Cleaning Chronicles: What "Dreamer" Means*

    Mami walks over, cell phone in hand, a trapo in the other, and headphones so I can’t make out what she is hearing.  “Miraaaa, que bonito!!!”, she coos. 

    I can see the familiar red tone that starts to rise just under the surface of her freckled skin. The tears are coming. I can tell her signs of emotional arousal because they are so similar to mine. The burning that seems to rise from my nose, the heat in all my sinus cavities, almost like hormigas are walking and lighting small fires all over the surface of my skin.  The watery eyes, the redness that starts to form around them. The pressure in your throat porque tratas de aguantarte; too late. The tears start. 

“¿Por qué lloras, Ama?”, I asked her. As I catch a glimpse of the news conference she’s watching. 

“Ay, lo que dicen, es muy bonito. Nos dicen los primeros “Dreamers” y que también nosotros merecemos Green Cards.” She looks upward and starts to put pressure under her eyes. I do the same when I try to will the lagrimas back into my body. Here we are again, crying in other people's houses, while we clean away for the money that we need to survive.  

“It’s true, Mom. You are the Dreamer first, and Mamá Lupe and Papá Chuy, too.” Mamá Lupe, my maternal grandma who immigrated first. Then back and forth for years and years. Papá Chuy, my maternal great grandfather, a Bracero. 

My mind already racing, I start to think of all of them: Tia Lupita, Beto, Tio Juan, Tio Cris (RIP), Tia Norma, Tio Chava (although not technically my uncle), Tio Roberto, Tia Lety, Diana y Cassandra, Tio Chemo, the Santa Ana family, the ones in Ohio, my sister.

Mami wiggles her nose and I hear the sound that resembles the sucking motion of a vacuum hose. Like she managed to suck in the tears and pain and replaced it with pride. “Tu Hermana está ahí,” she says as she does her little nose sniffle.

“It's the DACA hearing?”, I asked. I saw a text had come in, but I had been busy scrubbing the stove making sure I got it clean and shiny. Not one speck. My mom would not come to double check my labor, she expects it done correctly and fast.

“Sí, the hearing. Dice Erika que las cosas no se ven muy bien, pero vamos a ver. Primero Dios. Ya va a poder ir ella, either way", referring to my sister's ability to finally return to the place she was born after more than 30 years.

I was using my elbow to unlock my phone. I wanted to see what was sent. I admit, I was tired of hearing “Primero Dios” and thought how long God was taking with this shit. I already knew that my mother deserved to travel freely back and forth. I didn’t need to crack out a measuring stick to know that she had worked herself into the ground to give of herself to the countless she had enriched by her presence, her work ethic. What I gave a fuck about was her humanity. She deserved that shit too for existing.

I don’t start to rant. I let the joy of the moment live and let her sit with her joy. 

This is a part of the dream for her too. To watch her child strive for their dreams. 

“¡Qué padre, Ma!”, I say. “Y sabes, que fuerzas de mi Mamá Lupe. Y las cosas que vivió mi Papá Chuy. Y tú también mereces más.” 

“Yeah, es cierto”, she says, and I noticed a pause in her voice. Almost like she is also putting together that they must have felt similar things that she does. They must have also held Dreams. They too were worthy of better. Because what is a Dreamer if not the innate drive to want better, to live lives with dignity and respect, to live without fear of violence, to a right to education, to a right to build loving and giving communities without the threat of taking it all away in the blink of an eye.

My mom is a Dreamer, my grandma and great-grandpa are too, and so is my sister, who helps carry the torch of Dreams. My sister Dreams for her and the Dreamers that came before her that planted the seeds, and nurtures the ground for those that will come after her. 

Later that day my sister sends us pictures with attorney Nina Perales. The attorney that was responsible for bringing the case for the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program in Texas and making a case for its legality. There was my sister next to the attorney for the Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund. She looked so proud of herself and I know she gives her all to her work. I was happy for her and I could not help but be worried.

Nothing had been guaranteed. 

My mom has spent almost 32 years here without the legal status to be able to leave. 

Una jaula de oro we call it, but a cage nonetheless. 

    So we keep Dreaming. We keep hoping. And we keep standing with all the humans who Dream of better for them and their loved ones. Who face the barrel of an unjust, racist and problematic system who uses the life-force of so many for its benefit without providing dignity; we stand and we dream in the face of it anyway.

*Dreamer means many different things to many different people. This meaning shared here is my personal experience. I remain open to what it means to others.