jesse realized that the doctors were right. He and his children did not want Helen to suffer, so as he had done many times during their 60-year marriage, Jesse talked directly to his wife.
"Helen," he said, knowing that she was listening to him. "I love you. It's going to be OK. I'm going to be all right. The kids say that they are going to take care of me. I'll be fine. It's time to let go."
The ventilator helping her breathe was pulled, and other family members -- more than 20 -- said goodbye.
Jesse Sandoval went to Eva's home; shortly before midnight May 1, he fell asleep. A few minutes later, the call came that Elena "Helen" Pérez Sandoval -- wife of Jesse Sandoval, mother of three, grandmother of nine, great-grandmother of four -- had died at 12:04 a.m. May 2.
"I guess she was just waiting for me to fall asleep before she went," Jesse said.
'A very special person'
At the rosary, Jesse Sandoval Jr. thanked everyone for their support.
"My mother was a very special person," he said. "She was the most giving person, the closest thing to a saint that I've ever known. She's going to watch over us .... My mother is going to live on in our memories."
I never had the privilege of knowing Helen Sandoval, but standing in front of the place she called home for more than 50 years, I can imagine what she was like as a mother.
A funeral spray and other flowers adorn the yard where children played under her watchful eyes. Yellow tape prohibits entry to the house that for many years was full of kids, books, cheese enchiladas, hugs and kisses. The joy for life that Helen cherished is the hope that the family carries: that angels surrounded her as smoke and fire swept through the house.
Stand in front of 2712 Weisenberger long enough, and you can almost hear the sweet words that Helen's children will cling to forever, especially on this Mother's Day.
"God bless you. I love you."
David Sedeño is a columnist and member of the
