Hilda Profilo
It was a Thursday morning, I could feel the pressure in the atmosphere, the vibe was different and the feeling was not warm. I could just feel it; something was wrong, so I sat and I waited. I waited for my dad to walk into the living room tired and hungry from work, and for my mom to walk in afterwards with an armful of groceries as usual. The wait seemed endless, and I grew weary as I kept glancing at the clock. Hours passed and I began to worry, it was 11 a.m. and not a call had been answered or returned. I was about to explode when my dad finally walked into the living room looking tired, and I immediately felt at ease, feeling silly for being so worried about a measly feeling in my gut. I began to relax when I realized that my mom hadn’t followed my dad inside, and that the look on my dad’s face was not of fatigue but of despair. My mom was not coming home that night, and in that moment I realized that the feeling, the pressure in the atmosphere was because a piece of my heart had been taken away.
My mom was born in Accra, Ghana, meaning she is not a citizen of the United States. Her case took a lot longer to process than we had anticipated. At first, we did not hear about her case at all and then suddenly it blew up in our faces. The immigration officers wanted to deport her. They didn’t give us an option, and I became angry. I felt as though they wanted her out their way, so they could quickly deport her before the President allowed immigrants to be in the country legally. This was a hard time for our family. I knew that if the immigration officers took her away our family would not be the same. So I prayed to God for a miracle.
As time went on, things began to get worse, the immigration officers put an ankle monitor on her, so they knew where she would be at all times. They acted as if she was a criminal, I knew she felt ashamed when we would be out in the grocery store and she would have to dash out of the store to find an outlet so she could charge her anklet before the alarm went off. We continued to try live life as if things were normal so on the outside we put up a happy charade, but on the inside we were all hurting and we knew it.
We finally heard news when the immigration officers made my mom go to Washington and try to get her passport remade. I went to my school counselor and my church for help. These sources helped a little, but not before they found her passport. When they found her passport, immigration did not let her come back home. They put her in a holding center; and that was the last place I visited her.
This whole journey has been very tough. The stress has affected my schoolwork. My mind was always on my mom during classes and coming home knowing my mom would not be there was heartbreaking. Not having a mom there has been hard because she was the one who was supposed to teach me how to cook, how to dress, how to address people, and remind me to "focus on schoolwork, not boys".
After a few months passed, I finally got the chance to talk to my mom, tears began to form in my eyes as I heard the beautiful sound of my mom’s voice tell me in my native language, Twi, "Hilda don't let this get to you, work school and graduate, make me proud.” These are the words that I woke me up and made me realize that, being sad will not help me succeed. Instead of letting this get to me I have decided to take this challenge and use it to my advantage. This year I have pushed harder than ever before, by taking advanced courses I plan to graduate with honors, and I plan on getting nothing less than the best because everything I do, I do for my mom. I want somebody to look at me and say she is a strong woman, willing to help out in any way. This journey has helped me realize who I am, which is someone who can go through tragedy and still stand. My goal is to finish school successfully and make my mom proud like I promised her.