My dear friend Carlos is in need of our help. Carlos had an accident and as a result, needs eye surgery. $6,000 eye surgery. A surgery that will most definitely cause him to temporarily lose his ability to work. Please donate what you can, share with friends, anything helps!

To learn more about Carlos see below. An essay of love I wrote when ICE began its terrorization of communities.

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My dearest friend.

Dios Te Bendiga he tells me,

as he too whispers to himself in our passing.

An undercover guardian angel he is.

Words did not feed much of our relationship,

but did the preciousness of time.

We would sit and listen to the wind chimes,

Me, my Papa, and Carlos.

Just sitting,

no talking.

Well they were talking,

I was just sitting.

20 years of sitting, listening, watching.

Carlos’ presence speaks volumes,

that words couldn’t even begin to scratch the surface of.

So much time I spent,

watching Carlos,

learning from Carlos.

So much time Carlos has spent,

watching me go through each stage of life.

Watching me grow through my moms death,

and being there for me when she passed.

My Daughter,

my Nina tells me

followed by the sweetest hug a mother can give.

When I went to college,

Carlos was my hardest, silent goodbye.

When I came back,

the most comforting hello.

Your blue truck,

one of my fondest sights.

Today that holds different weight.

It is no longer just the comfort that my dear friend is here,

but that Carlos is safe.

That Nina is safe.

Carlos and Nina are alive and well.

I don’t have the words to describe the vulnerable situation my dear friend and his family face. I want this to be a peek into how deeply Carlos has touched those around him. There is so much to Carlos’ story that makes me just look at him in awe. How did you do it? How do you do it?

Carlos came here when he was in his 30s,

not just in search of a better life.

But a means to ensure his family could survive.

He hasn’t been back since.

40 years Carlos has with his own hands built the beauty that is Los Altos,

for 15 he helped my grandfather build the beauty that was his yard.

For the entirety of his adult life, Carlos built the beauty that is the life his family lives, without the comfort of having them near.

Who builds for Carlos?

Each garden you drive by on Brentwood Street, a priceless gift too many people, care too little about. When you drive around your neighborhood and see a magnificent garden attached to a magnificent house, do not attach its brilliance to the wallet that paid for it, but rather the mastermind and creative hands that built the sanctuaries we get to witness each day. Beautiful pieces of art Carlos has blessed so many communities with.

My house is not home without Carlos.

Carlos is an artist,

he is a teacher.

He is a father,

a brother,

a husband,

was once a son.

Carlos’ main title given is gardener. Which seems to only have a bad connotation if you are anything but a white woman planting lavender and lemon balm in her, pre-built garden box.

Carlos’ next title given by society falls under the category of, “a Mexican.” Regardless if people know where he’s actually from.

As if putting “a” in front, insinuates a thing followed by the flick of a finger, rather than a human being.

Carlos’ third title but definitely not the last forced upon him is immigrant. Which intentionally leaves a bad taste in ignorant mouths when this word is used to describe any black or brown person. But is exempted from use when referring to the average Joe from Poland. Or if it is used to describe the average Joe, there’s a sense of righteousness in the delivery of “immigrant”. A hint to the treacherous journey and life Joe had before, and how much it adds to his success story in America.

Enough, please.

And Carlos,

continue on with your stories.

I’m listening.