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vulnerable. From the two years that I had known them, they had never shown any signs of
weakness.

I had called the USCIS office a day after my mother called with the news. I wasn’t
sparing any time. That phone call was only the second time I witnessed my mother being
vulnerable. Per my research, the application would take five months to process. My green card
was expiring in three. It made me nervous waiting on someone to answer. There was something
frightening about calling these types of offices. I felt if I said a word incorrectly or even hesitated
on a question, I’d be put on a “watch” list, if one existed. Ironically, a man with a deep accent
answered. I didn’t understand him when he told me his name. I was too afraid to ask him to
repeat it, so I went straight to my application questions.

“After the initial application is submitted and processed, you will get a letter notifying
you where and when to meet for your fingerprints. Allow yourself time,” he said.

“Will there be an issue with my expiration date?”
“As long as you give yourself enough time from the date, there should be no issue.”
“I understand, but my card expires in three months,” I replied panicked.
“No, ma’am. That’s not enough time.”
“What does that mean, then? What can I do? There’s got to be something, right?” At that
point, my throat felt as if it was closing in. Sounds came out of my mouth, but I couldn’t
formulate words.
“Hold, ma’am.”
The hold was a dreadful wait. All I kept thinking of was how long they would give me to
leave the United States. Judging by how rude the woman was years ago when my parents were

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