A women one of a kind / by Eva

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One of the things that really bothered me the most since I lost my mother is the fact that Mom and Dad had kids even though they knew they were at risk and their lives were in danger. I used to wonder: Why if I know my life is in danger would I have children? OK, let’s say that one child is the legacy of the marriage, but two? and then three? I thought that it was irresponsible of them. Especially since they were actually fighting in the field and part of something really difficult in the middle of the war. And again I wondered WHY?

For so long I blamed my parents for our separation. I blamed them for loosing my little brother who I never met. For years and years of seeing my Grandma quietly suffering and for not being there…I guess that is part of the feeling you develop in these situations. I like to think about it as the way I had to comfort myself and to make sense of all the things I didn’t ask for. Non of this made any sense for me during all my childhood. It took years and years for me to understand…

My last birthday, Margaret asked Roberto and I for an interview to talk about my mother. Margaret knows how difficult is for us, specially for me, to talk about all of these things. To remember and open up but I knew she really needed to do that and I agreed. During the interview I tried so hard not to cry. It is always painful to put out my Mom from my heart but there was something Margaret said that made me understand a lot of things that suddenly made sense for me that day: My Mom would never do a thing like this if she wouldn’t has been 100% sure it was the right thing to do! Of course, Margaret was right! And then, everything became so clear to me. In an instant, my daughter Dani came to my mind and I knew why she was doing it and that it was for me, for my brothers, for my family!

Then, I understood that was my Mom’s way to do something for other people and that makes me think about how brave she was since she actually DID something. She didn’t wait to see the change, she WAS the change, the force to make it real. She fought for something she really believed in and I wonder how many of us can do that without hesitation? How many of us can fight for other people just to make a difference? My Mom was a really brave woman. She had determination and in her plans she knew that us (her children, her blood) would have a different opportunity, a chance to be better and improve ourselves, even if that didn’t make any sense at that moment. Perhaps she had a vision of the future that not all the people had back then.

I use to think about me as her living memory since I look a lot like her. I like to think that I am her representation today and let me tell you, that is a huge responsibility because sometimes I am not sure if I am as brave as she was. As strong as she was. As caring and loving as she was but there is something I am sure about. I am so proud to be the daughter of my mother, a women one of a kind…

The last time I saw her – by Eva

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After thinking a lot about what I should write next, the day I saw my mother for the last time came to my mind. A lot flashes through my mind, the vision I have is so blurry. I do remember that day…

I’ve never talked about it before to anyone, maybe because I didn’t trust my memory. But now it seems to flow in my mind and makes sense after all. Oh God, I was just 3 years old…

I have the feeling I hadn’t seen her for so long the day she came, the last time I saw her. I remember she was in a rush, kind of nervous, maybe anxious, but looking at her was like looking an angel. I couldn’t have been happier to have her back.

I remember her bringing a lot of presents for me, my brother Ernesto and for my Grandma too. At that time, there was just the two of us siblings. I remember I loved all the presents, but all I wanted was to be with her. However, she was having a conversation with my father and they seemed to be very serious about it. Their faces had an expression of anguish that I couldn’t understand at that moment, and now I think maybe they knew they were not going to see each other again…

After that, all that I remember is my mom packing her bag the next day…

She’s got a perceptible sadness in her eyes, a sad look that will never fade of my memories. Even so she was calmed and peaceful, with a peace that only someone who is doing the right thing can have…

She comes to me and hugs me for so long. I don’t remember the words she said to me, but I do remember her looking at me with such love. I can say it was with the love that I use to look at my beautiful daughter nowadays., As if you were looking the most precious treasure you could have. My brother Toto was standing there, the interesting thing about it is that he was calmed as well. He wasn’t crying, but he’s got those puppy dog eyes about the situation. Maybe because he wasn’t aware of what was happening and was trying to understand, or maybe because it was a prelude of his strong but calmed personality.

I wish I could remember more about her. After watching her saying good bye all that I remember is that I cried, cried from the deepest part of my heart, like I am crying now. I remember all I could say was: “Don’t go Mom, don’t go… ”

Meeting for the first time – by Nelson/Roberto

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I met my birth family for the first time when I was 16 during the Christmas of 1997. It was an incredible experience. One that I will never forget. Looking back on it now, it’s all a blur of memories. Filled with excitement, confusion, love and happiness. When I found them I found my self.

The first thing I remember is sitting on the plane listening to music. I’m always listening to music, especially on long trips. I don’t remember what I was listening to but I think I had really crappy head phones. It always bugs me when I don’t have a decent pair of head phones and for some reason this sticks out in my mind. Even though I had been to a few different countries before I had never been to Central America and I really had no idea what to expect.

We arrived late at night and as we walked thought the airport I remember going down a long flight of steps on our way to customs. I was still listening to music as we waited to pick up our bags. As we stood there a woman approached me and started to ask me in Spanish some questions. She had a piece of paper in her hand and I believe she wanted me to take a survey. Not knowing any Spanish I just stood there and ignored her. I felt bad because I’m sure I came off as being rude but I had no idea what was going on and all I could think about were the people waiting outside.

We finally cleared customs and head out of the airport. There were people everywhere and most of them were cab drives asking if we wanted a taxi. We just kept saying no and moving forward. Then there was a clearing and that’s when I saw them for the first time. In front of me stood an older version of myself and by his side was a little girl of 6 years. Immediately they hugged me, my little sister getting stuck in between me and my father. For a moment I tried to let her out but it was no use, they wouldn’t let go. My father had been waiting 16 years to see me and it felt like he would never let me go ever again.

After that its all a blur of meeting my older brother, older sister, grandmother, stepmother, cousins, aunts and uncles. There must have been 30 people at at the airport waiting to meet us. I have no idea how long we were outside of the airport hugging, crying and trying to communicate with each other. We have a picture from that night. Its blurry and you can’t really see anything. All you can make out are lights streaking across the photo. My mother has said from time to time that this picture describes the emotion of that night and I think she is right. It was just one big blur.

The next thing I remember is piling into a car with my little sister close behind. She sat next to me never letting go. My mother snapped a picture of the two of us. Later we would make a mouse pad from this picture and to this day that mouse pad sits on my desk. As we drove off I remember feeling completely lost, everything looked so different and I had no idea where I was. Even so I felt at home and safe. I looked down at my sister. Here was this little girl who I had never met but I meant the world to her. It was a strange feeling and one that I would feel again and again as I got to know my family.

[Update]
Video – TV Interview
Part 1: The adoption, a leap of faith and a miracle reunion.
Post – Part 2: The Back Story

Eva’s Introduction

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There is something you should know about my family first: we are not the type of people that quit easily. Not that kind… we have been fighters throughout life…

Pain and suffering are two words that my family knows really well and how can I start to tell my own story (which is my family’s as well) without using these kind of words? Well, I wish I didn’t have to, but it is quite a bit of what we have to tell…

That is the reason why I have to start talking about how hard it is to lose someone you love. Even when you are only 3 years old and are not aware of sense of lost. You suffer, and it hurts deep in your heart. Growing up without the guidance and care of a mother is a really tough task. You always feel there is something missing, there is something gone. You always feel you need something in your life but you don’t realize what that thing is. There is a lonely feeling that stays with you no matter if you are happy or sad… It is something more, something not understandable.

But I don’t have to feel cheated by God and life. They gave me the purest love I could ever have, my Grandma. The best, the nicest, the most caring and loving Grandma on earth… she was my support through all these difficult years. But the thing is, WHY?

Wondering why has been a deep thought during my life, and now I know it is a question without an answer. However, it is the most important question we have asked to ourselves…

I guess this is the reason why we are telling our story. So maybe we can understand, and make others to understand what we went through. How after all, it has became a MIRACLE…

As my brother said, Ana Milagro is the name of our mother, which means MIRACLE,. If you think about it, a miracle is full of power, full of hope, full of blessings, and I like to think that this is the legacy she gave to us… and this is her story, the story of a MIRACLE…

Introduction

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“Losing ones family obliges us to find our family. Not always the family that is our blood but the family that can become our blood”
Sean Connery – Finding Forester

The other day I saw the movie Freedom Writes. Its a story inspired by the real lives of long beach teenagers during the early 90’s. The film was really good and it made me think about my own family and our story. In the movie the students kept diaries so that their could write about their life experiences. This made me want to write down some of my own experiences.

For those who aren’t to familiar with the story. My parents were both revolutionaries in the civil war in El Salvador. They both were fairly important in the group that they fought with. During the war I was separated from my family and adopted to the US. 15 years later I was reunited with my birth family thanks to efforts of my grandmother. That was in 1997, since that time we have become a big family. I frequently visit my family in central America and they have come to the US on several occasions to visit me as well.

I’m writing this blog with the help of my siblings to tell our story. We want to write our thoughts and feelings about the things we went trough. We also want to help my mother as she writes a book detailing the events that brought us all together. We have been through so much over the years and we are so lucky to have found each other.

This year marks an important year for our family and our story. It was 25 years ago that I was separated from my birth family and this Christmas it will be 10 years since we were reunited. A lot has happened during that time and it has not always been easy but now we can look back and reflect on these incredible events.

My birth mothers name was Ana Milagro Escobar. Milagro is miracle in English and is the inspiration for the name of this blog. This is our story, this is Ana’s Miracle…

Part 1: The adoption, a leap of faith and a miracle reunion.