Apr 2020
“Deportaron a tu papá, mija. No sabemos en donde está”
10 simple words that broke my heart to pieces.
I was only seven when my father was taken from my life.
I was only seven and I wondered “where could he be?”
At the age of eight, I wondered “will he ever come back?”
At the age of ten, I started to wonder if he had even survived the streets in Mexico.
At the age of thirteen, I made a Facebook. Searched his name
Chilango
Manuel Miranda
Manuel Olguín
Manuel Miranda Olguín
And nothing
At the age of fifteen, I emailed people who were famous for finding people in Mexico.
“Laura Bozzo mi padre fue deportado y no lo hemos podido encontrar”
I never lost hope. I thought that with everything else going on in my life, that I deserved to find him. I thought to myself “life owes me that at least”
At the age of nineteen, I woke up to a message on Facebook.
“Hey it’s your tia Chely from your father's side, let’s meet up but don’t tell your mom”
Chely? My father didn’t have a family. It was only him and I.
But then I stopped asking who this person could be.
Did he find me? Did he find ME? Is this real? I’m finally going to see him. I’m going to tell him how much I’ve missed him.
Chely messages again “call me”
At the time I had put my mom on three-way call to see if she recognized her voice.
My heart is bursting out of my body
My hands are shaking and my stomach dropped.
The phone is ringing.
Chely answers.
Chely talks about my dad
“He never stopped looking for you”
“He always talked about you”
My mom is listening to what she is saying
She messages me “pregúntale porque tu papá no te llamo”
I ask “so if you’re really my aunt, then why doesn’t my dad just call me himself?”
“Well mija, that’s why I’m calling you”
“I just don’t know how to say it”
I knew exactly what she was going to say.
She continues “but this is why I wanted to meet up with you”
She pauses.
“Just say it” I said. Knowing that these next words would cut deep into my heart. “Just. Tell. Me”
“Your father passed away two weeks ago”
Her words start to blur. I didn’t hear much after that.
I could only think about how he could have been at my quinceañera.
How we could have had our father-daughter dance.
He could have seen me walk the stage at graduation.
He could have dropped me off at college when I was moving into my dorm.
We could have shared many memories and I know **** well a ton of laughs because he was the funniest person I had ever met. But it was all over now.
All these possibilities were crushed.
I was crushed.
My whole world was swept from under my feet.
There were no more fairytales of me running towards my dad and jumping into his arms because I had finally found him. It was all.. over.
I guess you can say that when my father died, a piece of me died with him.
10 simple words that broke my heart to pieces.
I was only seven when my father was taken from my life.
I was only seven and I wondered “where could he be?”
At the age of eight, I wondered “will he ever come back?”
At the age of ten, I started to wonder if he had even survived the streets in Mexico.
At the age of thirteen, I made a Facebook. Searched his name
Chilango
Manuel Miranda
Manuel Olguín
Manuel Miranda Olguín
And nothing
At the age of fifteen, I emailed people who were famous for finding people in Mexico.
“Laura Bozzo mi padre fue deportado y no lo hemos podido encontrar”
I never lost hope. I thought that with everything else going on in my life, that I deserved to find him. I thought to myself “life owes me that at least”
At the age of nineteen, I woke up to a message on Facebook.
“Hey it’s your tia Chely from your father's side, let’s meet up but don’t tell your mom”
Chely? My father didn’t have a family. It was only him and I.
But then I stopped asking who this person could be.
Did he find me? Did he find ME? Is this real? I’m finally going to see him. I’m going to tell him how much I’ve missed him.
Chely messages again “call me”
At the time I had put my mom on three-way call to see if she recognized her voice.
My heart is bursting out of my body
My hands are shaking and my stomach dropped.
The phone is ringing.
Chely answers.
Chely talks about my dad
“He never stopped looking for you”
“He always talked about you”
My mom is listening to what she is saying
She messages me “pregúntale porque tu papá no te llamo”
I ask “so if you’re really my aunt, then why doesn’t my dad just call me himself?”
“Well mija, that’s why I’m calling you”
“I just don’t know how to say it”
I knew exactly what she was going to say.
She continues “but this is why I wanted to meet up with you”
She pauses.
“Just say it” I said. Knowing that these next words would cut deep into my heart. “Just. Tell. Me”
“Your father passed away two weeks ago”
Her words start to blur. I didn’t hear much after that.
I could only think about how he could have been at my quinceañera.
How we could have had our father-daughter dance.
He could have seen me walk the stage at graduation.
He could have dropped me off at college when I was moving into my dorm.
We could have shared many memories and I know **** well a ton of laughs because he was the funniest person I had ever met. But it was all over now.
All these possibilities were crushed.
I was crushed.
My whole world was swept from under my feet.
There were no more fairytales of me running towards my dad and jumping into his arms because I had finally found him. It was all.. over.
I guess you can say that when my father died, a piece of me died with him.
