11/02/2025
On my altar. A relic of Saint Cabrini - the patron saint of immigrants who died here in Chicago. The importance of this object for me is that I found it amongst my grandmas things after she died. I don’t know the story of how she acquired it - she was far from Catholic. She was an immigrant and told me she always felt like a foreigner everywhere and always in her life.
My grandmas story was given to me in many ways - she told me, I learned the histories over time, and I gather the pieces. It is a story of a woman who was aware of being a different nationality at a young age. A woman who endured political violence - watched both her parents taken away by police to camps to die. A woman who was separated from family due to war, hid in the ground for days from bombs. A woman who had no choice but to flee what she knew to be her home in order to survive. A woman who had to marry a U.S. soldier in order to get away from the war - dreaming of better things and leaving behind dreams. A woman who hid her true national identity even from family out of fear. A woman who never felt she belonged but made her life the best she could, even if imperfectly, where she could have a family and grow a garden.
I’m grateful my grandma shared her stories with me so that I could better understand the human experience of survival and what it means to be a refuge and an immigrant.
So many don’t know and don’t care to know and it breaks my heart the cycles repeat. If I could teach anything, perhaps it would be how to have a heart. empathy.
This is one of the many stories that I attribute to why I became a social worker and therapist. May all heal their traumas in order to make space for more empathy for both self and others. May we learn from the past to have a better future for all. May all beings be safe and free from harm. May all beings be free.
Thanks for reading as I remember my ancestors during this time of year. 🤍
