New Hope In the new World
“The bridge of Progress” that seperates Mexico from the Rio Grande in Texas. Photo Credit: Getty Images
"We are blessed here in the United States, mija (my daughter)," my mother said throughout my childhood. Although she is right—as she almost always is—the complexity of that statement always finds its way back to the surface.
At a young age, the decision to come to the United States became more pressing than ever. My country was no place for a young girl like me—or, years before, for my mother. Although the journey would be difficult, staying meant facing an even greater threat: death.
Years later, I discovered that this was not my mother's first journey to the United States. The second of eight children, my mother was raised by farmworkers in one of the most rural regions of El Salvador. Yet, against all odds, she clawed her way to the top, becoming one of only two daughters in her family to earn a bachelor's degree in Secretarial Affairs from ENCO. Two months later, she departed for the United States.
My Mother and her friend in the early 80’s. Photo Credits: Unknown
“La guerra cambió todo, mija” (“The war changed everything, my daughter”), she would say, offering only vague details. My mother was never afraid to tell me stories about the war. In her eyes, her country had become a graveyard, with only distant memories separating the girl she had been from the woman she became. God had become the judge, jury and executioner of those who lived and those who died. My mother never forgot that. Like so many others, she decided to migrate.
When telling the story of her journey, she often mentions luck—the same luck that saved her from death four times during the war and made her migration as manageable as it could be.
“I took a plane from El Salvador to Baja California. Then I was put in the trunk of a car, and somehow, hours later, I ended up in San Diego.”
Although she reached her destination safely, my mother never truly felt at home, a feeling she would later pass on to me. She found a partner and had her first child in the United States. Her life began to stabilize, but fate had other plans. Her first stay in the United States did not last long, yet she left her hopes and dreams there. With a new child and a new partner, she was forced to return home by circumstances beyond her control.
Years later, my mother sat beside me, deciding the course of my life. In the end, she made up her mind: We would return not only to pursue her hopes and dreams, but also to give me the chance to create my own.
Years later, we spoke about the choice she had made for us. It was one of the most difficult conversations we had—not as mother and child, but as two adults.
It is not my place to pass judgment on my mother. Every choice she made was intended to help us build a better life. Still, neither of us has forgotten how deeply that journey affected us. On June 7, my mother and I made the trip once more, placing our hope in a new land.