Joint Task Force Guantanamo Trooper and Army Staff Sgt. visits the grave of his great-grandmother, Antonia Negron Valle, Feb. 4. Brooks learned his great grandmother, who died in childbirth and is buried with the child, and two members of his family ...
It's as beautiful a day as I've seen here on Guantanamo Bay but there is a stillness setting today apart. Maybe it's the presence of death - maybe just the idea.A,A
He retrieves the flowers from the back seat, carefully unwraps them and we head up the road. Two master-at-arms wait for us, eyes covered by dark glasses, their faces stoic. As we step into the small cemetery, the first thing to greet us is a large tree with blooming purple flowers. He comments on the tree and I say something encouraging.
We begin our search.
It takes us a few minutes to find the right one. There are several hundred small, unadorned white headstones lined up in neat rows, in no apparent order. She was buried in 1926, he thinks. The MAs lead him over to the left. I hang back and start checking the stones on the right. And then suddenly, there it is: Antonia Negron Valle ... and child. I call them over. As he approaches I think about all the events set into motion to make this one moment happen.
I first meet Staff Sgt. Tim Brooks, noncommissioned officer in charge for rotations at J3, Jan. 3 over a beer at O'Kelly's Irish Pub in the Windjammer. Word of his story reached my office and I was eager to tell it. As we sit down with two of his friends, I realize how young he is. Lanky and dark, with a boyish glint and a friendly smile, I am immediately taken with his approachable and amiable attitude. He starts to tell me his story, about his great-grandmother, his great-grandfather and a serendipitous series of deployments that brought two generations to Cuba, decades apart.
"I don't know my great-grandfather's name," Brooks starts out. "But my great-grandmother was Antonia Negron Valle..."
His great-grandfather's name, we eventually learn, was Cayetano Valle. A Sailor, Cayetano met Antonia in Portugal, where she was born and raised. They were married and began a family. Brooks' grandmother, Sylvia Barry, was their third child. Shortly after Sylvia's birth, Cayetano was assigned to Guantanamo Bay as the lighthouse keeper.
"We have one picture of my great-grandmother and the kids at the beach here on Guantanamo," says Brooks. "And the only way we know is that both my grand-uncle and my grandma remember taking that picture there."
Before his deployment, Brooks learned from his family his great-grandmother was buried here. After that single piece of information, everything else became blurry. Where was she buried' How did she die' When did the family arrive here, and for how long'
"I always ask questions about my family," Brooks laughs. "But with a (grandma) who's 87, she kind of leads the conversation in a direction that she either A) wants or B) remembers."
Brooks' affection for his grandmother shows when he talks about her.
"She's like three-foot-eleven - she's a Portuguese spitfire!" he jokes. "She grabs the comb and the broom when she comes after you. I mean, she may be 87 but you fear that little woman!"
Determined to find more answers, Brooks' search led him to an unusual source - Miami Herald journalist and JTF Guantanamo staple Carol Rosenberg.
"I was trying to find a list of people buried in Guantanamo Bay," he explains. "(Rosenberg) had written a story in 2006 ... and (it) listed (my great-grandmother's) name."
Brooks was perplexed at the simplicity of the situation.
"I didn't really know to Google my great-grandmother's name," he says, exasperated. "But sure enough, when you type in her name, that's the first thing that pops up."
I take a look at Rosenberg's story that night. He's right, it shows up immediately. I read through it and realize the names Rosenberg picked to use in her article are seemingly random. Out of the hundreds of names she could have used, she chose the one that happened to be related to a Soldier who would be deployed here in only a few years. Just another piece to the rapidly unfolding reunion.
After discovering Rosenberg's article, Brooks went in search of more confirmation. He didn't have to look far. After many false starts, he learned there was, in fact, an Antonia Negron Valle buried, with child, inside the cemetery. Not only that, she was also buried alongside two of her other children.
Back at the cemetery, we stand in front of the three graves. Antonia on the far left, her two sons to the right. She died during childbirth in 1928. The baby who passed away with her was never named.
Five-year-old Ferdinand Serapio Valle died from influenza Dec. 4, 1926. Next to Ferdinand's stone is another that simply reads "Baby Boy Valle." He passed four days after Ferdinand. Looking around at the years engraved in many of the nearby headstones, it is clear families were lucky if their infants survived a year. Every fifth or sixth one says "Infant" "Baby Boy," "Baby Girl" or just simply lists the few months they were alive. Even as the sun beats down on us, I feel a shiver of sadness. There really isn't anything that compares to the death of a child.
Brooks goes first to Ferdinand's stone. He carefully chooses a flower from his bouquet, a blue cluster of petals, and places it softly against the headstone. He then goes to the baby's and does the same. Finally, he stands before his great-grandmother's.
"I tried to ask my grandma if my great-grandpa ever came here one last time," he says. "She said she couldn't remember."
He's quiet for several moments, as if he's wrestling with a thought.
"If I had a wife and three children who I lost here, I don't know whether it would be too hard to come here and say one last goodbye or just..." He trails off, thinking about the man he never knew. "Maybe it was too much to bear, I don't know. It's almost too much for one guy to take."
Brooks is the youngest of six and the only living son. He knows the importance of his presence here today.
"It might quite possibly be that I'm the last person to ever set foot in the grave site, as far as family," he remarks solemnly. "It's a personal connection I have here. None of my siblings can ever say they came here and did that."
He kneels in front of the grave and mutters something softly; I can make out a small prayer.
Later I ask him if his family is religious. He answers yes.
"My grandma goes to regular services when she can," he says simply. "I was just making a thankful prayer that the family has been so blessed despite all that loss."
Regardless of one's faith, it's hard not to feel moved in the quiet cemetery. Outside the thick trees and hills that seclude the area, the naval station keeps humming along. Inside, surrounded by the memories and names of people who once called Guantanamo home, it's difficult to remember that world.
On the way back, Brooks tells me he wants to bring his grandma here.
"She didn't get to know her mom, she died when she was three," he says. "I would feel a sense of satisfaction if she got to say one last goodbye."
It's been an emotional afternoon. We sit in silence for a while, as I wait for him to process everything. After the excitement he displayed during our first meeting, I wonder aloud if the visit was what he had in mind.
"It was different than what I expected," he finally says. "But very nice. It's a good choice [the cemetery's location] up here."
The long journey bridging these two generations came to a meeting point this fateful February afternoon as Brooks stood looking down at his great-grandmother's grave. It's natural for one to think about larger-than-life ideas like fate and destiny. Brooks has a simpler take on it.
"I like to think of it as serendipity," he says. "Just a wonderful accident."
"It's definitely odd to find out you have family from 80 years ago buried here," he chuckles. "But everything we have here is kind of a once-in-a-lifetime experience."
I remember again our conversation at O'Kelly's. He remarked on everything that happened in history between his great-grandmother and great-grandfather embarking on a life here, to when their great-grandson would venture here with the United States Army.
"It's been over 75 years, two world wars, two gulf wars and a man on the moon later and one of my family finally comes back here," he laughed.
That night there was laughter and jokes, as he related to us the crazy series of events that transpired since he arrived on Guantanamo Bay in October. Today is much more somber, as the reality of a family who lost so much here sinks in.
"It's sad because I definitely want to share this experience with my grandma and my mom," he says regretfully. "It's kind of bittersweet that I have to spend it alone."
But he's not alone. Off the beaten-path and tucked away securely, Brooks found them in a small cemetery, past a large tree with blooming purple flowers. He found the three headstones that share the name "Valle" - a mother and her three young sons. Through nearly eight decades, he found his family on Guantanamo Bay.
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