Undocumented Parenting: The Monster Under My Bed.
"I contemplate the thin line between the real and imagined monsters in the lives of my children."
“Are we bad? Is that why they want to arrest you?”
“I don’t want to get arrested mom.”
“I don’t want a new mom if you get arrested.”
I made the mistake of talking about my work with my partner at the dinner table while the children played in the living room, an entirely separate room in our house. The children have ears like a hawk.
We are putting them down for bed when my most sensitive daughter, and our middle child, starts panicking again about the safety of her immigrant mother and that of her family. My youngest daughter is crying into a purple and blue dragon I got her years ago. Fuzz is soaking in her tears as she whispers to him “I don’t want to get arrested.” My eldest daughter is trying to be brave for her sisters. She takes the eldest daughter role very seriously, it comes incredibly natural to her. I worry about her all of the time. I baby her as much as I can to remind her that she is a child too, that she is still my baby.
I wipe the tears streaming down my daughter’s eyes and tell her that we are not going to be arrested and that we are safe. She says, “I don’t want another mom if you get arrested. You are the best mom in the entire universe. I picked you as my mom.” And I believe her.
I tell her that I picked her to be my baby. That I knew she was meant for me the moment I found out I was pregnant with her. I tell her I gave her a special name because of our strong connection to each other. I tell her that we were meant to be together and we will always be together. This soothes her. I kiss my girls goodnight after reassuring them that we are safe.
I turn the lights off and brighten a salt crystal lamp, the room glows a deep peachy orange. Before I close their door, my daughter asks for me to come to her bed one last time. I sit beside her and stroke her hair, “What is it?”
“Can you make sure the monster under my bed is gone?”
I flash my phone light under her and her sister’s bed and I tell her that there is no monster under her bed. I kiss her forehead one last time and I tell her that I love her.
The house is dark and quiet. I stand in the heart of our home, staring out the large window onto the lush blue dark of our yard. I contemplate the thin line between the real and imagined monsters in the lives of my children and my primal desire to protect my children from them. The way that I must ward off imagined dangers even as I must stand in the shadow of real ones. The monsters I fear are not under my bed. Safety is not the absence of danger but the illusion of it. It is my gift to them but also my burden.
Propina
This week, Alix Dick and Antero Garcia joined The Border Chronicle’s podcast to discuss their book (out next month!), The Cost of Being Undocumented. The conversation was lively and we encourage you to give it a listen:
If you’re not already familiar with The Border Chronicle, they have been providing essential journalism for this present moment. We are big fans of their work and if you enjoy La Cuenta, The Border Chronicle is probably a publication for you!
We’ll see you next week.