The Effect of Deportation

When I was 6 months old, my parents left their hometown and brought me to the United States of America in hope of a better future for me and for them. It was just my dad, my mom, and me. We lived in a home in Basalt, Colorado that was just big enough for the three of us. Every year we would have our little family vacation and we would decide what state we wanted to visit. Every time I had a school event, both of my parents would always be there to cheer me on. They were my number one fans. We were inseparable. 

One day, my mom and dad were driving to Denver to catch up with the rest of our family; we were having a little getaway. On the way to Denver, a cop pulled my dad over. My dad was speeding, but instead of receiving a ticket, the officer decided to take my father to jail. For about four months, my mother and I would drive 141 miles just to see my dad’s face through a small tv. Every month we would receive letters from him telling us how much he missed us. On my birthday, he sent me a drawing of a flower with a letter telling me how much he loved me. After the four months ended, I thought that my dad would come back and live with us and everything would go back to the way it was, I was wrong. On May 2013, my father was deported back to his hometown in Mexico. When my father left, he promised me that he would try his best to come back to be with us. 

My mother tried to find so many ways to bring him back. Every night she wouldn’t sleep because she didn’t want to get used to the idea of not having her sense of comfort besides her. All she wanted to do was feel him beside her one more time. Eight months later, my mother took her life. I don’t believe that she did it because she wasn’t able to bring my dad back, but I believe that it was a part of it. For more than thirteen years she had my dad next to her, and I don’t think she was able to accept the thought of not being with him. After this, there was some contact between my father and I. But I think we were just both really hurt with the loss of my mom. I truly believe that my mom was what held us all together. Every time that my dad and I talked, we would end up arguing. I won’t try to make an excuse for him, but personally I was just mad at him for not being there for her, and especially for me. 

About a year later, my dad found someone new, and in no time, he had a new baby girl. I wasn’t mad that he had found someone new, I wanted him to move on and be happy. However, I was mad that I had to find out about this through an anonymous text. There was also no way of ignoring the feeling that my dad had replaced me and my mom. I didn’t talk to my dad for about a year and a half after that. 

On October 16, 2018, I saw my father’s face after six years… through a phone. When his face popped up through the screen of my phone, it took me back six years to the time my mom and I would have to see him through another screen while he was in jail. I didn’t know how to talk to him. It didn’t feel right calling him dad because he hadn’t stepped into those shoes for a long time. We talked about how different we both looked since the last time we saw each other. We talked about school, and what hopes and dreams I have for myself. We talked about the past and those good memories that we still kept. When we said our goodbyes, he told me that he loved me. It was hard for me to say it back because I didn’t know if I still did. I had forgotten how to love my own father. 

Many of us hear about families getting deported, but no one truly knows the impact it has. Many of us know what a joke the President is, but no one truly understands the fear he instigates every time he talks about the wall or about deporting more families. There are some who joke about the Latino and Hispanic culture and think that crossing the border is another stereotype that we can joke about. However, not everyone understands that there are many of us who die crossing the border, and those people who die never get to reach their dreams. Not all of us are lucky enough to keep that strong relationship after one of our family members gets deported. Deportation truly breaks families apart, and hopefully soon enough, people start to realize.