When I interviewed my mom, I expected a normal conversation. Instead, I heard the weight behind her voice as she talked about memories that still feel real years later. Sitting at our kitchen table, surrounded by the usual sounds of home.
I realized this wasn’t just a story about the past. It was a story about survival, sacrifice, and everything someone is willing to risk for a better future.
My mom was only eighteen when she left Ecuador in 2005. She didn’t leave searching for adventure. She left hoping for stability and opportunity. Growing up, she was raised mostly by her grandmother, whom she had a deep connection with, despite their struggles, she truly loved her. Before my mom left, her grandmother told her, “Go carefully, protect yourself… I’ll always love you.” Even now, those words still stay with her.
Her journey began with a flight to Mexico, but after that, survival took over. Guided by someone they called “La Guia,” meaning “The guide”, she traveled mostly on foot toward the United States, alongside strangers connected by the same fear and hope. The desert days were brutally hot, while the nights were freezing. Food and water were limited, and every step felt uncertain. One moment that stayed with me the most was hearing about her crossing the Río Grande. After days of walking in extreme heat, the freezing water shocked her body. Because she was small, others helped place her on a pool float while many swam across quietly beside her. While she spoke all I imagined was the dark water stretching endlessly and the fear that must have followed their every move.
But not every moment was silent. One night, while resting near cactuses, panic suddenly broke out when someone yelled, “La Migra, Run!”. Everyone ran in different directions without thinking. Some climbed over barbed wire fences, badly injuring themselves while trying to escape. My mom remembered one man crying about wanting his mother and couldn’t keep going anymore after getting badly injured on the barbed fence. Even years later, her voice softened when she repeated that part.
What affected me the most was realizing how young she was. Eighteen. Around my age now. I tried imagining myself in her place, exhausted, terrified, and unsure of what would happen next. Honestly, I don’t know if I could have survived what she went through. I wondered what kind of strength it takes to keep going in those conditions? To leave everything you’ve ever known behind and still believe something better is ahead?
Today, sitting across from me at our kitchen table, my mom is no longer just the little girl who crossed deserts and rivers. She’s a mother who built a life from nothing. Hearing her story made me realize that everything she went through wasn’t only about survival. It was about creating a future, one that eventually became mine too.
When the interview ended, the room felt quiet again, but not in the same way as before. I remember feeling grateful but also responsible in a way. Like I carry a piece of that journey with me. My mom didn’t just make it to America, she created something here, and now, hearing her story, I feel like I owe it to her to do something meaningful with the life she fought so hard to build.
