Crash Ended a Fragile Life Full of Love, Quiet Faith

Natalia Gonzalez prayed in a Santa Ana church every morning, and for the past year and a half, she prayed most for her husband, who had been deported to Mexico. Gonzalez was desperate to see him again. She worried he would never be allowed to return.

Her prayers were answered about a month ago, and Gonzalez, a quiet woman who kept much to herself, openly showed her joy.

Not in words, for that was not her way. But people noticed her happy eyes and her smile as Jose Palomares, her husband of 52 years, came with her to Mass every day.

They were on their way to church when their world was split apart a final time. They were crossing the street in front of their house when a van struck the 76-year-old woman and threw her to the pavement. She died of head injuries.

The driver was not charged; police ruled out speed, drugs and alcohol. The driver simply failed to see the woman in the dim, early-morning light. She was dressed in dark clothing as is the custom for the elderly in Mexico, and she was darting across an intersection that has no marked walkway or traffic signal.

Her husband threw himself over her body, crying out. The gossamer black veil that Gonzalez always draped over her hair was sailing down the street as officers arrived.

“Asi es la vida,” said Alonso Caceres, a priest at Our Lady of Guadalupe Delhi who knew Gonzalez and who presided over her funeral. “Such is life. It is so fragile.”

Perhaps especially so in the case of Natalia Gonzalez, who lived a life of faith, only to lose it in an unguarded instant. She is one of the four pedestrians killed so far this year in Santa Ana, which, according to a UCI study, has the highest pedestrian death rate in Southern California and the third highest in the state. The Times is profiling the lives of the victims as part of an effort to draw attention to the problem.

Gonzalez’s family is still too grief-stricken by her death on April 19 to talk about her. And Gonzalez, a direct woman not given to idle conversation, seldom confided even in the people who prayed in church with her every day.

They saw that she had the most to say when she was speaking with God. She did so every morning for more than two hours, arriving at her church in Santa Ana just as the sun was coming up and always kneeling in the same spot. In the aisle seat, second pew from the front, she whispered prayers until the 8 a.m. Mass. Afterward, she stayed and prayed some more.

She lived with her grandson in a tiny house on busy Bristol Street, but she kept her independence. She turned down offers to help carry the bulky cases of candles she bought from the church office; she rarely indulged in coffee breaks after the services.

“She did things her way,” said Juanita Reyes, 63, who prayed with Gonzalez every morning. “She wasn’t the type to ask for help.”

Only once, when she was ill, did she call Josefina Mosqueda, one of the only people she knew who had a car.

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“She asked me to take her to the doctor,” said Mosqueda, 66, whose offers to drive Gonzalez to the market or other places were routinely declined. “It’s the only time she asked for anything.”

Generally, Gonzalez walked, pushing a cart or carrying a tote bag. In fact, amid the Southern California car culture, many people in Santa Ana do the same, city officials say, either because they cannot afford a car or because they come from immigrant cultures that embrace walking as a way of life.

That rise in foot traffic contributes to the city’s dreary statistics on pedestrian deaths. Police say the city simply has more walkers. Officers are trying to reach pedestrians to make sure that they know how to take care of themselves.

Gonzalez’s family says what’s done is done. Nothing will bring her back.

But Reyes, who admired the way Gonzalez balanced personal strength and faith with humility, said her friend is with her still, even now, after she and other parishioners placed red roses on her casket last week.

Reyes continues to pray at the church every morning, moving through the stations of the cross as she always did with Gonzalez. Alone in the quiet, Reyes said she can still hear Gonzalez’s voice, reciting the prayers beside her, like a gentle murmur in her ear.

“I can hear her,” Reyes said softly, motioning to her shoulder. “She is right here. Whispering.”