Migrant Mother My Story

I am a mother, just a mother. I do not expect attention therefore i hate being on the spotlight. Hard times has past and this doesn't mean i need support nor pity because I believe in me and my children. No matter where i am in the separation of power, i still need independence and people got to keep their mouths right. It's never right to come take pictures and promise then break it anyways since it defined the crisis of america. I am still a person who knows whats going around and i do not need the pity feelings of others, because i believe i can get through this. The thing is, no one knows my name. Yes, i am the migrant mother, the icon of depression and sorrow. However, I also have a name if you did not realize. I am a independent being who has a name, has a child, but does not have a husband. If it was a couple years back in track, i would never would have been on the news papers, and i would be living in such a blessed life. Nothing works out perfectly and death is on it's way to hunt like my husband life.

My husband used to work in a factory and he suffered from an illness. It was hard for our family to live in such situations so my husband finally got a job. Then we had an abundance of food therefore our family was happy, considering that we had 6 kids. It was till he lost his job i found some migrant camps and before i get into detail, my husband died after this from the illness he had before. Well, my relatives tried to plan something to take care of my child's, since i was now in the migrant camp; however i promised with my husband that i was going to see these child grow with my eyes and do not let others interfere my plans. I starved for them in the camp and i was living a decent life of my own fulfilling my dead husband's promise. It was till this photographer who came to take pictures of me. I tried to ignore her, which was impossible because these camera lenses were reflecting light into my eyes. Nothing could have been more annoying. I had a half depressed and half mad face though this came out to be the famous photo that defined depression the "Migrant Mother". For some reason i have promises broken and my dreams are always broken with out a warning. I remember clearly that the photographer was not going to publish it, well i guess it does not matter since it was on every news paper. So i left that camp because people kept on visiting to support. As i told you before i hate being bothered and i am an independent being who has privacy as well. I wish i could not be known as the icon of depression but as "Florence Owens" who lived a happy life with their children with some misery with the dead of her husband.