Each month, Imelda Richárd, Prison Ministry Coordinator for the Archdiocese of Atlanta, shares stories from the immigration detention unit in Atlanta’s federal prison. Names are changed for protection.
Through tears, M. told me that as his children cried in fear, the agents told his wife that they would soon return for her as well.
M. was born in Honduras but has lived in the United States since he was two years old. He is now 28 years old, married, and the father of three young children, ages eight, four, and two. Today, he waits in detention, facing the possibility of being deported to a country he does not know, where he has no family will be waiting to embrace him.
One morning in early June, as he walked to his car to leave for work, he noticed ICE agents in his apartment complex. Frightened, he ran back toward his apartment while repeatedly calling his wife, hoping she would unlock the door so he could get inside before the agents reached him.
Inside, however, his wife was preparing breakfast for their children. Amid the usual morning rush, she never heard the phone ring or saw his messages.
When someone knocked on the door, the children ran to answer it. Instead, they witnessed ICE agents force their father to the ground, handcuff him, and place him into a vehicle.
Through tears, M. told me that as his children cried in fear, the agents told his wife that they would soon return for her as well.
Terrified that those words might become reality, she gathered only a few belongings, took the children, and left their apartment to seek refuge with a relative.
As M. shared his story, he wept. He told me that after witnessing their father’s arrest, his children were so overwhelmed by fear that they became physically ill for more than a week.
Then he shared something that has stayed with me. Shortly before his detention, M. had given his four-year-old son a bicycle for his birthday. When the family fled their apartment, they had no choice but to leave it behind. Now, every time his son speaks with him on the phone, he cries because he wants his birthday bicycle back.
For a four-year-old, that bicycle is much more than a toy. It represents the home he had to leave behind, the life that suddenly disappeared, and the sense of security that was taken from him in a single morning.
Before we ended our conversation, M. shared one more concern. His wife is doing everything she can to save enough money to join him in Honduras if he is deported. She has begun selling homemade meals, hoping to earn enough so that their family can be together again. For M., the uncertainty of detention is painful, but the thought of being separated from his wife and children is even harder to bear.
Behind every detention is a family whose life changes in an instant. Our ministry reminds us that Christ is present not only with those who are detained, but also with the spouses, children, parents, and loved ones who carry the weight of separation, fear, and uncertainty. In accompanying those in detention, we also honor the unseen suffering of the families who wait, hope, and pray beyond the walls.
