From Dream to Reality: A Mother’s Journey Through Grief and Resilience

Ever since I was a little girl, I carried a dream in my heart. It wasn’t just any dream—it was the kind that gave me hope when there was none, the kind that gave my soul something to hold onto during long, dark nights. I dreamed of coming to America. A land that I imagined as full of freedom, safety, and opportunity. I pictured myself walking freely, smiling genuinely, and building a peaceful life for myself and my future family.

But dreams often take longer than we hope, and life doesn’t follow our plans. My journey was long and filled with sorrow. War, poverty, displacement, and heartbreak became chapters in my story. Still, I never let go of that dream.

Eventually, I made it here—to America. But I arrived not with joy or celebration. I stepped onto this new land with tearful eyes, a broken heart, and a soul that felt more like a ghost than a flame. My spirit had been bruised, my smile had faded, and the pain of what I had lost clung to me like a shadow.

Why am I still standing? Why do I wake up each day and try again when it would be easier to give in to the sadness? The answer is simple: I am a mother.

Being a mother means rising when you have no strength left. It means drying your own tears in silence so your children won’t see your pain. It means creating hope out of nothing but love. My children are the reason I keep breathing. Even when the nights are long and lonely, even when the grief threatens to swallow me whole—I rise for them.

The loss of my husband broke something deep inside me. He was more than just my partner. He was my friend, my support, my shield from the world. His absence is a hole I carry every moment. And yet, I cannot let that hole become my home. I must move forward. Because my children need me. They need someone who believes in life, even when it’s hard. They need to laugh, even when I can’t. They deserve a mother who gives them light, even if hers is flickering.

I came here with nothing but my children and a heart full of pain. But I am rebuilding. Brick by brick, day by day, I am learning how to live again. I’m learning a new language, navigating a new culture, and slowly creating a space for myself in this unfamiliar world.

Some days I feel lost. Some days the grief catches me off guard and I have to hide my face so my children won’t worry. But I keep going. Because I am a mother. Because I am strong, even when I don’t feel it. Because deep inside me, there is a spark that refuses to die.

I know this journey is far from over. I know healing takes time. But I have survived the worst, and that means I can survive what comes next. I believe that one day, my smile will be real again. One day, I will laugh not just for them—but for me. Because I deserve joy, too.

This is not just a story about immigration. It’s a story about love, loss, strength, and starting over. It’s a story of a woman who walked through fire and came out with scars—but also with purpose. A woman who was broken but not defeated. A woman who chose to rise.

This is my story. And I hope it reminds you that even in the darkest places, hope still lives. Thank you for reading.