Valeria Marquez

Six months have passed since the last time I saw him. Six months of waking up every morning, hoping for a message, a call, anything that would tell me where my husband is. The first few weeks were unbearable, the silence overwhelming. People from the neighborhood here in Guadalajara, Mexico, would stop by, offer food, their condolences, but as time went on, their visits became less frequent. Now, the only ones who visit are those who share the same pain—the other families of the disappeared.

I joined an association of relatives not long after he vanished. At first, I didn’t know if it would help. But sitting alone in this house, with two children who ask me every day where their father is—it was too much. The first meeting was difficult. I listened to other women, some of them older than me, others younger, recount their own stories. They spoke of kidnappings, of corruption, of bodies found in clandestine graves. They spoke with a calm that scared me at first, but now I understand. It’s the calm that comes after so much grief, so much anger, that you’re left with nothing but a quiet determination.

I’m 43 years old, and I never imagined this would be my life—searching, waiting, praying for news, while the authorities do nothing. In Mexico, this is not new. The Dirty War taught us that the state knows how to make people disappear, and now, it seems, they know how to look away.

Our association organizes searches. We go out to the outskirts of the city, sometimes armed with nothing but shovels, hope, and fear. Most of the time, we find nothing. But I tell myself that at least I’m doing something. It’s better than waiting at home, feeling powerless.

My children ask me about their father every night. I tell them the truth—that I don’t know where he is, that I’m trying to find him. They cry, sometimes they scream, and I hold them, even though I don’t have answers. They deserve their father, and I deserve to know what happened to my husband.

I don’t know if he’s still alive. I don’t know if I’ll ever find him. But I will keep searching. For him. For us.