This story was originally published in the Miami Herald in partnership with the Lee Caplin School of Journalism & Media.
On an ordinary weekday morning, Angela De Borja, along with her daughter Cecilia, followed the same routine: help get her six grandchildren dress, prepare their backpacks, and drive them to school in Homestead.
But the moment they dropped the kids off recently, everything changed.
An unmarked white van approached. Immigration agents stepped out and surrounded Cecilia, who was born in Guatemala and didn’t have papers. De Borja watched in shock, unable to understand what was happening.
“We didn’t know why,” she recalls. “Or how they knew where we were.”
Within minutes, her daughter was gone, on her way to an Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention facility. That left De Borja, who is married to an American citizen, standing alone in the parking lot with the sound of her grandchildren’s voices still echoing in her ears.
What followed was a blur of confusion and fear. Cecilia was transferred to various ICE detainment facilities across the state, each time without warning. “They took her from one place to another,” Angela recalled. When the deportation order finally came, Cecilia was transferred to a country she hadn’t been to in over a decade to live a life she no longer recognized.
That was the day De Borja became the full-time guardian of Cecilia’s six young U.S.-born children.
She never expected to raise another generation, but with their mother deported, the children had no one else in the United States, where they were all born.
“I give them all my love, I help them with everything,” she said. Her grandchildren — Dylan, Genesis, Liam, Jayden, Angie, and baby Nanyell — are all eight years old and younger. Two of her grandsons have developmental delays, which come with therapy appointments, specialists, and a need for constant attention.
At home, De Borja often finds the children standing at the front window, watching the street, asking if today is the day their mother will return. “The hardest moment is when they cry ‘mom, mom, mom,’ and I don’t know how to comfort them,” she said.
De Borja knows that feeling well. Years ago, she left Guatemala because she wanted her children to grow up in a place where food wouldn’t run out and opportunity wasn’t a distant dream. “In Guatemala, it’s very hard… it’s hard to survive,” she said. She carried that hope with her to the United States. Now, she wants her grandchildren to have the life she never had.
Today, De Borja works long days in the nurseries and farms in Homestead. Sometimes there are 12-hour shifts that start before dawn and end after sunset. Then she returns home to six children who need meals, help with homework, baths, comfort, and stability. “They are my motivation,” she said.
The financial strain is constant. Raising six young children alone means diapers, shoes, clothes, formula, wipes, and school supplies. Expenses add up quickly. “The diapers are so expensive,” she said. She dreams of stability and enough support that the children can continue receiving the care they need.
Despite everything, De Borja looks for moments of hope: a new word spoken in therapy, an afternoon sharing ice cream, a moment of encouragement among siblings learning to ride a bicycle.
This holiday season, De Borja hopes the community can help lighten the load. Assistance with clothing, diapers, essential household items and educational toys would make an immediate difference in the lives of six young children who have already endured more than most.
For De Borja, a grandmother holding together two generations, even a small act of support would be a reminder that she doesn’t have to carry everything alone.
