This last year and a half has been probably the hardest of my life. I’ve experienced growing pains and the truth to the saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Disclaimer: I’m trying to write this in a way that’s not political, but I’m not sure I can. If anything within this post offends you, you are welcome to stop reading.

I will always be pro immigrant. Pro DACA. Pro Dreamers. Pro families belong together. Pro loving people first before money. Pro helping others who want to come here. Pro love your neighbor as yourself. Because of dreams. Because of oppression. Because they have kids. Because they want a better future. Safety. Opportunity. The American Dream. There will always be room at my table, in my home, and in the community I want to live in. There is more than enough.

I want to share with you a very personal, very difficult to articulate experience that to this day I still haven’t been able to process or talk about. A suppressed memory.

On April 5, 2018, a friend of mine’s husband was picked up by ICE. A man who employed people, payed his taxes, invested in the community, bought Christmas presents for children in need, helped our “first borns” transition into our home, has a special needs son (1 of 3 US citizen children), the list goes on. This friend called me when it happened and I went immediately to be with her. I spent all day sitting in line in the lobby of Homeland Security. After about what seems like 4-5 hours, we were taken up an elevator to a small, cramped room. This room was maybe 12 feet by 12 feet and filled with about 10-12 people. We went there looking for answers and were given the personal items of my friend’s husband. We were told that he had been apprehended, that he was sitting in a holding cell downstairs, and that we could not see him but that he’d be transferred to a private prison in Tacoma later that night when the bus did it’s rounds.

She got on the phone with her attorney, and I looked desperately for a second opinion for them. Please God, let this be a misunderstanding. These are good people. We went back to their neighborhood and split up, looking for the truck her husband was driving when he was apprehended. He was able to have the ICE agent inform us that it was close to home and locked. She went North. I went South. I called her when I found it just two blocks from their home. She cried when I brought her to the truck. Imagining his last few moments of freedom. Remembering that just twelve seconds before hand, they’d waived goodbye before driving in opposite directions. We went back to their home – a home filled with pictures of a loving family, toys, games, their life – and we put on paper all the scenarios of what could happen and how to prepare for them. To do lists. “Keep your house,” I told her. “The market is strong, you have tons of equity, and I can rent it for you for six or seven hundred dollars over what your mortgage payment is. I’ll check on it monthly for you and I’ll let you know of any changes in the market.” She cried. “My kids will never see their father again in this house.” I held her on the kitchen floor. I was so numb, it felt like a bad dream.

The next morning I picked her up and we drove to the Tacoma detention facility. It was a nightmare. We had to check our bags and phones, everything (we couldn’t even bring paper and pen inside), in lockers, then sign in with photo ID. We sat in a stale room for about 90 minutes until our names were called. We’d be allowed to chat with my friend’s husband for one hour. A plexiglass wall separated us. We were in what seemed like a noisy hallway with telephones along the glass. He was in a jumpsuit. I can no longer remember the color of his jumpsuit but I’m pretty sure it was white. The people in white jump suits were low risk and the orange jumpsuits designated higher risk. As they discussed plans – things like who to call, what to do – I just sat there. Overwhelmed with emotion. Shaken. How could this happen? I thought HE was only going to go after the criminals – the drug traffickers, violent felons, thieves. Not FAMILIES. 

I went back with her to visit her husband a few more times. I spoke to him. Took note of what he told me. “Make sure she gets rid of everything we don’t need. Help her move. When this is all over, we’ll be able to buy new beds, sofas, tables… just make sure she only keeps the necessities. She’s going to try to keep everything… remind her that things can be replaced.” Then we packed. For a couple of weeks we made endless donation runs, gave furniture away on Craigslist, and moved their necessities to her parents’ house.

I don’t think I can go further into this story because it’s still happening. And it hurts. It’s like watching someone you care about wake up everyday in hell. How do you make the best of that? I think I’ll always be picking at the giant scab that is this nightmare. It’s heartbreaking. 3 children whose lives were upended in twelve seconds. On the way to school they had a father to come home to, later that night they didn’t.

I’m so ashamed these days of the actions of my government. That children are being separated from their parents and put in cages and kept in inhumane settings. Abused. Violated. Trauma. Childhoods robbed. That children with loving parents who want the best for them, are being ripped from the arms of their parents, thrown in foster care and adopted out. That families are being torn apart. Dreams lit on fire. People are being deported back to dangerous places with no regard for the life. And for what? The almighty dollar?

I’m furious about seeing Facebook “friends” who post absurd memes and videos and misconceptions about a topic they are too ignorant to know anything about. I see their shitty responses on news articles “send them back!” “My grandparents migrated here from Ireland the RIGHT way,” “Quit stealing our jobs!” “They deserved to die of thirst in the desert”. The list goes on. It makes me sick. People I used to know, like and respect. God fearing people who I thought would have more reverence for human life. Today, they make me sick.

Until you know what it’s like to walk into a child’s room and throw every worldly possession of theirs in a garbage bag – birthday presents, tball trophies, stuffed animals – and dump that bag at a Goodwill, because that child’s parent doesn’t have a piece of paper, don’t tell me your reasons against immigration. Don’t tell me these people are criminals. Or that these families knew this would happen or somehow deserve for this to happen. Don’t tell me that child doesn’t deserve to be tucked in at night by both parents. A happy childhood. Safety. Economic stability. Quit posting your self righteous or religious or ignorant ideals about immigration, a topic you probably know nothing about.  Shut the f### up already! We don’t need taller fences, we need longer tables. We need humanity. We need to stand up for what’s right. We need liberty and justice for all. We need immigration reform and to educate others on the issues with our current immigration.