My husband had been my hero for nine years, since I meet him at 17 to 18. We loved each other dearly but circumstances beyond our control I had to leave him when our third son was but one year old. His life and how he had made it to this country is a story of miracles in and of itself, how he fought for his own life and experiences of near death were extraordinary, how he went from disaster to a job with Unicef and a hop and skip to this country to pursue his eventual Ph.D equals my story. But I will stick with just my story of handicapped and heroes. He had been a hero to me in many ways, and now I knew I was unable to go back. It felt like life had ended at 26.
My mom again became a hero. I was sick, destitute, and penniless. I had to go to the doctor and the boys needed medical attention. It was surreal to find out my doctor had assisted in my birth and my son's doctor was the one who saved my life as an infant when my mother had no money and I was near death and she had barged into his office for a mercy call. Two heroes I finally got to meet.
It was a time to heal but I had no plans. My husband had sent out a social worker to see if I was ok, a courtesy call. The worker told me how to get a state job. As soon as I was healthy again I jumped on the advice and landed a clerk job filing. It was the most boring job I could ever conceive of. They granted me a privilege, I could wear earphones and listen to a tape recorder as I worked. I had not forgotten my dream of graduate school. I had to come up with a way to pass the test and my vocabulary was really lacking. I thought of a scheme to do that quickly and efficiently. I set about making it possible.
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