The Five Stages of Grief for Children of Deported Parents

April 21, 2016

Guest blogger: Zulma Munoz, first-year law student, University of San Francisco

According to the Urban Institute – Migration Policy Institute report, “[b]etween 2003 and 2013, the U.S. government formally removed 3.7 million immigrants to their home countries,” and “parents of U.S.-born children made up between one-fifth and one-quarter of this total.” My father was one of these.

It has been five years now. I still startle awake some nights hearing the judge deliver her verdict that overturned the trial court’s Cancellation of Removal. I see my mother and father and how distraught they were.

I am now a first year law student at the University of San Francisco School of Law. Most are not so lucky. I know from personal experience how awful and disorienting it is when family members, contributing hard working members of society, much loved fathers and brothers, suddenly don’t come home because they are arrested and slated for deportation.

My Story

When my mother was seventeen, she and my father carried my brother across the border to the United States. I was born three years later in Oakland, California. At age two, my father died in a car accident. When I was seven, my mother married a wonderful man and I was delighted to have a new father. Soon a younger brother arrived.

When I was a freshman at UC Berkeley, officials arrested my brother for marking the streets with graffiti. Within a week, the case was transferred to Immigration Court and my brother’s deportation followed closely thereafter. My brother participated in our school community’s Native American Youth Group. He was 9 when he joined the group and at the age of 19 he was selected to become a “Guerrero” – a Native right of passage ceremony for young men dedicated to community advancements. However, because he was not a U.S. citizen, my brother developed a sense of hopelessness for the future. Although he was only 6 months old when he arrived in this country and went to school, his opportunities were foreclosed.

Our entire lives changed the moment he was picked up by police. The next few months and years of my life were dominated by uncertainty and court proceedings, translating for my parents at attorney consultations, and supporting the emotional well being of my mother and my younger 10-year-old brother. Eventually my older brother was deported.

The day of my brother’s deportation, I packed a backpack with his favorite Bob Marley shirts, Vans shoes, his beloved Raiders hat, underwear and socks, and a few family portraits that I managed to collect on my way out of my house to say goodbye. I arrived at the Detention Center, but I was not allowed to see my brother. I began to panic. For some odd reason, I felt like I’d never see my brother again. I burst into tears. Moments later, one agent informed me that the backpack was too heavy and he forced me to take out some clothes in order to meet the weight requirements. I took out the heaviest pieces of clothing I could find, and I struggled to choose between some jeans, a hoodie, and a jacket. “He needs everything,” I whispered to myself. I fought my tears. I felt so little, so powerless, in front of these officers. I tried explaining to them that my brother had nothing back in Mexico, that all of his belongings were here, not there. Those were the rules. They showed no compassion, and it was clear that they did not care. The agent put the remaining clothes in a plastic bag and he handed it to me. I walked out of the building, feeling broken. I hugged my brother’s clothes, I held them tight to my chest, wishing I could hug him.

Sadly, during my junior year in college, my family’s situation worsened when my father was detained and placed in deportation proceedings. Once again, I adjusted my schedule to tend to my father’s case. Once again, our lives were upended.

My experience as a daughter of undocumented family members and my family’s immigration struggles taught me about the intricate dynamics of court politics and the importance of sustainable legal services for noncitizen communities. Unlike my older brother, as a citizen I had opportunities. I learned at an early age that education was a ticket out of poverty. My brother’s and father’s experiences provided me with insights into how the legal system functions, how immigration laws and educational policies can fall into dysfunction, and how just laws such as Family Reunification can help keep families together.

How does a child feel to have their father get deported? Within days after my father’s deportation, I felt like my father had died. I see individuals like my father everyday. I regularly witness the contributions that they make to our schools and our neighborhoods. I see fathers going to their children’s soccer games and school events. I watch these children exercise their right to grow up with their fathers by their side. I watch these families grow in love and respect for God, their country and their communities, but I also witness many other families experience the fear and disappointment, and tragedy of having a loved one snatched from their midst. It’s heartbreaking.

In this community of more than 11 million undocumented workers in the United States there is constant fear from threat of separation because of deportation; there is hopelessness due to the lack of opportunities for secure economic advancement; there is frustration because the immigration status of this population drastically limits their opportunity to improve their families’ lives to assure a secure future. They live under constant threat of being expelled from this country, or having a family member expelled.

I came across this book on grieving and it resonated with me because I am mourning the loss of my father. My former violin teacher and close friend of mine recommended the book. It was helpful for me to look at this as a guide in the grieving process – it helped me understand and put into context where I was.

There are five stages of normal grief that were first proposed by Elisabeth Kübler- Ross in her 1969 booked called, “On Death and Dying.” After reading through this, I found a parallel between losing a loved one through death and losing a loved father and brother through deportations.

Here are my five stages of grief.

Denial and Isolation

One night my father, who was always reliable, failed to come home from work. It took a week of panicked and frantic inquiries before we learned he had been picked up at his work. Eventually I obtained a copy of my father’s case file. I poured over the case file. I re-read and e-mailed my father’s attorneys asking if they had heard of any updates. I remember flipping through the 100-page file, as if in there I’d eventually find the answer that would bring my father home. I was in denial. I buried myself in details to cope with the initial shock.

Anger

Gradually reality and the pain began to emerge. I was not ready. My sadness and heartbreak was deflected and redirected and expressed instead as anger and frustration. I resented the ICE agent who casually skimmed through the 2011 calendar choosing a day to send my father back to Mexico. I remember sitting in the ICE office, gripping onto my father’s arm, and in the corner of my eye, I spotted a picture of that ICE agent’s family on his desk. They were happy. I begged him to reconsider this decision and to think of his family and how happy they were together. He said nothing. I felt disgust toward my own country, and I even resented my father’s attorneys. I criticized them for “losing” and I often asked myself: “Why would this happen?” and “Why me? It’s not fair!” I felt guilty for being angry at the attorneys, and this made me even angrier.

Bargaining

I tortured myself for months. “If only we would have gathered more letters of support…” or “If only I were younger and not in college to show the government that two young U.S.-born children really need their father…” or “if only my father could be at my college graduation …”

Depression

And I was sad. I had regret. I became silent, I refused to hang out with friends, and I quit playing soccer. I cried myself to sleep many times thinking about all of the times I should have accompanied my father to church, to the grocery store, to the A’s games – anything that would result in more time spent with him. I felt numb. I considered withdrawing from school. I eventually began seeing a therapist.

Acceptance

Somehow, I don’t know how, I managed to find resolve. I was determined to try and ensure that other families do not suffer as my family did. “It’s going to be okay.” Losing my father was so sudden and unexpected, and I realize I am lucky. Some may never see past their anger and denial. I was able to withdraw and I became more calm. I moved to Los Angeles for a full-time work opportunity supporting parents a few months after my father left the country. This was five months after my college graduation. Moving away from my mother and younger brother was very difficult, but I was ready to remove myself from “the situation” – my home that no longer felt like home because my father was missing. This was not a period of happiness, but it was a relief from depression. I stayed away from social interaction; it allowed me to focus on my law school preparations.

Quite frankly, I don’t believe I can ever fully accept what happened. Ultimately I cannot accept something that is unacceptable.

As I watch this election cycle, I am not optimistic. Others will have to go through this grieving process I experienced. Coping with loss is ultimately a deeply personal and singular experience — nobody can help you go through it more easily. Communities will continue struggling to support immigrant families and children. More children will go through these stages of grief and hopefully get to the point where I am today.

In many ways, I am privileged that my life’s circumstances taught me about the immigration, education, and labor systems in American because it motivated me to start my career early. My family’s case catapulted my knowledge and frustration with the legal system, so I decided to pursue a career through which I could influence the outcomes of individuals with similar stories. I have organized students to journey to Washington DC to lobby for immigration reform, and I have providing immigration relief to youth without legal citizenship. My mission is clear.

In November 2014, President Obama issued an executive order that would provide temporary protection from deportation and work permits for approximately 5 million unauthorized immigrants. On Monday, the Supreme Court held oral arguments in U.S. v. Texas, a legal challenge to a parallel program like DACA for the parents of U.S. citizens and legal residents, known as DAPA. Much debate on this case has focused on the limits of presidential power and states’ rights.

But ultimately, it is about families like mine who risk being torn apart. Why does this matter? It matters because families are the bedrock of our society. The emotional harm of parental detention and deportation can shape a child’s future, as depression, anxiety, and anger can put a child at risk for difficulties later in life.

The MPI report examines the involvement of families with a deported parent and how it impacts our health and social service systems, as well as their needs and the barriers they face accessing such services. The study included locations with high levels of deportations, but did not represent all U.S. communities with parents who have been deported.

Children Experienced a Number of Harms Following a Parent’s Detention or Deportation

The report found that children experienced negative emotional and behavioral outcomes after a parent was deported. Many family members had problems communicating with detained or deported parents because of difficulties locating them and the great distances between their homes and detention centers or home countries. These difficulties exacerbated the emotional harm to children because children were unable to communicate with their parents before deportation and thus felt that their parents had simply “disappeared.”

Spouses and partners of detained parents reported suffering from depression and social isolation. Depressed parents have more difficulty supporting the healthy development of their children, leading to poor cognitive and behavioral outcomes. Generally, most families chose to stay in the United States after a parent, typically the father, was deported. This meant that the loss of a father, often the breadwinner, caused substantial financial stress. Ninety-one percent of deportees were men, or fathers. The emotional harm, financial stress, and housing instability led to declines in school performance.

As we hear commentary on U.S. v. Texas, I hope we remember that human lives will be affected by this ruling. I urge us to focus on the individual faces behind the process and to recognize that, regardless of their immigration status, those who benefit from programs like DAPA are our neighbors, often our friends, brothers and sisters; and those who are harmed by deportation of undocumented parents of citizen children are the classmates of our children.

It’s time to find a way to normalize the millions of undocumented workers in this country, many of whom have been living here for decades, are productive members of our society, and have citizen children.