Once, when my daughter was four, I participated in a six-week program at my undergraduate institution. It involved staying on campus overnight because not only did we participate in special classes but also field trips. I called my daughter every single day and visited her on the weekends. She was also staying with her paternal grandparents who she loved and trusted.
One day, after the program was over, I was dropping her off at daycare, and she asked me where I was going. When I said “School,” she burst into tears and begged me not to leave her.
I couldn’t understand why she was so upset. I mean, I took her to daycare every day. I went to school twice a week. But then I remembered that the last time I went to school was during that program. So for my daughter, school no longer meant something I did for a couple of hours before picking her up at the end of the day–school now meant I was leaving her and she didn’t know how long I would be gone or when I would be back.
As I think about the children being separated from their families at the US border, I feel sick. I am talking seriously, physically ill. When I contacted my reps, the whole time I felt like I was going to vomit. And since then, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my daughter who was traumatized by my leaving her when she knew exactly where I was, knew when I would be back, was with people who she knew and loved, talked to me every day, and was safe and well taken care of.
The children at the border HAVE NONE OF THAT. And it makes my soul sick. Every day. So. I have contacted my reps. I gave to this fundraiser. I’m going to write postcards. Here’s a link to other ways we can all help. Also, there will be protests.
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