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Out of Status

Copyright © 2012 by Jen Furer

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Publication: February 2012 www.GottaLoveMom.com

DEDICATION

To those who have taken risks,

Who have endured the consequences,

Who have celebrated the victories of their choices,

Who are uncertain of what lies ahead,

Who persevere through the trials that life throws our way,

Who believe in kindness and virtue,

I dedicate this book to us.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First, I need to deliver a gargantuan “thank you” to my husband and kids. This book would not have been possible without their understanding, encouragement, and occasional harassment.

“Out of Status” was a group effort of family, friends, and the occasional unsuspecting

stranger. It was truly a collaborative work of love. There are so many people who helped put this book together.

I thank my Mom, Dad, Kuya Rey, Kuya Teng and especially Noel, Nelson and Benjie,

without whom this book would not have been possible. I am who I am because of you.

To my husband, Craig, for your love, faith, guidance and your endless supply of witty comments. My life isn’t complete without you. I appreciate your creative input from the first

word to the last. You were my constant resource for ideas, my critic and confidant, and without

your support this book would remain only an idea. To my children, Nicole, Mikey, Jonathon and Joshua, who continue to teach me about life.

You are the reason I needed to tell my story.

To Craig’s parents, my other Mom and Dad, Roz and Al. You make me believe there’s

nothing I can’t do. You read every word, and provided endless encouragement and support. To my sister, Melayne, who doesn’t recognize the word “no” or its cousin “can’t”, I thank you

for the idea that stop signs only mean pause.

Natasha Reilly of CreativeNachos.com, whose comments about my blog GottaLoveMom.com - “I always feel like I’m reading a book when I read her posts”- gave me the courage to write the

first chapter of “Out of Status”. Her encouragement and guidance in those early stages taught me

how to describe a setting and helped me develop into a more effective storyteller. To my friends at TheMotherhood.com who listened to my anxieties and joys, who provided a

place for me to shine, and a place where hearts smile together.

To Dawn Nicholas, one of my very closest friends, our daily trek of walking the kids to

school, during which we have talked about everything and anything, has provided valued memories and inspiration. These moments were essential to building my commitment and

passion about the whole writing process.

To Sonia Simpson, also one of my dearest friends, who made sure I didn’t give up, encouraged me to push the envelope and believed that my story could inspire others and make an

impact on the world.

To Anne Godoy, Donato Kusuanco, Catherine Andre, Maiet Biliran, Bianca Dompor, Chiquit Borce, Jun Doble, Judith Retotar-Nuguit, Renee Malmquist, Heidi Gutierrez-Pagaduan and Lucy

Andrade, who happily volunteered to read the first draft, provided me with their honest feedback,

and motivated me to believe that I had an inspiring story to share.

To Dina Gerderman, who edited my first draft, who coaxed me back into a schedule to meet my own deadline, and who occasionally acted as a therapist whenever I second-guessed the story

line and doubted the viability of the entire undertaking. To Gayle Kesten, thank you for the

introduction. To Felicia Kramer of Another Bright Idea, who tirelessly helped in analyzing the intricacies of

the book cover, urged me not to abandon my dreams, and eased my anxieties about self-

publishing.

To Phil Guibilo and Pat Balazs, who are a constant source of encouragement, motivation, and positive energy,

A special thanks to my daughter, Nicole, who helped me with the final editing, and who

helped me cross the finish line of this marathon race. I thank you all, with all my heart.

OUT OF STATUS

FOREWORD

By Michael-Rex Dompor Carbonell, Jr.

Life is a collection of constant adjustments. It is the act of adapting to new settings and the

combined reactions to the different hardships one may face on a daily basis. A family is a group of people that fills in the gaps. Upon deciding which road to take, a family helps you point out the

pros and cons of each option and guides you along whichever path you choose. A family is there

to help you work around and learn from the mistakes you may have made along the way. A well-connected family is what fuels a constant growth in one's security, confidence, and passion.

Taking the reins of every great family is, more often than not, a strong motherly figure.

A mother can look briefly into a refrigerator and calculate exactly how much food is needed.

A mother can make a pile of dirty clothes smell like a breath of air from the heavens. A mother will put off anything for the well-being of her family and still manage to get all the other

important things in her schedule taken care of. A mother is someone who never sleeps until she

knows (or in most cases for me, thinks) all her children are tucked quietly into bed, a feat that can prove rather difficult when your 16-year-old son suffers from self-induced insomnia (even more

difficult when that son turns 20 and moves across the country).

This is the story of my mother. This is a collection of her hardships and a written documentation of the hard work, the support, and the love that she has brought not only to this

family, but to this world. This is a book accounting the hope and inspiration that has brought me

to where I am today. This is my mother's American dream.

PROLOGUE by Marietta Dompor Biliran

The story that unfolds in “Out of Status” shows how individuals weave their lives into one

that is larger than life itself.

It portrays how a solid family can turn the heart-rending experiences of its members into opportunities of growth and deeper commitment to give future generations the needed exemplary

models of strength of character and reality-rooted sense of vision to contribute to the making of a

truly happy world. “Out of Status” provides rich sociological insights on why people operate the way they do and

what great miracles they could have made if they opted to live by the true spirit of democracy and

respect for human dignity as espoused by the country they belong to. I am particularly intrigued by the actions of the instrumentalities of law of the State in the story, whose behavioral

manifestations even if done in the name of freedom and democracy in the great United States of

America can hardly be ennobling and dignifying.

“Out of Status” allows the reader to go beyond the written words, to see between the lines, and to hear the struggles that the actors in the story have to bear if only to catch the ever elusive

American dream.

But what really is the American dream? The wisdom that “Out of Status” shares with its reader may offer an answer to the question. The plethora of tragedies and victories in this book

shows a classic tradition of life as hope itself, where one has the freedom to realize a dream the

way he chooses to live it with dignity and honor. The human spirit never fails to transcend...

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

FOREWORD

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 LIFE INTERRUPTED

CHAPTER 2 A PROMISE

CHAPTER 3 THE JOURNEY BEGINS

CHAPTER 4 DREAMS

CHAPTER 5 DREAMS AND CHALLENGES

CHAPTER 6 DREAMS ON HOLD

CHAPTER 7 RETROSPECT

CHAPTER 8 TEARS

CHAPTER 9 INFLECTION POINT

CHAPTER 10 HOPE SURVIVES

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1 LIFE INTERRUPTED

Wow, you’re really lucky!

It was August 2010 and I was aboard the Cathay Pacific Airlines. I was on my way home to the

United States on a flight from Manila to Hong Kong after visiting my parents and brothers. A Filipino man sitting next to me noticed my American passport and commented, “Wow,

you’re really lucky!”

“Lucky?” I thought. I smiled at him and reflected briefly on my last few years. I was on that flight with him

because the people I love most had had terrible luck over the preceding five years. In fact, I had

become convinced that luck was something I was running out of. He explained that he earned his living on cruise ships, leaving his wife and kids for 10 months

at a time, working as a security guard to maintain law and order on the high seas while people ate,

drank, and danced their way through their vacations. He said the hours were long, the pay was

low, but it was his only option to afford his family a decent lifestyle. I noticed the enthusiasm in his eyes as he shared his dreams for a better life for his family. He

had visited family in the United States once and was in awe of the lifestyle, opportunity, and

freedom. He said that he wished there was a way for him to move here with his family, and he even considered various illegal alternatives. Having had firsthand experience with the whole

illegal approach, I discouraged him from going down that road.

After our conversation, I realized that I was indeed lucky to be an American citizen. I have felt lucky from the moment I got my green card -- an immigrant visa -- but it’s something that people

can lose sight of as they struggle through life, especially when they have loved ones whose lives

were horribly derailed by failed efforts to achieve citizenship. So I have a love-hate relationship

with the citizenship process and a full-blown love-love relationship with being an American.

Life interrupted -- really, really interrupted...

My parents used to tell me, “God works in mysterious ways. Don’t worry, everything happens for a reason.” That advice was not helpful on this day.

It was October 27, 2005, 5:30 a.m. I had just gotten out of the shower. I had an early start

since my third child, 10-year-old Jonathon, had an audition in Manhattan for an Oral B

commercial. I opened the bathroom door, and standing next to our bed was my husband Craig. He was born

and raised in Brooklyn and has that stereotypical “I can handle anything” attitude. He has been

my one true love, and the reason I wake up smiling every morning. The love I have with him made me realize that it is possible to be loved more than anyone or anything in the world.

He was looking at me in a way that was different from his usual “Good morning, honey” look.

He had a look of apprehension that was dramatically different from his typical sanguine gaze. Apparently he was waiting for me to come out of the shower all this time. “So what’s with the

facial expression?” I thought to myself.

In a somber tone he said, “Honey, I have some bad news.”

My head was spinning. Did my Dad have another heart attack? What could be so bad? I just waited for Craig to tell me.

“Honey,” he said, “Benjie got picked up.”

At that moment my brain turned off, and I stopped listening.

Benjie is my youngest brother. He was 32 years old and had lived in the United States since he

was 12. He was brought to the U.S. by my parents, and America had been his home for two decades.

“No!” I screamed. “This cannot be happening!”

Benjie is smart, resourceful, responsible, and cheerful. Atypical for most siblings who are the

youngest, he took on supporting Mom and Dad after all of us older siblings moved out. He was in the process of starting his own business building custom-made vintage café racer style

motorcycles, a venture that was starting to show a lot of promise. He hoped it would be his way

of achieving his American dream. And after 20 years of going to American schools, having American friends, dating American

girls, watching American television, and eating American food, he was being removed from his

home and transferred to a country that had become completely foreign to him.

Craig is almost two years younger than I, yet he possesses the wisdom and optimism of

someone older, especially during the most challenging times. He epitomizes every woman’s

romantic super hero. I have suffered a lot of heartaches, and Craig saved me several times from falling. His ability to make me laugh when it seems like my world is falling apart is a very unique

trait he possesses. However, at that moment, I saw in his hazel eyes that his heart was carrying

something heavy. He too felt this tragedy that had struck our family … yet again. My brother Nelson had been apprehended in December 1998 and deported in January 1999. Our family was

still reeling from his departure.

I kept asking myself, “Why my family? What did we do to deserve this? How can this be happening? This is my family! This is my life! How can we be so unlucky?”

Luck? Is it all about luck?

My husband is so lucky. Unlike my family, Craig’s grandparents migrated from Russia and

passed through Ellis Island before settling in New York. Maybe it was easier for them to capture the American dream because back then, the U.S. had opened its gates to all immigrants. Did the

first generation of immigrants suffer the same uncertainties we did? Did we do it the wrong way?

Did we try to manipulate and ignore the immigration laws just to have a taste of the American dream? Did we realize that we were risking everything, including the prospect of being citizens,

just to have a shot at the American dream?

Yes, we did take that risk, all the while never prepared to accept and always continuing to

deny what we knew might happen: The government might send some of us back to the Philippines. And now, after two decades, just when we were all fooled into thinking that America

would surely be our home forever, that awful moment of reckoning had come.

Craig put his arms on my shoulders. “I’m so sorry, hon’, but did you hear what I just said?” he asked.

Staring at a blank space, I mumbled for I couldn’t seem to speak out the horrid images that

were in my head. I knew that I, too, could have been apprehended if Craig and I had not gotten married.

I’m not sure if real words came out of my lips. I said something like: “Huh? What do you

mean? Where? How? What about Mom and Dad?”

Craig said that the Homeland Security personnel came to the house and arrested Benjie. They left Mom and Dad in the house, but gave them specific instructions to purchase their plane tickets

back to Manila.

Everything around me turned mute. As I looked around, my whole world was in pause, and

then the sound waves became unbearable as the news sank in.

Why? Oh my God, why? I screamed like my soul was taken away from me as I fell on my knees, hugged myself, and

rocked back and forth. I bawled out loud as if the end of the world was at hand.

Craig held me tight and rubbed my back. I could feel his strong arms and chest close to mine. I

wrapped my arms around his waist. Around him, I felt like I would be safe. I heard his heart beating faster than usual, too. As I rested my head on his chest, my heart felt like it was going to

explode with a deep heartache I had never felt before.

I kept asking myself, Why? Why, God? Why them? Why now? Why after almost 20 years?

Oh, my four children. How do I tell them? How do I protect them from the pain of this news? I tried to contain myself, but endless bursts of tears and loud sobs escaped my tiny frame.

I had woken up the kids with my strident crying. As I collapsed to the floor with my eyes shut,

I saw an image of my entire family being torn apart. I heard echoes of my cries coming from the lower level. I walked out of my master bedroom.

My feet felt heavy and my shoulders burdened with this huge cross I was about to carry as I

dragged my petite body to the top of the stairs of my split-level home. I stopped and leaned on the wall in the hallway.

I heard my usually reserved 16-year-old daughter Nicole screaming. She was swearing with

every breath in between momentary pauses of weighty sobs. I could almost hear the tremble in

her heart. It took too much energy and determination to stand up. Craig grabbed my arms and guided me

as I took the last 10 steps toward the lower level. My legs were so weak, I had to stop and sit on

the landing of the stairs. “This is just a dream, a bad dream!” Nicole screamed in disbelief.

She sounded like an uneasy dam, ready to break. As she got closer, I saw the pain that this

devastating situation had caused her. I could feel her pain. My tears kept pouring, and screams began to escape once again. I questioned how my daughter, Nicole, could cope with the sadness,

the emptiness? How could I have allowed her to experience so much sadness at such a young

age?

I motioned for her to come to me for an embrace. But she screamed and paced around the living room in anger, sorrow, despair and frustration. I urged her again to come close to me for I

felt an overwhelming sadness. Nicole held my hands as she moved me to the couch in the living

room. As I hugged her tightly, I couldn’t help but think how painful this must be for the kids!

Benjie, along with my two younger brothers, took care of my own children like they were his

own. While some teenagers were hanging around in parks and going to parties, my brothers were

busy playing with the kids. Benjie was Peter Pan! I could still remember him changing the children’s diapers, tossing the kids up in the air and teaching them how to fix vintage

Volkswagen Beetles even when they were still in their diapers! Benjie was a prominent adult

figure, their buddy. The earth colors of the living room and the tchotchkes (Jewish word for knickknacks) that

decorated the room used to be in harmony with my peaceful and happy life. However, at that

moment, there was an overwhelming feeling of betrayal, confusion and sadness. I couldn’t help but remember how we all lit the first firewood in the fireplace, the Christmases, Chanukahs and

birthdays we had joyfully celebrated with the family, and the stories and jokes we had shared in

this room.

I didn’t know whether to smile or cry with memories of the baptism party we held at my house. It was 1995. Craig and I had just moved into our home in Cranford, New Jersey, and it

was Jonathon’s baptism. My Filipino family brought in a lechon (whole roast pig) to the surprise

of my new Jewish family! I sobbed heavily as I caught a glimpse of a family picture on the wall -- a photo we had taken

the previous Thanksgiving. I was afraid that might be the very last time my family would ever be

together again. Our tradition had been broken, our dreams had been shattered, and our hope had been taken away.

Sitting on the living room couch were Jonathon and Mikey, my 10-year old and 14-year old

sons respectively. They were sitting across from each other. I could sense in Jonathon’s soulful eyes that he was searching for answers. He had been asking repeatedly, “What’s going on?” But

no one had responded to his inquires.

Mikey, my ever-aloof teen, was pounding his fists on the couch as he screamed, “Shut up!”

toward Jonathon. This only served to spice up Jonathon’s suspicion and curiosity. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to control my emotions for the kids. I wanted to be strong and

brave, but I ended up screaming and sobbing. In a distorted and ugly voice, I asked, “Why them,

honey? Why them? It can’t be them! God, no!” “Daddy, why is mom crying? Why are my brother and sister screaming?” Jonathon continued

to ask.

I motioned for Jonathon to come sit next to me on the couch. I continued to sob profusely. I could sense in Jonathon’s usually happy Garfield-like eyes, which were stricken with insecurities,

that he felt something terrible had happened. He demanded answers and wanted them fast! He

wrapped his hands around me and rested his head on my shoulder.

“What’s going on, Mom?” he asked. “Please tell me, what’s going on?” He sat next to me waiting for an answer, but I couldn’t form the words to explain to my son

what had happened. As I was leaning against the cushions of the couch, Craig, with a strong voice

remarked, “The I.N.S found Tito Benjie and will escort him back to the Philippines.” At that moment, Jonathon’s facial expressions showed scattered emotions as though there was

a lamp inside his head and he was reacting to it like a bug. His body shut off. He was frozen.

“This has to be a nightmare,” Jonathon said. “I just need to close my eyes for a minute, and when I open them, I will awake from such a horrible dream! This is just a silly hallucination. I am

just sleep walking, am I not?”

Craig understood what Jonathon was thinking. I could see in Jonathon’s eyes that this was just

unbearable. It felt worse than losing a loved one. That day, we lost something completely different, the loss of the ability to be with our family, to share birthdays, graduations, holidays

and weekends – things we had taken for granted.

Craig repeated, “The I.N.S. found Tito Benjie and will escort him back to the Philippines.” Finally Jonathon burst into tears beside me. I put his head on my shoulder with the hope that it

might comfort him as it had in the past. But it didn’t. Craig stayed strong and did not cry. He

stayed calm as he told us to get ready to go to Willingboro, where my parents and Benjie lived.

We changed, grabbed our shoes and jacket, and got into our Ford Expedition as we headed to

Exit 7 of the New Jersey Turnpike. It usually takes about an hour, but today it seemed like an

eternity. As I sat in the front passenger seat staring out the window of the truck, flashes of memories with my three younger brothers, Noel, Nelson and Benjie, kept occupying my mind.

Noel, Nelson and Benjie were the last ones to be granted visitors’ visas. My parents, my two

older brothers and I were granted tourist visas the day we went to the U.S. Embassy in the Philippines, but when my three younger brothers applied later, they were rejected and had to be

left behind to live on their own. Noel, who was 18 at the time, was in charge of watching Nelson

and Benjie, who were 16 and 11 respectively. For more than a year they continued to apply and

line up outside the embassy, only to be turned away repeatedly. Finally the U.S. consuls caved in and granted them their B1-B2 visitor’s visas – which granted them permission to stay in America

for only three to six months.

I can still remember the day they arrived in Jersey City one snowy day in December of 1986. They were just 19, 16 and 12! I hadn’t seen them for more than two years because I was the first

in my family to come to America in August 1984. They had never seen snow, a laundromat or a

Burger King! And yet after being in this country for almost 20 years, they were being sent back to a country they no longer knew, leaving their children, wives, nieces, nephews, brother and sister!

It was really baffling.

My eyes were sore and in pain and my heart kept jumping with little heaps of heavy sobs. I

could hear the heartbeat of my four children and could feel their silent sobs. Suddenly, I broke out into a hysterical cry again. I couldn’t stop sobbing. My cries got louder and louder. I tried to close

my eyes, and even then I could sense that my children were in tears, too.

As we passed by every exit on the N.J. Turnpike from Exit 11 to Exit 7, the tears kept pouring.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally arrived in Willingboro. It seemed so similar and yet it had changed so much.

The roses, daisies and peonies that my mother had adoringly planted used to bring so much

life. Now they seemed dead. Looking at the newly painted garage door, window panes and wooden gates, I pictured my 73-year-old Dad with his short chubby fingers holding the paint

brush. The green grass and various clay pots with different shrubs and cactus plants, all

strategically placed along with the rocks and stones, reminded me of my 62-year-old Mom in her brim hat early in the morning, singing and attending to her favorite hobby: gardening. I caught a

glimpse of a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the middle of my mother’s garden. It is

believed that Mary had always brought peace and hope, yet at that very second all I could sense

was confusion and betrayal. There seemed to be a black shroud that was hovering over the warmth, comfort, and laughter that this home used to represent.

“We are here. Let’s get inside,” Jonathon said. “This is just a cruel joke, a nightmare we all

need to wake up from!” We got out of the Expedition, hoping that this was just a bad dream, and with heavy hearts we

walked toward the front door to face the truth.

As the door opened, Mom and Dad were waiting for us. I never imagined that their faces could look this sad and frozen in time. They were the most loving, faithful, helpful, and content

grandparents! They might have struggled financially, but they had always given so much with

their love and generosity. But now they looked like their souls had been taken away from them.

My Mom once told me that in the 1960s, the thought of migrating to the USA seemed

unnecessary. They were happy living in the Philippines and supporting the family, so they didn’t

take advantage of invitations to come to America. But in the 1980s, the family business did not do well, which is why we all ended up in the United States through B1-B2 tourist visas. However,

Dad still denies that we migrated for economic reasons. He insists that he migrated for fear of

being tortured by the Muslims in Mindanao. He believes to this day that he is actually a citizen of

the U.S. since he was born in the Philippines during the American occupation. For about 20 years my family paid their taxes yearly, did not commit any crimes, did not ask

for welfare, assimilated with the community, created new ties with the neighborhood, worked

hard, tried their fate with various businesses, and raised 10 new grandchildren who lovingly call them Mama and Papa. They dreamt of one day taking that oath of citizenship. They spent tens of

thousands of dollars paying various lawyers to get their visas converted to the elusive green cards

– and when those efforts failed, they watched nervously as their visas expired. One attorney – who was later disbarred -- assured them they would not be deported, and they believed that. But

now their dreams were being shattered into a million pieces.

Dad was staring silently, and his eyes were stricken with sorrow, guilt and disbelief! Mom

was beyond grief. Her eyes were swollen from crying. Both their faces were frozen, in shock, and their eyes were wide open and barely blinking. My mom’s tears started falling like waterfalls. I

joined her in her pain, and my tears were in desperate harmony with hers.

It was not a dream. This was the truth! Horrific as it was, there were still answers I needed to hear. “Why did this happen? How is Benjie? Have we heard from Noel? We have to alert him!”

Many questions flew through my head, but there was one question that troubled me the most:

“What’s next?”

I rushed to Mom and Dad and allowed myself to drop into their arms. I felt like I was just a

kid lost in the forest. We all ran toward them. All we had was each other. We all stayed silent in each other’s arms, but I know we were all thinking the same thing: Why, why us, why them?

The loud sobs ceased for a moment only to be replaced with weighty sobs.

And then it was dead silence. We were all on the floor, lifeless and speechless. My mom broke

the silence, stared at the newly painted walls, and with distant eyes narrated what transpired: “At around 5 in the morning, we heard the doorbell, a loud knock on the door, and someone

yelling, “Mr. Dampur, open the door!”

My mom grabbed her chest and continued to narrate what had happened earlier that day. “We have a warrant for your arrest, for your son and Mrs. Dampur!”

She paused to wipe the tears with her right arm. Her voice cracked.

“I thought I was dreaming, but when Dad opened the door, the Homeland Security officers immediately ran to Benjie’s room, grabbed him and put handcuffs on him! Benjie was just

wearing boxer shorts, and I had to beg the officers to let him change. I also asked if he could

bring a jacket and his wallet. They refused at first. They thought we were going to resist the

arrest. I was ready to die right there because I just couldn’t go through it again. I can’t picture your Dad and myself surviving in the Detention Center. It’s a prison no matter what people think

it is! I don’t understand. We are not criminals!”

She moved her head toward where Dad was sitting and stared at him as she continued: “Then the officer told us that the officers in California are arresting your brother Noel, too.”

She cried quietly as she spoke. “The officers told us that since your Dad already had a triple

bypass and I have bone marrow health issues, they decided not to take us to the Detention Center, but he handed me this notice. He said we better show up or else!”

My mom handed me a piece of paper from the officers who had barged in earlier. It read:

US Department of Homeland Security

Immigration and Customs Enforcement 4002 Lincoln Drive West

Marlton, New Jersey 08053

(856) 874-2300 Date and Hour: 11/02/2005 9:00 AM

Ask for: Officer Hampton

Reason for Appointment: Removal Processing

Court Document Preparation Bring with you: Valid identification

There was so much to process. I was concerned for my brother Noel, his wife Dina and their two young children. I kept thinking, “He is so far away. How am I supposed to help them get

through this ordeal? Oh, and the kids, they are so young. Will they ever understand? How will

they get through this?” I had to shake my head to snap out of the incessant mental inquiries. As I started to come back

to the present time, I read the notice from Homeland Security. I realized that I had to pull myself

together, and I started enumerating the tasks I had to accomplish in a short period of time.

I had to be strong to get things organized. I needed to get papers together.

I had work cut out for me.

I had to stop crying. I had no time to be weak.

I had to get my head together.

I had to…

And then I blurted out crying, “I’m so sorry, but I can’t…and I can’t stop crying! I just can’t!”

I wanted the crying to end, but my heart just ached with so much sorrow that the only way to

express anything was to cry. I held on to Craig’s arms as he embraced me tightly, caressing my head at the same time.

“Shhh. It’s okay, it’s okay, honey. They will be fine,” Craig said as he tried to calm me down.

“No! No! No!” I squealed, but my words came out like nonsensical, distorted sobs.

There was no happiness now, no love, no warmth, just dread. I saw Jonathon walk over to Dad. Jonathon looked him deep in the eyes and said, “Love you,

Papa.”

Finally, a small smirk appeared on Dad’s face briefly. Dad held him tighter and closer. Then a hot tear poured out of his eye and onto Jonathon’s hair. We were all left dumbfounded. The only

thing that could ease this melancholy was family, but that family was now lost -- broken!

Craig took Jonathon in his big, warm arms and whispered, “Tito Benjie’s fine. Mama and Papa will be fine. You know what? I promise to you and everyone that we will see them every

year. Look, they didn’t take Mama and Papa. They spared them from being detained.”

Suddenly, I heard the phone ringing. My heart pumped hard, my temperature rose and the anticipation of something awful grew from nowhere. Mom picked up the phone. We all stood and

grabbed the other phones.

“Hello,” Mom said. I picked up the other phone and heard my sister-in-law Dina on the other line. She was

sobbing as she tried to relay what had just transpired: “Mom, I’m with the kids now. Nikko and

Danika are still in shock! The I.N.S. took Noel at 2 in the morning. I was at work and got a call from one of our friends to head back home. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Noel! Nikko said

Noel only had his boxer shorts on. They wouldn’t let him change! When Nikko cried, the officer

pointed a gun at him! I don’t understand. I can’t believe this is happening to us! Not in this

country! Not with my family!” Oh my God! The officers synchronized their arrests! I couldn’t believe it! Why our family?

How did they know where to get my family members? Why all at the same time? We are not

criminals! My brother’s son Nikko is only 8 and Danika is only 6! How inhumane are these officers to point a gun! Didn’t the government learn anything from the images of Elian Gonzales’

arrest -- a masked soldier pointing a gun at this scared boy? And this is America? Why?

Noel is my third brother, the fourth in the family. He struggled with asthma as a kid, but he

never complained – not even once. Whatever Mom and Dad asked, he did – no questions asked. He is the sweetest and kindest of us all! I don’t remember ever hearing him raise his voice --

ever! Even as an adult, he always did as he was told, respectfully and politely. California had

been his home since he and Dina, an American citizen, had married. Just the day before, we were talking about moldings for his house as he convinced me to

splurge and visit him and his family in California. I couldn’t wait for the summer to come for my

family to visit. I hadn’t had a chance to visit him in all those years. I even felt awful that I wasn’t there for their wedding! And yet he never made me feel bad or guilty for not being there for him!

And now I couldn’t be there for him again while he was going through the dreadful days of losing

his freedom! What kind of sister am I?

I let go of the phone and my fears came true. Everyone was leaving me behind! It was all over. My Mom collapsed into my Dad’s hands. She rambled some words in Tagalog (the language in

the Philippines) that I could barely understand. She finally screamed, “Bakit? Bakit ito nangyari?

Dios ko po, bakit naman po? Why? Why did this happen -- my God, oh why?” I, too, wanted to ask God why this had happened. I was starting to wonder...

Growing up, I always knew that “there’s a reason for every season and a time for every

purpose.” However, I really couldn’t fathom what the purpose was to this new challenge in our lives!

As Mom’s sobs continued to echo in the house, my second older brother, Kuya Teng, walked

in carrying cardboard boxes. (Filipinos preface a name with Kuya or Ate to show respect to an older brother or older sister).

Kuya Teng surprises me. He was a rebel teenager when we were in the Philippines. Now he’s

a very responsible and hard-working father and husband. Following him were his wife, Ate

Bianca, and their three children, Paolo, Mic-mic and Zoe. They were just 15, 14 and 13! Benjie took care of them -- just as he had done with my children.”

Paolo, Mic-mic and Zoe were crying endlessly. Nicole, Mikey and Jonathon rushed to their

sides and gave each other tight hugs while trying to control their sobs as they all walked toward the newly painted white hallways and into one of the bedrooms on the right, which was Benjie’s

bedroom! The house that was once filled with laughter, silliness and joy was now shrouded with

sorrow, grief and pain! I was not sure if we could get through this. I doubted if I could!

I looked around. What’s going to happen next? What do we have to do now? What do I have

to do now? The house was not even completely renovated. Benjie had bought this house not even

a year earlier to start a new life. He loved this house because of its swimming pool. Oh, my brother! Always thinking of his nieces and nephews! He was looking after Mom and Dad. He

renovated this old melancholy ranch and turned it into this bright and open space, except for the

kitchen. Last July, I celebrated my birthday here. The kitchen was all gutted, but my Mom and Dad managed to cook my favorite Filipino food – pansit (noodles), white rice from the rice

cooker, roast pork from Dad’s “set-it-and-forget- it,” beef skewers, pork adobo and Mom’s leche

flan (custard) and egg pie. I had always celebrated my birthday at my own home, but this year -- I don’t know why -- I celebrated it in this house.

The phone was ringing again. Mom picked up the phone. “Hello, Benjie? Kamusta ka na,

anak?” (How are you, my child?)

The kids all rushed to the other phone. “Hello, Tito Benjie!” (Tito means uncle in Filipino) Mikey said, “Tito Benjie, I am going to be famous! I will finally complete my illegal alien

song!”

Paolo said, “Tito Benjie, don’t worry about Kenny. I’ll look after him.” (Kenny was Benjie’s black Labrador dog. Even Kenny showed signs of weariness!)

Jonathon kept nodding his head and said, “I’ll be good in school. I promise I’ll be the best!”

The girls, Nicole, Mic-mic and Zoe, continued to cry.

Finally, it was my turn to talk to my brother. I tried to compose myself, but my heart was exploding as I listened to Benjie say, “Ate Jen, don’t worry about me. Tell the kids that

everything will be all right. Tell them not to cry because I’m not dead. We will see each other

again, right? I don’t want the kids to come and visit me at the Detention Center, okay?” The kids were listening in from the other phone as well. They were crying profusely as they

insisted, “Tito Benjie, please. We have to see you! “

I started sobbing loudly, and words couldn’t escape my lips. Craig was listening on the other phone as Benjie continued, “I can’t see the kids. They will just cry, and they will make me weak.”

“Benjie, you can’t do that to the kids,” Craig told him forcefully. “They have to see you. For

them, you are their Dad, their buddy, their best friend. You have got to let them come.”

Benjie tried to control his emotions and said, “I have to go. They are transporting me to Elizabeth. I think it’s the same Detention Center where they took Kuya Nelson five years ago! Ate

Jen, the officers are saying that Mom and Dad have to show up for the appointment. Make sure

they have plane tickets back to the Philippines. It’s important. Be strong. Please pray that I get out right away! Remember, no goodbyes -- just later!”

The kids all wished their Tito Benjie well and simultaneously responded, “Later, Tito Benj.

We love you. We miss you. We’ll see you soon!” Click -- and then there was silence.

I fell on my knees next to Mom, who was sitting on the floor with a bagful of paperwork. She

started shredding old invoices, utility bills, menus and old notes. (I am so much like Mom. When times are tough, I have the urge to purge!)

We paced inside the house and paused to give each other a hug. Ate Bianca had lunch ready

for everyone, but no one seemed to have the usual appetite for the white rice and chicken-pork

adobo. (Adobo: soy sauce, vinegar, garlic and black pepper seasoning.) Kuya Teng, he is always in-charge! Just like Craig, he already had planned the next course of

action: Pack up and get the house sold ASAP! With boxes and markers, the kids started going

through the tchotchkes. I didn’t even know where to start! One thing was certain: I had to make a ton of phone calls!

The task at hand gave us a reason to stop feeling sorry for ourselves. The kids were like Cinderella’s little helpers, wrapping Mom’s china one by one and filling up the cardboard boxes.

Armed with magic markers, the kids adorned the boxes with sketches and notes for their Tito

Benjie, Tito Noel, Mama and Papa.

Our bodies started to feel the aches and pains of this dreadful day. It was time to say our “laters” and to start heading back to our own homes. Mom and Dad wanted to stay behind. I

didn’t feel comfortable leaving them behind, but they convinced us that they would be fine, that

Kuya Teng lived only 10 minutes away. The drive back to our home seemed shorter. The kids slept and my body ached. I kept

reminding myself, it could be worse…it could be worse.

Tears painfully rolled down my cheeks; my eyelids were heavy as sobs started to come out in a rhythm. I held my head with my hands and asked Craig, “After 10 years, we finally get to bring

Mom and Dad to Disney and now this happens. We’re supposed to be driving to Florida with

them in two weeks but now we can’t? Benjie was going to come with us to Vermont this winter.

He was supposed to go snowboarding with us finally after all those years but now…We should have taken them with us before. We should have had vacations with them long before! We should

have had….arghh, if I could only turn back the clock!”

Craig was driving smoothly as he responded, “Can you imagine if this happened while we were in Florida? I’m telling you, it could be worse! Honey, don’t worry. You’ll see them every

year. Someday they can visit Mickey Mouse.”

It seemed like I was starting to have these mini conversations in my head: I wondered what it

would be like to take my parents to Disney World. But then…imagine being in Mickey’s house and getting a visit from the I.N.S. officers? That would have been horrible and more traumatic.

The kids and I would never be able to go back to Disney if that happened. We’d bump into Pluto

and we’d burst out crying. What about Benjie being picked up in Willingboro while we were 16 hours away? Talk about a bad scenario!

I guess it could have been worse. The officers could have taken Mom and Dad, too, and they

could have detained them. That is something I could never have understood. I kept asking myself, “What do I do now? There’s got to be a light at the end of this tunnel! Is

there hope after heartbreak? How did this happen?”

When you fall, what direction do you head to?

When you reach the bottom of the hill,

don’t you hike back up?

When you cry your eyes out,

don’t you start feeling better?

When you make a mistake,

don’t you ponder and move on?

There was no time machine

that could undo what had already happened.

There was no magic wand

that could wipe out all the misgivings.

There was no nose-twitching

that could change the direction of the wind.

The difference between learning and regressing,

The difference between happiness and misery,

The difference between victory and losing,

The difference is your attitude in moving forward!

We all make mistakes,

and it’s fine to feel bad about it;

Pour out your emotions and give yourself a day;

Ponder, reflect, ruminate, deliberate –

work on it one last time;

But once it’s done – kick yourself

and stand up and make the most of it!

When you are hurting, force yourself to smile.

It takes too much energy to be miserable.

Looking at the bright side, not looking back to regret

But learning from what transpired –

and picking up the pieces.

Listen to the children, listen to them laugh and cry;

They fall and whimper, they complain and whine.

Yet they pull themselves together, standing up,

bright-eyed and giggling;

As true as the sun sets and

as glorious as the sun rises the next day.

So stop feeling bad, sorry or desperate,

Give yourself a push – and chuckle on the way up,

Life is so short – you have heard it plenty of times,

You and only you can direct the movie of your life!

Stop the could-have, should-have.

Have faith in God and yourself.

Listen, and listen hard.

Be patient. Analyze.

Proceed.