You leave your reader with a heavy question about whether we really see people, and I confess my heart bleeds over this reality. I see them and served them at a food pantry. I remember all the Venezuelan young families that came to have a better life at the end of Covid, all now gone by forced deportation, fleeing to Canada or self-deporting. Not to mention all the Central American and Mexican families sent to my area for shelter and keeping, who were working and following the legal process. Every other family we served spoke Spanish (like me) and now I am rusty in the language again, no Spanish speakers are left.
The part that bothers me most is that only 5-7% of all undocumented people in those country have criminal records. What is the reason for the blanket detention of anyone standing in the way? Yes, if I sound frustrated and angry I am.
I am sorry for blabbering, Ilona, especially since you did not mean to be political here. I regret what you endured with your mom’s keeping. It must have been difficult for you. Thank you for digging deeper and allowing a space for the unseen to be seen.
Candy, thank you for this—and please don’t apologize for ‘blabbering.’ Your experience serving at the food pantry, watching families disappear, is exactly what I was trying to name.
But I want to gently push back on one thing: I absolutely meant to be political. Everything is political. Who gets to stay and who gets deported, whose labor we depend on while criminalizing their existence, who I’m warm inside selling jewelry while others risk their lives in the cold—that’s all political. The personal and political aren’t separate for me.
Your anger and frustration? That’s the right response. The 5-7% statistic, the families following legal processes, the blanket cruelty—you’re seeing it clearly. That’s what I was asking for in the essay: to really see, and then to feel something about what we’re seeing.
Thank you for the work you did at that food pantry. Thank you for staying angry. And thank you for being here.
Ilona, I assumed what you meant but did not want to cast you in any light out of pure respect. There is no in-between, only a side to support, and I am grateful we are of similar mindset. Thank you.
I appreciate that so much—the respect behind your initial caution means a lot. And yes, we’re absolutely on the same side. I’m grateful for you too, and for the work you did at that food pantry. Thank you for being here.
Candy Kennedy: Far from „blabbering“, you speak from the heart, and my heart feels the same way.
The whole regime is not new, but incorporates the combined terror and anonymity of the Klan, with Jim Crow dehumanizing the murder victims and exonerating the Klan, or in this case, Aryan-ICE murders and brutality.
Brute, anonymous terror is the hallmark of terror regimes, whether under Stalin, Hitler or Jim Crow alias Eugene „Bull“ Connor (Commissioner of „Public Safety“ of Birmingham) or Aryan-ICE.
I read the biographies of ICE victims and my heart honors good, dear persons who still should have a long, beautiful life before them.
We must honor the victims and keep their memories in love and honor.
Great post and great questions Ilona. I've been to estate sales... And the workers on the roof--especially now. Much to think about, but first to really see.
I’ve been on the other end, caring for dying patients who know their time is soon coming. Interestingly, some carefully plan. Others refuse to think about the end, in complete denial. We are all so unique in our beliefs about leaving this earthly plane. I think if some of the people knew it was their last day, they would carry on the same way. Others would behave very differently. Good thought-provoking post Ilona.
Jan, this is such an important addition. You’re absolutely right—knowing doesn’t necessarily change behavior. Some people plan meticulously even with time, others deny right up to the end.
I hadn’t thought about it that way, but of course you’d see that pattern working with dying patients. It makes me wonder if the question isn’t really ‘did they know?’ but something deeper about how we each face the reality of endings, whether we have warning or not.
Maybe some of the estate sale people would have left the food in the fridge and the candle wax on the candelabra even if they’d known. Maybe that’s just how they lived—not preparing, not tidying, just being.
And maybe that’s okay too.
Thank you for this perspective. It deepens the whole question
I worked as a caregiver in assisted living and in the home on an individual basis. In all my encounters, I can't recall a single serious discussion about dying in a spiritual sense. There's a hospice worker who does short videos that I find really helpful in a practical way: https://www.youtube.com/@hospicenursejulie. There is fear, anxiety, and a sense of forboding in the air these days, for good reason. A way of life we knew, a sense of security, has died, and we don't know if we'll ever get it back. Grieving.
Geez, Ilona. You hit me hard with this one. So many questions - I really get that.
I think of my mom and dad, he with dementia, she clear-headed but fading quickly with cancer. I think of that day I had to have them transported to hospice care, where they could be together until the end. Thank goodness we were already having the difficult conversations. But that didn't make it any easier.
And then the layer of your essay - our immigrant neighbors who might not return home. That's another level of pain.
I got to read part of this before a chiropractic appointment. How blessed we are indeed. I wanted to mention I remember being haunted on a day that my mom walked down the hallway in her house, going so slowly, standing for long minutes in front of every collage I put together of our family and all extended pictures of those she grew up with and loved so very much but whom were no longer around and hadn't been for such a long time. I know she felt her grandparents kept her alive because her parents were so disenfranchised with each other and their constant fighting that they had little left to give to their two daughters. I knew my mom's story. I knew her pains. This week I drove by the last window that was where her last bed was at one of those recuperation centers. The address was 5001. On May 1st, 2020 she was taken in an ambulance to the hospital because she was unresponsive. She was dead on arrival. I hadn't been able to hug her or massage her or hold her hand since March 12th. I think often of this subject you have written about. Isn't it time I clear out magazines and books... shouldn't I release all collars and coats and sweaters I can no longer wear because the shingles I got the month that house with that hallway was sold, and I was still mourning so deeply I didn't bother to ask anyone for help and I've had nerve damage ever since. One thing my mom and I always talked about was this... if we hadn't of loved so deeply, the loss wouldn't have been felt so tremendously. I feel horrible today because I've gone through and unsubscribed to probably 30 people running for office in this next election. All wanting money. All from other states. Everything is falling apart. I sure hope as we watch things being pulled together again more will feel peace and assurance that they matter.
Lisa, I'm so sorry. The image of your mother walking slowly down that hallway, stopping at every collage—she was saying goodbye, wasn't she? Even if she didn't know it consciously. And then to lose her during COVID, not being able to touch her for those last weeks, dead on arrival—that's a particular kind of unbearable.
Did I mention my mother died on May 1, 2020 as well?
The shingles, the nerve damage you still carry because you were too deep in grief to ask for help—grief does that. It takes up so much space there's nothing left for basic care. I'm sorry you're still living with that pain in your body.
Your mother was right: if we hadn't loved so deeply, the loss wouldn't be felt so tremendously. That's the price of loving fully. It doesn't make it easier, but it does make it mean something.
As for clearing things out—there's no timeline for that. The magazines, the clothes you can't wear because of the nerve damage; they'll be there when you're ready. Or maybe they never get cleared and that's okay too.
Thank you for trusting me with this. I'm holding your grief with tenderness
How amazing that our mothers crossed over on the same day in the same year!!!!! ! I see 51 everywhere all the time. The elevator in our building has a code that is 5120*. I have no idea who chose that code but I feel her every time I go up and down. I'm finally hoping to do some treatments to fix or make better the nerve damage this year. If I can't endure it or it doesn't work, I'll let go of the collars. I'll start to take books and magazines out because I have so many and have had them for so many years and not read them, plus I have my work to do and focus on and there are always way tooooo many distractions at my fingertips. I love your writing!
Lisa, I know! May 1st connects us in this particular grief. And of course you see 51 everywhere—that's her. The elevator code feels like such a gift, a daily reminder that she's with you.
I'm so glad you're finally pursuing treatment for the nerve damage. You deserve relief. And when you're ready to let go of the collars and books, you will. There's no rush. The fact that you're even thinking about it means something is shifting.
Thank you for loving my writing. That means so much to me. 💙
Bill, I’m so sorry about your grandpa. That particular heartbreak—the last time leaving home without knowing. It stays with you, doesn’t it?
And yes to everything you said about the workers. A green card, a raise, and a beer—that’s exactly the kind of concrete gratitude that matches the reality of what they’re doing for us. The people calling for deportations should absolutely spend a day on a roof in freezing temperatures. Or picking strawberries. Or riding an electric bike home at midnight in the cold.
The disconnect between who does the work that keeps everything running and who gets targeted for removal is obscene. Thank you for naming it clearly.
Carol, you know this question from a place most of us never have to. The fact that you go back and forth makes complete sense—there’s no right answer, especially when you’ve lived through what you have.
I’m holding your comment with a lot of tenderness. Thank you for being here and for sharing that.
This made me think of the day we moved my Mom to a memory care facility. I don’t think she understood she was never going home again. We emptied the house and sold it soon after. Still makes me sad. Funny, I drove by the facility just this AM and always have pangs when I do for it was where she died (I and a number of my siblings with her) and where I last saw her alive. Good chance that I might end up there some day I suppose…
I feel like you when ever I encounter people I assume to be immigrants. I think how brave they are for exposing themselves to the risk of detainment even if they are here legally. It’s appalling the hate that is being directed towards them by our so-called leaders and the MAGAts.
Thanks for your thoughts. They make me stop and feel something.
Donna, thank you for sharing this. The image of driving by that facility and having pangs every time—I feel that. My mom died in her memory care facility too, and there’s something about those places that hold such tender, complicated grief. You’re right that she probably didn’t understand she wasn’t going home. That’s the heartbreak of it.
And yes—‘brave’ is exactly the right word for the immigrants. They’re exposing themselves to risk every single day just to work, to feed their families, to survive. The hate being directed at them is appalling, and the fact that even legal status doesn’t protect them from fear says everything about what’s happening.
Thank you for stopping and feeling something. That’s all I can ask for. That’s everything.
Every week, I drive past the hospice where my mother lived her final year, and the care center where my father died. I also drive past the hospital where my mother gave birth to me. Particularly when I pass where my mother died and recall sleeping on the floor during her final three days listening to the fading breath, I send her spirit love. Thank you, Mom, for giving me this life.
You leave your reader with a heavy question about whether we really see people, and I confess my heart bleeds over this reality. I see them and served them at a food pantry. I remember all the Venezuelan young families that came to have a better life at the end of Covid, all now gone by forced deportation, fleeing to Canada or self-deporting. Not to mention all the Central American and Mexican families sent to my area for shelter and keeping, who were working and following the legal process. Every other family we served spoke Spanish (like me) and now I am rusty in the language again, no Spanish speakers are left.
The part that bothers me most is that only 5-7% of all undocumented people in those country have criminal records. What is the reason for the blanket detention of anyone standing in the way? Yes, if I sound frustrated and angry I am.
I am sorry for blabbering, Ilona, especially since you did not mean to be political here. I regret what you endured with your mom’s keeping. It must have been difficult for you. Thank you for digging deeper and allowing a space for the unseen to be seen.
Candy, thank you for this—and please don’t apologize for ‘blabbering.’ Your experience serving at the food pantry, watching families disappear, is exactly what I was trying to name.
But I want to gently push back on one thing: I absolutely meant to be political. Everything is political. Who gets to stay and who gets deported, whose labor we depend on while criminalizing their existence, who I’m warm inside selling jewelry while others risk their lives in the cold—that’s all political. The personal and political aren’t separate for me.
Your anger and frustration? That’s the right response. The 5-7% statistic, the families following legal processes, the blanket cruelty—you’re seeing it clearly. That’s what I was asking for in the essay: to really see, and then to feel something about what we’re seeing.
Thank you for the work you did at that food pantry. Thank you for staying angry. And thank you for being here.
Ilona, I assumed what you meant but did not want to cast you in any light out of pure respect. There is no in-between, only a side to support, and I am grateful we are of similar mindset. Thank you.
I appreciate that so much—the respect behind your initial caution means a lot. And yes, we’re absolutely on the same side. I’m grateful for you too, and for the work you did at that food pantry. Thank you for being here.
Candy Kennedy: Far from „blabbering“, you speak from the heart, and my heart feels the same way.
The whole regime is not new, but incorporates the combined terror and anonymity of the Klan, with Jim Crow dehumanizing the murder victims and exonerating the Klan, or in this case, Aryan-ICE murders and brutality.
Brute, anonymous terror is the hallmark of terror regimes, whether under Stalin, Hitler or Jim Crow alias Eugene „Bull“ Connor (Commissioner of „Public Safety“ of Birmingham) or Aryan-ICE.
I read the biographies of ICE victims and my heart honors good, dear persons who still should have a long, beautiful life before them.
We must honor the victims and keep their memories in love and honor.
With you, my heart sorrows.
Amen
Great post and great questions Ilona. I've been to estate sales... And the workers on the roof--especially now. Much to think about, but first to really see.
Trish, thank you. ‘First to really see’—yes. That’s exactly it. I’m still figuring out what comes after the seeing.
I’ve been on the other end, caring for dying patients who know their time is soon coming. Interestingly, some carefully plan. Others refuse to think about the end, in complete denial. We are all so unique in our beliefs about leaving this earthly plane. I think if some of the people knew it was their last day, they would carry on the same way. Others would behave very differently. Good thought-provoking post Ilona.
Jan, this is such an important addition. You’re absolutely right—knowing doesn’t necessarily change behavior. Some people plan meticulously even with time, others deny right up to the end.
I hadn’t thought about it that way, but of course you’d see that pattern working with dying patients. It makes me wonder if the question isn’t really ‘did they know?’ but something deeper about how we each face the reality of endings, whether we have warning or not.
Maybe some of the estate sale people would have left the food in the fridge and the candle wax on the candelabra even if they’d known. Maybe that’s just how they lived—not preparing, not tidying, just being.
And maybe that’s okay too.
Thank you for this perspective. It deepens the whole question
I worked as a caregiver in assisted living and in the home on an individual basis. In all my encounters, I can't recall a single serious discussion about dying in a spiritual sense. There's a hospice worker who does short videos that I find really helpful in a practical way: https://www.youtube.com/@hospicenursejulie. There is fear, anxiety, and a sense of forboding in the air these days, for good reason. A way of life we knew, a sense of security, has died, and we don't know if we'll ever get it back. Grieving.
My mind works the same way. And it won't leave these sorts of questions alone for long. Great post, Ilona.
Thank you, Linda. It’s good to know I’m not alone with the questions that won’t let go.
Geez, Ilona. You hit me hard with this one. So many questions - I really get that.
I think of my mom and dad, he with dementia, she clear-headed but fading quickly with cancer. I think of that day I had to have them transported to hospice care, where they could be together until the end. Thank goodness we were already having the difficult conversations. But that didn't make it any easier.
And then the layer of your essay - our immigrant neighbors who might not return home. That's another level of pain.
I got to read part of this before a chiropractic appointment. How blessed we are indeed. I wanted to mention I remember being haunted on a day that my mom walked down the hallway in her house, going so slowly, standing for long minutes in front of every collage I put together of our family and all extended pictures of those she grew up with and loved so very much but whom were no longer around and hadn't been for such a long time. I know she felt her grandparents kept her alive because her parents were so disenfranchised with each other and their constant fighting that they had little left to give to their two daughters. I knew my mom's story. I knew her pains. This week I drove by the last window that was where her last bed was at one of those recuperation centers. The address was 5001. On May 1st, 2020 she was taken in an ambulance to the hospital because she was unresponsive. She was dead on arrival. I hadn't been able to hug her or massage her or hold her hand since March 12th. I think often of this subject you have written about. Isn't it time I clear out magazines and books... shouldn't I release all collars and coats and sweaters I can no longer wear because the shingles I got the month that house with that hallway was sold, and I was still mourning so deeply I didn't bother to ask anyone for help and I've had nerve damage ever since. One thing my mom and I always talked about was this... if we hadn't of loved so deeply, the loss wouldn't have been felt so tremendously. I feel horrible today because I've gone through and unsubscribed to probably 30 people running for office in this next election. All wanting money. All from other states. Everything is falling apart. I sure hope as we watch things being pulled together again more will feel peace and assurance that they matter.
Lisa, I'm so sorry. The image of your mother walking slowly down that hallway, stopping at every collage—she was saying goodbye, wasn't she? Even if she didn't know it consciously. And then to lose her during COVID, not being able to touch her for those last weeks, dead on arrival—that's a particular kind of unbearable.
Did I mention my mother died on May 1, 2020 as well?
The shingles, the nerve damage you still carry because you were too deep in grief to ask for help—grief does that. It takes up so much space there's nothing left for basic care. I'm sorry you're still living with that pain in your body.
Your mother was right: if we hadn't loved so deeply, the loss wouldn't be felt so tremendously. That's the price of loving fully. It doesn't make it easier, but it does make it mean something.
As for clearing things out—there's no timeline for that. The magazines, the clothes you can't wear because of the nerve damage; they'll be there when you're ready. Or maybe they never get cleared and that's okay too.
Thank you for trusting me with this. I'm holding your grief with tenderness
How amazing that our mothers crossed over on the same day in the same year!!!!! ! I see 51 everywhere all the time. The elevator in our building has a code that is 5120*. I have no idea who chose that code but I feel her every time I go up and down. I'm finally hoping to do some treatments to fix or make better the nerve damage this year. If I can't endure it or it doesn't work, I'll let go of the collars. I'll start to take books and magazines out because I have so many and have had them for so many years and not read them, plus I have my work to do and focus on and there are always way tooooo many distractions at my fingertips. I love your writing!
Lisa, I know! May 1st connects us in this particular grief. And of course you see 51 everywhere—that's her. The elevator code feels like such a gift, a daily reminder that she's with you.
I'm so glad you're finally pursuing treatment for the nerve damage. You deserve relief. And when you're ready to let go of the collars and books, you will. There's no rush. The fact that you're even thinking about it means something is shifting.
Thank you for loving my writing. That means so much to me. 💙
Thought-provoking, poignant, and also beautiful. Thank you Ilona
Thank you, Karen. That means a lot.
Very interesting post. Questions with no possible certain answers.
What you went through with your mom rang some bells from my past.
No, my grandpa didnt know that once the EMTs took him, he would never return home.
A long but typical story for another day...
But what haunts me is this.
Everyone who wants to deport "others" should try a day working on a roof. Or picking strawberries for 10 or 12 hours a day. Or picking them at all.
I imagine seeing that Mexican and feeling gratitude for his dangerous hard work. Give him a green card, a raise and a beer.
Bill, I’m so sorry about your grandpa. That particular heartbreak—the last time leaving home without knowing. It stays with you, doesn’t it?
And yes to everything you said about the workers. A green card, a raise, and a beer—that’s exactly the kind of concrete gratitude that matches the reality of what they’re doing for us. The people calling for deportations should absolutely spend a day on a roof in freezing temperatures. Or picking strawberries. Or riding an electric bike home at midnight in the cold.
The disconnect between who does the work that keeps everything running and who gets targeted for removal is obscene. Thank you for naming it clearly.
Interesting questions. I go back and forth over whether I’d want to know how much time I had left.
Carol, you know this question from a place most of us never have to. The fact that you go back and forth makes complete sense—there’s no right answer, especially when you’ve lived through what you have.
I’m holding your comment with a lot of tenderness. Thank you for being here and for sharing that.
This made me think of the day we moved my Mom to a memory care facility. I don’t think she understood she was never going home again. We emptied the house and sold it soon after. Still makes me sad. Funny, I drove by the facility just this AM and always have pangs when I do for it was where she died (I and a number of my siblings with her) and where I last saw her alive. Good chance that I might end up there some day I suppose…
I feel like you when ever I encounter people I assume to be immigrants. I think how brave they are for exposing themselves to the risk of detainment even if they are here legally. It’s appalling the hate that is being directed towards them by our so-called leaders and the MAGAts.
Thanks for your thoughts. They make me stop and feel something.
Donna, thank you for sharing this. The image of driving by that facility and having pangs every time—I feel that. My mom died in her memory care facility too, and there’s something about those places that hold such tender, complicated grief. You’re right that she probably didn’t understand she wasn’t going home. That’s the heartbreak of it.
And yes—‘brave’ is exactly the right word for the immigrants. They’re exposing themselves to risk every single day just to work, to feed their families, to survive. The hate being directed at them is appalling, and the fact that even legal status doesn’t protect them from fear says everything about what’s happening.
Thank you for stopping and feeling something. That’s all I can ask for. That’s everything.
Every week, I drive past the hospice where my mother lived her final year, and the care center where my father died. I also drive past the hospital where my mother gave birth to me. Particularly when I pass where my mother died and recall sleeping on the floor during her final three days listening to the fading breath, I send her spirit love. Thank you, Mom, for giving me this life.
❤️