Where We Find Hope Among Grief

We asked people to share their grief and hope in a world that seems dramatically different than it did even ten years ago.

Melissa Gonzalez Vazquez: Cultural Solidarity

The future, to me, looks like a vibrant tapestry of voices that are often unheard, especially within immigrant and Latine communities. My work at LatinoLEAD allows me to elevate the stories and leadership of Latine professionals across Minnesota. I am inspired by the unwavering spirit of the Latine community and my fellow DACA recipients who continue to dream big, despite the uncertainty of their status. We carry an immense amount of hope because we know that our dreams are valid and our existence is powerful.

The future I dream of is one in which we redefine what it means to belong.

It’s one in which immigrant communities are empowered to build and thrive. I believe we are on the cusp of a cultural renaissance that embraces the full complexity of our identities and celebrates our presence as an integral part of this nation’s fabric. For me, the future is filled with possibilities. As long as we hold on to our passion, as long as we lead with love and solidarity, there is always hope.

Anonymous: Navigating Russophobia and Cancel Culture

On February 24, 2022, Russia began a full-scale war in Ukraine. Many of my fellow citizens in Russia do not support the war.

The consequences of war not only bring destruction and take thousands of lives, but often lead to discrimination. I am living in Minnesota now. I love Russia’s wonderful nature and architectural heritage. My country has a deep soul, with traditions that have been observed for centuries. I am ashamed only for things I don’t have control of: our government and its actions.

After the war against Ukraine started, my Russian credit card stopped working because of sanctions against the country. Many airlines canceled flights to my homeland. Russian friends traveling out of the country told me about being refused service in restaurants and shops. I read comments on social networks in which people rejoice at attacks in my country and even say that Russian children deserve to die. I began to lose faith in humanity. But I do have hope in my heart that my generation can make a difference.

There is no single solution to solve Russophobia. If we could help people become more media literate, teach them to check facts, and study history, we could reduce nationalistic hatred and bias.

 

 

Alexis Cox: Parenting in a Tight Economy

Three years ago, at age 23, I became a mom to a beautiful baby boy. I relocated from my hometown of Monticello to Marshall, Minnesota, where I met my fiancé. Becoming a mom has been the best thing to ever happen to me, but it has also opened up a door to new worries.

One of the main things I worry about is financial stability.

I am going to school for cosmetology and work as a bartender on weekends. My fiancé is a blue-collar worker. We make enough to make ends meet for our family in a small town, but we’re in a two-bedroom apartment and want to someday rent or buy a house.

In our town the housing costs are high. You cannot find home rentals for under $1,000 a month. Many apartment spaces are upward of $1,200 a month. This could be expected if we lived near a big city, but Marshall — a town of 13,000 in southwest Minnesota — is the largest town within an hour.

I would like my son to be able to grow up in a house with a yard, and space for his things. It scares me that we will never financially be able to get to where we want to be. Although we enjoy going to parks, walking, and playing at the local YMCA, I worry on a daily basis about the world my son will have to navigate in adulthood. I feel guilty for bringing him into it.

I hope we can collectively find solutions to our economic issues for families, as well as climate change, so that my son can grow up in a better world.

Temi Ogunrinde: Loss of My Father

When the Timberwolves almost made it to the NBA finals in 2024, I broke down and sobbed. My tears had little to do with the team and everything to do with my dad. It’s been three years since he passed. When the Timberwolves advanced as far as they did, I knew he would have called me, overjoyed.

What is hard about grief is that people can’t grasp the weight of what you’re going through.

They remember your grief during the holidays, during birthdays, and maybe the anniversary of the death of your loved one. But people who haven’t experienced loss yet don’t often realize that the reality doesn’t just show up then. Yes, I miss him during those big moments, but I also miss him after a frustrating day at work, or after a promotion. The loss feels strong on a random Tuesday, or on a beautiful sunny day, or after watching a funny movie. When the love is so deep, the loss can be felt in the most random ways and in the most mundane days. Loss saddens me, but what can sometimes feel crippling is how lonely walking in it feels.

Yet deep grief also gives me great hope. My dad was the most charismatic person I knew. He was kind to all who knew him. He didn’t have to know you long before he’d be willing to offer you the shirt off his back. He had a laugh that was infectious. You couldn’t help but feel loved in his presence.

I am my father’s daughter, and my hope is that people can see him through me. You may not have had the pleasure of knowing my dad, but I hope this gives you a glimpse of the man he was.

Rebecca Arredondo: Every Day Is a Clean Slate

The lights are dim in classroom B214. The projector is on, displaying instructions for ninth graders, and all you can hear is its low hum and the soft whispers of students. Their heads are down as they scribble their thoughts. The prompt: Tell me about a person in your life who has had the greatest influence on you.

As I read the incoming submissions, I notice the same pattern: Madame Steele, Professor Arredondo, Ms. Frank,  Teacher Eugene. The first people that popped up into their little heads are teachers. I couldn’t help but smile.

As teachers, we serve as educators, emotional support peers, Band-Aid providers, hallway monitors, AI detectors, and on occasion security guards when a student decides to fight. When we get home, teachers are also parents, sons, daughters, friends, siblings.

The duality of a teacher is one of the most exhausting aspects of our profession. Some days it feels hopeless to continue teaching. We return home finding ourselves with emotional and physical unavailability toward those we care about. Society’s treatment of teachers has worsened since I started three years ago, with parents blaming teachers for their childrens’ action. People forget that our degrees are in education, not parenting.

I look up from reading my students’ essays to look at their faces. Every one of them has brought laughter, headaches, smiles, and tears to my life. Every day is a clean slate for us.

I see their faces and think, “This is the best job ever.”

I hope they enter our classroom feeling acknowledged. I hope they leave the classroom having learned something new about the world and themselves.

Knowledge is power. It’s an honor for me to offer knowledge to students. Seeing and listening to our students gives me hope that our world can become a better place, despite the flaws of our past.

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