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I knocked down barriers with my pen, built bridges with my words.
“But why can’t I go with you?” I insisted, tears burning my eyes. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
It was like trying to write with my feet.
As the oldest, it was clearer to Mago, more than to Carlos and me, that the distance between us and our parents was destroying our relationship more than any of us could have imagined. And the consequences would be great. But back then, as our little mother, Mago’s job was to take care of us and to shelter us from the reality that only she could fully grasp. I had her as a buffer, but she had no one but herself.
