Crossing Care 3

In the heartfelt conclusion of the Crossing Care series, we follow Rosa’s journey as it comes full circle. After years of sacrifice, fear, and resilience, Rosa is finally granted protection and a pathway to citizenship for herself and her children. While her husband, Javier, remains in their home country due to rising immigration dangers, Rosa begins to build a more stable future in America. This episode reflects on the bittersweet nature of progress—hope laced with longing—and highlights the human cost behind headlines. Through Rosa’s voice, we honor the silent strength of so many immigrant caregivers who hold up our care systems while longing for home.

Transcript

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What does it mean to build a life from pieces, from the ache of goodbye and the hope of something better? Today we bring closure to Rosa's journey, one of grit, grace, and caregiving in the shadows of America. Her story. And the story of so many immigrant caregivers reminds us that caregiving isn't just a job, it's a heartbeat. This is take care of time, the tales and exhales of caregivers. And I'm your host, Beverly Nance. Let's turn the page one last time in the crossing care series, the morning started. The same Rosa now years into her life in Atlanta, stood at the kitchen window watching the sun stretch over the driveway of the modest home she shares with Mateo and Luna. She often thinks of Javier, her husband, who remained in their home country of Honduras. Their communication had grown sparse. At first they called weekly. Then messages became shorter. Poor signal delays at the border. Rumors of raids, the dream of reuniting was fraying at the edges. Javier had tried twice both times, turned back at the border once with a broken ankle. After falling from LA Bestia the freight train migrants cling to through Mexico The second attempt ended. With a call from a detention center where he stayed for a month before being deported again. Rosa never told the kids the full truth, just that Papa was working on coming, that he loved them. The turning point came on a rainy Wednesday. Rosa sat across from her immigration attorney, nervously fidgeting with her locket inside a tiny picture of her family before everything changed. Rosa, the lawyer said, eyes kind of kind but curious. I have good news. Your asylum has been approved. You and your children are now protected. You'll receive work authorization and eventually permanent residency. It's over. The room spun for a second. Then the tears came, the weight of years. The underpaid caregiving jobs, the loneliness, the fear of ice, the dread of knock at the door nights, and all of it finally softened. With her new documentation, Rosa will finally accept employment legally. She was hired by a senior home health agency in Decatur, Georgia. That pay was better. She had rights, she had protection. She had a voice. Her clients adored her. Mrs. Hazel, one of her first patients was 92 and sharp as tack. You've got kind hands. She said to Rosa one morning as Rosa adjusted her blanket hands that have done a lot of living. Rosa joined a quiet army of caregivers, millions across the country, many of whom have risked everything for a sliver of opportunity. Most Americans never knew their names. But every household, every facility, every hospital had one of them, the ones who showed up, even when undocumented, even when underpaid, their labor kept caregiving afloat. They're not just caregivers. They're the invisible infrastructure From a rusting payphone in Honduras. Javier told Rosa what she already feared. It's too dangerous now. mi amor, he said The cartels. The checkpoints, the risk. I can't make it not this way. There was silence, but I am proud of you. He added of what you have done for our children, for us. You built something from nothing. Rosa cried, but not out of despair. Out of grief, out of gratitude, out of letting go. Luna started sixth grade that fall. Mateo made the soccer team. They still spoke of papa. He sent money when he could called on birthdays. They hoped for reunification one day, but for now, Rosa was both a mother and a father a caregiver at home and at work, she bought a used minivan. Taught Luna how to make a sopa de the candles every Sunday morning. A this story is not uncommon. According to the Center of Migration studies, one in five home care workers in the US is an immigrant. Over 80% are women. Many enter through informal work, caring for our most vulnerable without protection themselves. We must ask ourselves, who do we trust with our loved ones and how do we treat those caregivers? Rosa now has a small studio nook in her living room where she listens to podcasts while journaling at night. She once heard the one called Take Care of Time, and she smiled. She knew something about that. After all, Rosa had become the caregiver and the cared for Her journey wasn't about survival. It was about a different type of freedom, even if she didn't call it that. This episode is bought to you By the Take Care time Respite box, a bimonthly box for caregivers who deserve a moment to exhale packed with comfort, tools and reflection, and a little something just for you. Subscribe today and Say yes to taking care of yourself. Please note that this episode features reenactments and dramatized details. While in most cases the exact verbatim dialogue may not be known, all dramatizations are grounded in thorough research and crafted to honor the stories shared to respect the privacy and confidentiality of the individuals involved names and some identifying details have been changed. If you were moved by Rosa's story, share this episode and this series with someone who needs to hear it, leave a review, or better yet, tell the caregivers in your life you matter to. Until next week, take care