A Mother's Protest

no. 28

I have a to-do list a mile long—mail, cars, our yard, bills, taxes—it all needs attention. But while I’m back in California, my priority is getting anyone’s attention I can to bring Leifer home.

I keep writing letters. I tell anyone who will listen our story. I’m honest about everything in a way I never felt I could be before. The worst has already happened, so what do I have to lose now, now that he’s gone? I no longer carry the illusion that staying quiet protects my children. I’m mobilized, and my purpose is singular: to bring Leifer home. The only way through is to see it through—to finish the process.

I’ve gone over it again and again in my head. What if I hadn’t been so naive about what we were up against? What if I hadn’t been so trusting, and had tried harder to understand the immigration process for myself? What if I had fought harder, sooner? All I know now is this: I must out-persist the process, the obstacles, and the fear.

Before I took the boys back to California, I imagined having a panic attack during our travel. I had this idea that I’d carry a folded piece of paper in my pocket that said, “I struggle with anxiety. Can you help me?” But somehow, I didn’t even need to ask—people just knew, and came to my aid. My nerves were calm on the day of our trip. I no longer wanted to dread it. I was ready to face it, and move through it.

The nation is preparing to protest on Saturday. Friends from church will be out there. I have more "Bring Leifer Home" shirts and will be joining the protests. My nephew is reading Letter from Birmingham Jail—it’s required in his curriculum. I picked up a copy and plan to read it with my boys. I want to talk to Leif about non-violent protest. I imagine drawing media attention and helping Leifer—and then helping others too. I imagine a zipper, drawing the two sides of this divided country back together. I imagine families being made whole again.

I once asked Leifer if he’d write letters with me. He said, “It doesn’t matter what I say. It’ll be more powerful coming from you as a U.S. citizen.” I understand that point of view, but it makes me want to scream. So much has been placed on my shoulders now that he’s stuck in Peru. And I wonder—how can a country as wealthy as ours struggle so deeply to support mothers?

The other night, while I was heating up dinner, I caught sight of a blue vehicle out of the corner of my eye. I stepped out onto the back porch—could it really be the library’s bookmobile? Leif, Lucca, and I put on our shoes and headed out the front door. It’s been our Thursday night ritual. I was happy to see Kathryn; I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye before we left. She loaded us up with books as I told her how much we miss the library. I miss walking the stacks with the boys as they pick and choose their treasures. Leif immediately found a new Spider-Man book.

Back home, we discovered that quite a few animals had moved in during our absence—squirrels, raccoons, and gophers. A family of raccoons had taken up residence on our roof, and the babies were loud. Tío went up to scare them off, but by then they’d moved on. Leif keeps looking and listening for them. They scare him. At the end of my pregnancy with Leif, I remember a raccoon on our roof that Leifer went to war with. He tried to dissuade her from staying by spraying her with a hose. She just stared down at him. She was going to protect her babies no matter what. I must admit, I understand that feeling now more than ever.

Later, I discovered the pilot light on the water heater had gone out—so the hot shower I’d been looking forward to was anything but. I also mowed the lawn. Leifer had warned me to watch out for rocks and sticks. “I’ve mowed a lawn before,” I reminded him. I used to mow lawns as a kid to make extra money. When I turned on the heat, I realized it was just blowing cold air. His absence is everywhere—in all the little ways he cared for us each day.

Before he left for Peru, our dishwasher broke. He knew how much I relied on it with three boys in the house, so every night after a long day of work, he crawled under the sink and worked on it until it was fixed.

I hope you’ll protest on Saturday. If you want to join us, let me know. If you’d like to find your local protest, you can look it up here. A special shout-out to Jac for putting this on my radar. I hope you, too, can find the will to keep fighting for what you believe in.

The outpouring of support we have had since we have gotten home, I just cannot say thank you enough. All the messages, hugs, errands, and catching up we have done- it has meant the world. Thank you!

Note: If you would like to have a Better Together, send me a note. I still have a few.

If you are just recently joining me, consider starting at the beginning of this story here. Share my family’s story with others. Share your stories with me. We are better together.