Hi everyone,

My name is Delilah, and I’m writing this with a broken heart but a deep hope that you will hear me out. I recently lost my mom in the most tragic and unimaginable way, and I’m asking for your help to lay her to rest with the dignity and love she deserves.

My mom was a woman who loved with her whole soul, even when life gave her every reason not to. She gave birth to five beautiful girls. I’m the oldest, following my older brother who sadly passed away at birth. Losing him left my mom with a lifetime of grief. She carried that pain every day, always trying to build the family she’d once dreamed of. She raised us with kindness, even when we had nothing. In Mexico, she’d organize toy drives for Día de los Reyes Magos, Día de los Niños, and Christmas, filling our yard with music, pan dulce, champurrado, and laughter for kids who had so little. She’d pay the local baker to make sweets all day so everyone could eat. Those moments taught me that love is meant to be shared, no matter how much money you have. We should always take care of each other because you never know when you’ll be on the other end.

But life was cruel to my mom. When I was in sixth grade, my dad fell off a roof and died after piercing his chest and neck on a metal fence. It happened the day before my graduation. I remember standing at his funeral, refusing to say goodbye, not wanting to believe he was gone. But I couldn’t unhear my mom’s cries. She wept over his chest for hours, long after everyone left. It was the first time I saw her crumble, her brave face finally breaking under the weight of all her pain. We lost our home soon after. Homelessness became our normal. My sisters and I slept in parks, abandoned houses, wherever we could find shelter, while my mom worked night and day. Coming home at midnight, catching a few hours of sleep, and going back out. She never stopped fighting for us.

When CPS stepped in, I was only 14. With seconds to spare, I packed our papers, grabbed a bottle for my baby sister, and some cash. We were taken to an orphanage in Mexico. For months, I fought for us. Translating for volunteers, building trust with the director, begging immigration to transfer our case to San Diego since we were all U.S. citizens. I never stopped trying to get my mom back to us. When we finally crossed the border, we were separated again. My mom was forced to live on the Tijuana side so she could stay close to the daughters who’d been ripped from her arms. For five years, we lost each other. I was just a kid, grieving the mother I loved so deeply, who I knew was searching for us just as desperately as we were for her.

When I turned 21, I found her. We started over car rides across the border, home-cooked meals, big bags of her favorite snacks. She’d show me off to everyone, saying, “This is my beautiful daughter. If I’m ever gone, please take care of her.” That was my mom. Even with nothing, she was always giving. Last Thanksgiving, my sister and I finally got to share a meal with her again. We spent the day laughing, crying, holding her hands. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d see her alive.

At the end of March, I got a message from an old friend: “They think something terrible might have happened to your mom.” I remember staring at my phone, feeling my chest cave in. I was a broke college student living off EBT, but I sold my bed and my couch to get enough money to go look for her. Every step I took felt heavier than the last, but I prayed to God, Please, let me find my mom. When I spoke to the missing persons department in Tijuana, they told me to go to the morgue. There had been a cartel war, over 200 lives lost, women and children included. They explained that if anyone matched my mom’s description, they would show me on a screen. I remember sitting in that freezing room, my hands shaking so bad I could barely hold my phone. “She might still be alive,” they said.

She was the second image on the screen. I couldn’t see her face clearly, only her tattoos. I squinted through my tears, trying to remember what they looked like after so many years. There they were...our names, my brother’s name, my grandma’s name. That was how I knew, that was my mom. I felt everything leave my body at that moment. All our memories crashed into me...her laughter, dancing, the toy drives, the nights she held us when we were cold, the times she’d whisper, “Todo va estar bien, mija.” I called my aunt to break the news. I could barely get the words out: “She’s gone. She’d been there for a month. Alone.” Her biggest fear, passing without anyone to find her, had come true.

But I made her one last promise. I brought her home. My grandpa, who I hadn’t seen in 10 years, helped me fight the morgue to release her. Crossing the border with her, knowing she was no longer with us yet finally coming back to her family, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I had to see her one last time to identify her in person. That image still lives in my mind every time I close my eyes. I planned her funeral the way she would have wanted: flowers, food, music, and family gathered together. It wasn’t enough. Nothing could ever be enough but for the first time, I didn’t have to carry it alone. I had my sister beside me, and together we promised to keep our mom’s love alive.

Now, my sister is leaving for college. She just graduated high school with a 4.0 GPA and a valedictorian speech honoring our mom and the journey that shaped us. She’s going to the University of Hawaii to follow her dream of becoming an NFL medical trainer. Before she goes, I want her to have a place to visit, somewhere she can sit with our mom, show her the diploma, and say, “I did it, Mommy.” This is my last gift for them. But I can’t do it alone. I’m losing my housing soon. I’m carrying debt from the funeral. I’m trying to get my life back together while my mental health is barely hanging on. I’m begging for your help for a share, a dollar, a prayer. Anything. Please help me give my mom the resting place she deserves, so her story doesn’t end in tragedy, but in love. Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring. May you hold your loved ones a little tighter tonight and never take a moment for granted.

With all my heart,

Delilah