Journalism with wings/ Periodismo con alas

My father didn’t eat for three days before crossing to “el otro lado”. While my dad scavenged his surroundings—todo hambriento, trying to figure out a way into the land of opportunity, farther south my grandmother passed her days worried sick for him. What’s peculiar about this story is that my grandmother, completely clueless of her son’s whereabouts, didn’t eat for three days as well. The story goes that for those three days every time my grandmother would try to swallow her food, she would feel a “raspón” in her throat. Witnesses say that every time she attempted to eat during those three days and she felt that sharp “raspón”, she would remember my father exclaiming, “Ese raspón lo siento porque mi hijo no ha comido”.

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