Dear friends,
I miss my mom. I miss the light that she would bring into every room. I miss the way she would hum to herself as she swept. I miss the sound of her laugh and the way that she’d always find a reason to smile. But my mom isn’t here anymore.
Mom brought me here when I was a baby. Back when my cheeks were full and the hair on my head was the closest thing she had to silk. It’s not like she knew exactly what she was doing. Most of us are about her age when she had to make the impossible decision to leave our home country in hopes of a safer life in America. And I’m really grateful she did… Because of her, I get to go to university alongside all of you. Who knows what would have happened to me had she chosen to raise me south of the border.
Sometimes it feels as if you’ll never fully understand the sacrifices we migrants have had to make for our survival. When I was younger, I’d listen to Mom dream out loud about the house we’ll own some day and the restaurant she’d open up. Like most kids, I’d tell her I was going to move far-far away. She’d hug me and say that she would follow me to the ends of the earth.
I wish I had hugged her back.
My mom never got to own that house. The most she could do for our family was a one bedroom apartment off of Sutro. A part of town that you called ghetto, but I called home. Instead of opening her own restaurant, she’d clean them. I watched as her youthful hands would dry up and crack from the chemicals. I’d never thought I’d see the day that the youth from her eyes would be taken from her too.
I went back home a week after Trump’s inauguration to check up on my mom. I hadn’t heard from her in days and the semester was already taking up so much of my time. I opened the door to that one-bedroom apartment and the entire place felt dark. And there Mom was, alone at the kitchen table, breathing in the sounds of the latest breaking news. ICE agents targeting children. Mother arrested by ICE. 11-year-old takes her own life over deportation threats. Her cheeks have hollowed out and the grey in her hair was the purest silver she had ever owned. Her tired eyes said it all.
I am at the University of Nevada not because I want to steal your jobs, or drain your resources. I’m not here to smuggle drugs, or invade your country. Some of you wonder why I don’t just send myself back before someone else does it for me. I can’t help but wonder if any of you miss your moms. The mom you had before she realized that she couldn’t protect you anymore. I am here because my mom wants a home to call her own some day. And I will follow her dream to the ends of the earth.
Until then,
Anonymous
Fingerprints is a collection of anonymous letters curated by Alejandro Cruz and Taelyn Pauley. The opinions expressed in the column, as well as those published in The Nevada Sagebrush, are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Sagebrush or its staff. To get involved, contact Cruz at cr***********@***il.com for more information!
