Six years after suffering a stroke, Racie Botelho has a long list of what she can’t do.
She can’t run. She can’t close her right eyelid. She can’t see without having double vision. She can’t hear from one ear. She can’t rely on her depth perception or peripheral vision. And she can’t really feel much of the left side of her body.
But what Racie has to do is more important.
She has to raise her twin sons alone because their father lost his battle with cancer less than three months ago. She has to keep it together. She has to hold back the teary breakdown she knows will come one day, but hopefully not today, Mother’s Day.
She has to stay strong for her boys, who at 5 are too young to understand most of what has happened — and if she could worry a bit less and get more sleep at night, that would be nice, too.
To those of us who know Racie — and I’ve known her for more than 30 years — that she is doing all this is not surprising. But it still amazes me. She won’t ask for help. She won’t take your money. And she’s even told friends to stop bringing her dinner every night.
I can’t think of a mother whose simple acts of generosity, humility and grace deserve more recognition on this day set aside to honor mothers.
RACIE Botelho, 36, has never lived a perfect life, though she has always found beauty and hope in all of its imperfections.
Her parents, who didn’t marry, split when she was a teenager and started other families. She embraced her role as big stepsister and considered herself blessed to be part of two families.
In 1997, Racie met Rick Botelho while working part time at HMSA. She was 20 and still a student at the University of Hawaii; he was 34, a divorced father and a full-time computer programmer at the health insurance company. During the work day their paths would cross when Rick delivered daily reports to a department on the same floor where Racie worked. "I knew what time he would be coming, so I’d make sure I would be in his path," Racie said with a laugh.
It didn’t take long for the two to start hanging out, first in groups with his son, Ryne, and her cousins. They would hang out at the beach called Sherwood Forest in Waimanalo and talk on the phone for hours, "just like teenagers," she said.
After four years of dating — including one apart when she attended California State University at Northridge on an exchange program — the two were married at the Pacific Beach Hotel in Waikiki in front of 220 guests. The couple moved into a two-bedroom townhouse in Hawaii Kai that had enough room for the family they were planning.
They tried to get pregnant for four years, then opted for in vitro fertilization. It took the second time, and on Aug. 6, 2007, Racie gave birth to twin boys, Rustyn and Rycen.
"I was so happy for her because this was what she had always wanted," said her mom, Barbara Hayashi-Futa. "It was a really happy time for them. She wanted to be a mom more than anything else. … It seemed sad that she might not have had kids of her own."
Two and a half weeks after giving birth, Racie was at home with her husband, each one holding a baby, when she became nauseous. "I told him to take the baby," Racie said. "He put down one, picked up the other, and I slumped over. I couldn’t talk. Everything came out garbled."
At just 30, Racie suffered a stroke that kept in her the intensive care unit at the Queen’s Medical Center for three weeks and rehab for another six.
"Every time I would walk into that hospital room, I would just die, literally die, because it’s your daughter lying there," said her mother. "And I wished more than anything it could be me and not her. But then I realized it couldn’t be me because she could handle it and I couldn’t. She was amazing."
A tube inserted in her throat prevented Racie from talking or eating. And she couldn’t walk. Yet, the entire time, she never complained, not once.
"She never asked, ‘Why me?’ or moaned about not being able to walk or eat," her mother said. "Just never."
WHEN Racie was at the Rehabilitation Hospital of the Pacific in Liliha, I would visit her several times a week, often climbing into her bed with her to watch "The Hills" or whatever else was on TV. She could communicate only with an alphabet board, spelling out words with her fingers and giving me looks that only an old friend could understand. She would ask about my day when hers was filled with activities such as speech and physical therapy, things that only reminded her about the long road to recovery she faced.
I remember she was even worried about her childhood friend Brandi Merryman, who had just been diagnosed with breast cancer in Las Vegas. Racie would write her letters while in rehab, as usual putting someone else’s needs first.
"She would always be worrying about me," said Brandi, a mother of two who met Racie in seventh grade at Kamehameha Schools. "I told her, ‘Don’t even worry about me!’ But that’s how she is."
While Racie was recovering in rehab, Brandi was going through her own battle, getting a mastectomy and undergoing chemotherapy and radiation. She felt so inspired by Racie’s strength and grateful for her friendship and support, she started volunteering with a stroke support group in Las Vegas.
"Just both of us being there for each other was helpful," Brandi says. "I couldn’t feel sorry for myself. She was so inspiring to me, her strength. She never asked, ‘Why is this happening to me?’ She helped me tremendously."
ON A RECENT night at her Hawaii Kai home, over a dinner of leftover chili and rice, Racie explained the limitations from her stroke, and I stared back, bewildered. How was she able to work, raise twin boys and smile through it all?
"I really can’t complain," she said, matter-of-factly.
That’s the thing about Racie. No matter what life has thrown at her, she doesn’t throw up her arms and quit, she never blames anyone, she never complains. She sees the blessings and not the curses, she looks up and not down.
Even when her husband, Rick, was diagnosed with neuroendocrine carcinoma in July 2010.
Rick, who at the time was a pastor at New Hope East Shore in Kailua, underwent oral chemotherapy, which kept the rare cancer at bay for two years. But it came back with a vengeance in January, prompting them to try traditional chemotherapy in an attempt to stop it from spreading. The medications took a toll on him, and on Feb. 10, just a month after starting treatment, he died quietly at home in his bed. Racie was at his side.
"I didn’t expect to have a stroke, I didn’t expect to be alone," Racie said. "But I kept telling myself that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. I feel that way."
The outpouring of support has been overwhelming. Hundreds of people attended Rick’s service March 16 at Hawaiian Memorial Park Mortuary, contributing generously to the memorial fund set up in his name. Racie has insisted on writing to every single person who came to the service or sent cards. Of course.
"Through everything, Racie has been a rock," said Aaron Corderio, pastor at New Hope Hawaii Kai and a longtime family friend. "She’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met, for sure."
I go over to Racie’s home once a week, mostly to eat leftovers and talk about what’s going on in our lives. She was worried about her twins getting into Kamehameha Schools — they did — and I’ve been preoccupied with my freelance career. It’s easy to fall into our typical rhythm of chatting and laughing, something we’ve always done, and not notice how much has changed. She can’t work full time, she only recently started driving and she’s alone. Yet, she texts me to ask how I’m doing.
"That’s what her faith has done for her: It strengthened her," said her mother. "She really doesn’t focus on herself. It’s never about her. You gotta admire her. Nobody can do this, nobody, and she does it and never complains. She’s amazing."
Racie didn’t make plans to celebrate this Mother’s Day, aside from going to church with her boys. Anything else could easily remind her of what she’s missing when she wants to focus on what she’s got.
But there’s a plan in the works. Her sons are surprising her and their grandmas with an invitation to breakfast. They saved the money they earned collecting aluminum cans with their Grandpa Steve and plan on treating them to the International House of Pancakes.
It’s not an expensive brunch or an overpriced bouquet of flowers. But it’s enough — and it’s perfect for Racie.
Catherine E. Toth is a freelancer writer in Honolulu. Read her blog at TheCatDish.com.
