CLEVELAND, Tex. — Sonia Argentina Guzmán knew how to hustle. As a teenager, she sold bags of popcorn on the side of the road in Honduras, hoping to save enough money to move to the United States.
“For so long, it seemed like God was smiling upon Sonia,” her aunt Lucía Guzmán told The Washington Post. “Everything was great. Just a bit more and my beautiful girl was about to achieve everything she had ever dreamed of.”
Those dreams were shattered last week, when a neighbor allegedly stormed the Guzmáns’ home with an AR-15, killing Sonia, her 9-year-old son, Daniel, and three members of their extended family. Four families were staying at the house that evening. Four adults, including Guzmán’s brother, sister-in-law and husband, survived, as did seven children.
According to police, the gunman began his assault after being asked to stop spraying bullets on his front lawn — the gunfire had woken the baby. The massacre marked the seventh attack of its kind during April — gun violence sparked by seemingly everyday interactions.
Sonia “was so hard-working and responsible. She was beloved. She did everything right,” Lucía Guzmán said through tears. “And for what? Just so all that work and all those dreams could end up in blood?”
That same question has gripped members of this devastated community. In a blue-collar town where Spanish and English seamlessly mix, guns have long been a constant. Still, the violence was shocking. “To think my children are students in the same school as one of the victims,” said Juanis Renovato, who lives in Cleveland. “To think we could’ve had similar life circumstances — it’s tragic.”
‘She loved those kids’
Before the tragedy, Sonia’s life had been full of joy, her family members said.
In a cream-colored house nestled by tree canopies, Sonia lived with her children, as well as her brother Ramiro Guzmán and his wife. The home was often brimming with the delicious smell of fresh food and the sound of children’s laughter, family members said. Other relatives lived nearby.
Sonia helped her husband, Wilson García, at their electrical service company, sending some of her earnings to Honduras to support her mother. But nurturing her two sons and 2-year-old girl was “the pride in her life,” Ramiro said.
“She loved those kids with all her heart,” he said.
Lucía, Sonia’s aunt, attributed that strong attachment to the four years Sonia spent apart from her eldest. “Leaving him with her mother in Honduras was the hardest decision Sonia had ever made,” Lucía said. “But it was so she could work to settle and find opportunities before bringing him here for what was supposed to be the best possible life.”
In Texas, Daniel thrived.
His family described him as a sweet child with a big smile who dreamed of becoming a police officer. He enjoyed sports, especially soccer, and playing at Chuck E. Cheese. The open land filled with cows, horses and chickens near his home in San Jacinto County was the “best playground in the world,” Lucía said, along with the muddy neighborhood road where Daniel would race bikes with friends.
He was a doting older brother “who took his responsibilities a little too seriously,” Lucía said, remembering how Daniel would pass diapers to Sonia and fuss about whether the newborn had eaten enough. “He could be mischievous in the funniest and best way possible,” said García, Daniel’s stepfather.
Just a few months ago, a passel of family members gathered to celebrate Daniel’s birthday, complete with a homemade meal from Sonia. “Sonia said she wanted to give him a big party, but there wasn’t enough money for that. She said she’d save some for next year,” Lucía said.
At Northside Elementary School, where Daniel was a student, parents and teachers are grappling with the difficult task of explaining the killing to children — some of whom heard the gunshots that took Daniel’s life.
“It’s probably one of the hardest conversations you can have,” said Cleveland Independent School District Superintendent Stephen McCanless. “But we’ll be ready with numerous crisis counselors here at this campus from our district and other surrounding districts.”
Texas Gov. Greg Abbott’s comments that the victims were “illegal immigrants” has also angered those mourning them around the country. They said the comments unnecessarily emphasized the immigration status of the victims instead of their deaths. (The Republican governor’s office later acknowledged that at least one victim was in the country legally; it blamed the federal government for earlier erroneous information.)
On Sunday, dozens of families, teachers and community members gathered at the school entrance to offer their condolences to the child’s grieving family. But in a moment meant to mark the ending of a life, there was a sense that the incident had left many unresolved questions.
“There’s a lot of things going on here: fear, big questions, anxiety,” Carl Williamson, a pastor from Calvary Baptist Church, said during the vigil. “Where is this guy? What’s going on? That’s when I realized I don’t have all the answers. … But I know the one who does have the answer, and we’re going to talk to him today, we’re going to pray. Even if we might never understand.”
Prayers were said aloud in Spanish and English. At the vigil’s end, attendees sang “Amazing Grace.” Meanwhile, a rambunctious 2-year-old girl sashayed around, clad in silver sandals and carrying a doll. Nearby, a woman cradled the girl’s baby brother.
The children’s father wept, his sobs at times overpowering the chorus of a song that has become a fixture at events to remember the victims of mass killings.
Bouquets of roses, daisies and sunflowers, as well as candles and balloons splashed with “Paw Patrol” cartoon characters, were left at the base of a pole flying the American flag.
“He would have loved the blue roses,” Lucía said, her voice breaking. “Blue was Daniel’s favorite color.”