I am a child of the Lebanese war—born during the Israeli occupation of Beirut. I am a refugee—fled on a boat to the nearest island of Cyprus where I grew up in perpetual uncertainty—"we'll go back soon, very soon." We didn't ever go back home. To this day, in my darkest moments, when I cry, I catch myself whispering "I just want to go home."
I am the daughter of ecumenical activists—believers in human dignity, peace and reconciliation. The granddaughter of Midwestern children of the Great Depression—a liberation theologian and a farm girl. The granddaughter of Lebanese orphans—a gas station owner and gentle housewife.
I am the mother of three adopted young men—birth children to refugees of the Salvadorean civil war who immigrated to the U.S. Gritty, idiosyncratic, powerful, funny, hurting, beautiful young men.
I am the partner to a longtime public school teacher—a brave and patient soul.
I am the sister to my other half.