If I could save the world

I used to believe I could save the world. In fourth grade I played the best recycle angel a fourth grader could be. I recycled, I did not waste food and I gave money to homeless people. I volunteered any chance I could.  Helping people gave me a purpose. The purpose to help my family kept me alive. Knowing every day that I would smile at someone in hopes of making their day – it made me feel like my life was less shitty and that anything was possible. 

 

This went on for a long, long time. When my mother left us I knew that was it. I had to be strong. I had to do things to keep us afloat. I worked two or three jobs. I became resourceful and helped my siblings. I felt I had a purpose. When I got married I knew I was risking everything. In my mind two things were happening. I was in love but I also wanted a better life to help my brothers. 

 

As you can predict, living in the ghetto in a two bedroom apartment we were exposed to everything. Like every stereotype, my brothers fell in the category of gangs and wrong people. Soon, all of my siblings would end up in jail. Yes jail, this is the first time I could write about it. Later my mother would also become another statistic. She had had four kids, no husband and soon ended up in jail and back to Mexico. For a long time only those close to me knew about this. Most of the time, I would make up stories as to who they were and what they were doing. I guess I was embarrassed. 

 

This year my youngest brother came out of jail and just like that I was hopeless and that urge came back. I wanted to help him, pick him up like a bird that had fallen from a tree. Now he was 23 and he did not want my help. With one son he did not want to come here with me. He wanted to be a man and a dad. 

 

I was happy for him - he wanted to take responsibility. I knew if someone could do it, it would be him. He did well for a while but the trash on the street sucked him in. Soon all the shadows and people followed him and brought him down once again.  

 

There is nothing worse than receiving a call from your brother pleading for help. Sitting there listening to him on the other side of the phone crying like a baby, telling you that you abandoned -him. My heart ripped apart into a million pieces. I did not know what to say. I wanted to get mad and explain that yes, I moved here and got married for them. I wanted a better life for them so that when this day came I could carry them in my arms and help them. The unfortunate thing is that I could not tell him that.

 

Yes, I have grown and my life has become better. I finally got my associates degree. I'm in the process of getting my citizenship. I have a pretty good job. After all of those things I still can't fix anything. I can't save my brother. I can't cure my best friend’s mother. I can't fix my mother. I cannot give my father money to help my brother. 

 

Once again, I feel like a child wanting to save the world but there are not enough recycle bins for what I want to do. Most cannot understand why I'm still here in a state 3000 miles away from those I love. I at times don't know why myself. This I write down is for you all. Please forgive me for not being there every moment. For not being able to hold your hand and or hug you when you have bad days. Just know that there are days I beat myself for all I have not been able to do with you. Maybe you think I'm selfish. Maybe you think I think I'm better. Think again. This letter is so you know that I have not forgotten about you. 

 

Every step forward is so that I someday could really help. How could I save you or help you when I can't do that for myself. Oscar, Jonathan, Charlie, Jennifer, Julie, Ashleigh and to my grandmother, father, mother and family; I love you every day. I think of you anytime I have a moment. See, most migrate to America for the "American Dream," I migrated to the North East for the same thing. 

 

I hope when you read this you know that dream when I was in fourth grade lives in me and that urge to love you and help is still here.