Lorena Huerta

Who do you look up to? My mom is my hero because she is a selfless fighter who does what she can and even more for her family. My mom is divorced, short, and strict, but she is also very caring, loving, and supportive. One of my most vivid memories of her is from when I was in third grade. I was visiting my grandma and staying for the weekend because our uncles from the United States were supposed to come that day. I was playing around in the backyard when I saw my uncle. I ran up to him and hugged him. He asked me where my mom was and I told him she was supposed to come later, but she didn't.

It was already late night when I got worried. I went and asked my uncles if they had heard from her or anything but they stayed quiet. I asked them again and they told me that she had been in a car crash. I was shocked and worried, but mostly devastated because I had to wait until the next day to see her. That night I couldn't really sleep.

The next day I got to see my mom. It was a very traumatic experience because she looked pale. She looked like she was about to die. She was bruised and had this really weird thing that pulled her right leg up and had like a weight to keep it up. It was really scary but when I saw her smile, I knew it was all ok. I knew that she was going to be ok and that she was going to get better.

Three months later, after a surgery on her leg, she was back, in a wheelchair. The doctors said she was not going to be able to walk again but she still had faith. Some days I would walk by her room and I would see her trying to massage or bend her leg. She said that things like that and faith could cure her. My mom defied the doctors' judgment because she was able to walk after three months. On the other hand, nothing is ever perfect. She could walk again, but she could not run, dance, ride horses, and do many other things that required fast leg and feet movement. She also became very sensitive to cold weather due to the nails placed in her leg.

My mom managed to support us even after the car crash. My dad never sent anything but we still lived normally. I was in fourth grade when we moved to Tijuana. Tijuana is a dirty city in Mexico where my other grandma lives. My grandma had offered my mom a job and help over there so we moved. After a while, we moved to San Diego because an aunt offered her a job over there. Lastly, we moved to Los Angeles.