I heard my mom screaming in the living room, the kind of scream I have never heard before. Scared, I ran and saw why she was yelling. There were two men at the door, faceless, all I could see was “ICE” on their jackets. My mom, terrified, kept the door closed. Through the window, as calm as I could, I asked how I could help. “We are here for…” I didn’t need to hear the name because I knew.
I felt my world crumble to pieces. I began to imagine my life without him. My father, the person who has given it all for me. I remembered the many times I reached low points and how he dug me out. I hesitated because I didn’’t want to turn him in. But he came outside saying “better me than you” and turned himself in. He walked towards the door with a single tear down his face with his head held high.
Then I wake up, I check my phone for missed calls, then I relax. As an adult, I can handle this kind of nightmare as I’ve had to my entire life. However, as I wake up I think of all the children who can’t focus in school because their entire night was filled nightmares of losing their parents to ICE. I think of all the families who have gone through this but weren’t lucky enough to wake up from it, because it is their reality. A reality that is filled with fear and anxiety about the next day. The children who run home every day, not because they can’t wait to watch a show, but because they want to make sure mom and dad are still there.
As humans when we are comfortable we tend to forget about those who are not. For me, the nightmares are a reminder that because I am relatively safe with DACA doesn’t mean my loved ones are. My neighbors aren’t safe, my friends aren’t safe, my parents aren’t safe. There is still a great deal of fighting left to secure the future of those around us, and personal comfort should not be the end goal.
