In the US, they are called illegal aliens – I am yet to see the spaceship landing – but across the world, they are perhaps, referred to as undocumented. Forgive me but they are simply human beings, emigrants in search of a better life to me.

I am not going to get into the politics of the subject because it would perhaps be a mile long of unrepentant speech and unwarranted cracked jungle of lines, but tell a story of Ana Maria and the highest sacrifice any Undocumented Emigrant mother can make.

It is not only the United States that has issues with undocumented workers. It seems to be the topic of my conversation with a friend who is so adamant about deporting all “illegals” as if they were one altered yogurt in his refrigerator, ready to turn his stomach upside down and make him run to the bathroom in an omelet frenzy. It is not.

Most countries, especially Europeans are experiencing some kind of forceful migration as people move from countries to countries in search of means of survival, as their countries economy are going bust. It is simple mathematics. It is about economics. It always was and it will always be and the Europe is not immune to it. The difference is some countries are screaming bloody Mary more than the others. Understandable. Fear is one ugly accessory. So, the world is today one box of chocolate.

Set aside your thoughts and hear me, I mean her, Ana Maria.

I met Ana last year at a friend’s house. I really don’t know how she ended up in Europe; perhaps, she told me and me being me, it did not stick, it flew out like a little butterfly just out of the larva but getting there she did. Last I heard, she moved overseas temporarily, the main reason as in so many cases, to work hard and send money home to provide for her kids, give them a better life and education.

Funny, how the subject of a husband was never discussed. She never mentioned him or if there is even a him in her life, and if he exists, is he helping her out, how is he fitting in the picture? The subject is after all a personal matter and it was not my job to neither ask nor judge. So, I did not ask.

I just liked Ana at get go. We kinda clicked in a jiffy and found ourselves talking as if we were old pals and we weren’t. It was one Sleepless in Seattle kind of “attraction”, her determination and sacrifice, her survival skills, her story, really did me in and was attached to the hook.

Ana is in her early fifties, I believe, she does not tell her age, then again which woman does; one well mannered, curvy and gorgeous, smart bubbly Latina.

She has been working hard since she arrived in the country, holding different jobs, mostly domestic work, cleaning one house here and another there like most in her situation do and she had plans.

Mind you, she has not seen her kids in about eight years. Aside from pictures, she has not seen them metamorphosing into young men. She has heard their voices but didn’t know if they grown a mustache. She heard their voices but has not touched nor felt them in a while. She heard their voices but have not caressed their hair or chosen their attires to school. She heard their voices but has not met their girlfriends, yes they are boys and as far as she knew it, all was well. But then again, this is not how the story ends.

And then there were two.

You see, Ana had plans but lately, she has been talking about going back home a lot. She is done and thought now that the kids were grown and were old enough to fend for themselves; she had the carte blanche to return. She did not see herself staying behind two years.

That was her plan and she had it all planned out. The older had just graduated college and the younger is still in high school, and now that he started working, the plan was for him to help her raise his younger brother letting her to work less and return home.

Great! I love plans, I envy plans but sometimes, there are others plans. Plans that are out of our control. You see, we can make plans all we want but often, there are other forces stronger than our plans, other curves, semicolons that are inserted into our plans and we just have to sit tight and ride it, deal with it the best way we can. They are called life tests.

Just when the older son was set to begin his new job, a brand new lawyer you know, and help his mother as she so envisioned, he was struck by a car and killed instantly. Blink and he was gone, yes just like that.

Yes, she had plans.

Now, what is this supposed to mean? How cruel can the world be? I know I know, I am always the first one to preach about life and how He has it all lined up for us, blah, blah, blah but c’mon, is there a better test then this? What now?

Off course she was devastated. Off course, she wanted to drop it all and go. Off course, she wanted to say goodbye, I mean, it was her first born, and any parent would drop it all and go. No parent should burry his/her child but she did.

The grieving process has not been easy for her and it complicated matters more with the realization that she couldn’t leave the country and there is one additional being who still relies on her plans, if she did, there was the possibility of her never coming back.

It is hard, difficult but ultimately she decided to stay, making the ultimate sacrifice once more than any mother can. She is relying on prayers, strength and courage to cope but she is also aware that God never gives us more then we can bear. As many plans as she made, as many outlines, periods, sentences and paragraphs, there was something more powerful in control, a semicolon, and He only He can answer for it as He so wanted that way.