- Associated Press - Monday, August 11, 2014

MIAMI (AP) - The mother arrived early at Miami International Airport, pacing the baggage claim hall until, at last, she spotted her.

Denia Zelaya had last seen her eldest daughter nearly 10 years earlier. On an early morning in 2004, she kissed Anita’s head as the girl slept, then slipped out of her family’s house.

“I didn’t tell her goodbye,” the mother recalls. “I knew if she awoke, I couldn’t leave.”

Anita was just 6, her younger sister, Nicole, not yet 3. But Zelaya had made a choice: to flee the violent gangs in her native Honduras and come to the U.S. to find work. The plan was to save enough for a smuggler and then send for her children when they were old enough to endure the journey.

This past April, Nicole, now 12, made it safely across the Texas border and on to Miami. That inspired 16-year-old Anita to attempt the trip with her own child, 3-year-old Emily, the granddaughter Zelaya had never met.

At the airport on July 18, Zelaya glanced at a picture of Anita on her cellphone, worried she might not recognize her. Then her eyes locked on a distant figure, hauling a toddler on her hip. As the girl approached, Zelaya saw her mirror image: large hazel eyes, corkscrew curls and a tentative smile.

For a moment it seemed like the distance would never close. Then Zelaya pulled daughter and granddaughter into her small frame. Anita buried her face into her mother’s hair. A lone cry burst from her throat.


They are just one family - in some ways, one of the luckiest. As thousands of Central American children have come across the Southwest border these past months - fleeing violence, searching for loved ones and looking to start anew in the U.S. - this family found each other again. But now another journey has begun.

There’s a complex legal system to navigate, new economic burdens and an unfamiliar home, along with the delicate task of learning to become a family again. In the background looms the knowledge that their reunion in the U.S. could be temporary - more likely to end with deportation orders than asylum.

Zelaya herself lives here illegally. She spent the last decade working in restaurants and, more recently, busing tables at an airport hotel.

When she fled La Ceiba, Honduras, after witnessing the gang-killing of a nephew, Zelaya left Anita and Nicole first with her sister and then their great-grandmother. But without their mother, the children struggled.

When their great-grandmother died, the girls were shuttled between relatives, frequently changing schools, often unable to go at all. Nicole says she got as far as the second grade. Anita, who never made it past fifth, was hired out by a cousin to wash clothes because the money Zelaya sent never lasted long.

“There were so many Christmases I couldn’t celebrate, because when I saw so many people hug each other I would just go cry and go to bed,” Anita recalls. “Maybe I had some things I needed, but I didn’t have a mother, and that is the most important, I think.”

In Miami, Zelaya did her best to start a new life, even as she decorated her bedroom walls with pictures of her children. She met someone, and had two American-born children, Elise, now 5, and David, 4.

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