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USA250 Journal Project
Personal Chronicle: July 4, 2025 – July 5, 2026
A gift for reflection. A record of now. A story for what’s next.
JOURNAL ENTRY — June 22, 2025
📍 Phoenix, Arizona
📝 Prompt One: “Who am I?”
I am a woman made of work and worry.
I am the daughter of a woman who scrubbed floors until her hands cracked and still found time to sing.My name is Isabel, though most just call me Mamá now.
I carry prayers like bones—quiet, firm, and always with me.
I carry the scent of cinnamon and bleach, of tortillas warming and feet aching.I am what remains when everything else is taken—papers, health, time.
Some might say I am only my sickness now. They see the tubes, the schedule, the body that needs help.
But I was a mother before I was a patient.
I was strong before I was still.Deep down, I believe God still sees me whole.
Even if the mirror does not.
JOURNAL ENTRY — June 24, 2025
📍 Phoenix, Arizona
📝 Prompt Two: “How did I get here?”
I got here by waking up before the sun.
By walking to jobs that paid too little and asked too much.
By scrubbing away other people’s lives so I could feed my own.I left my home, mi Querétaro, with two children and one rosary.
I carried hope in one arm, and fear in the other.I told myself I would return in five years.
I never did.
I stayed for Luisa, for Diego—for the promise that maybe they would not have to scrub, bend, or beg.
And now I am here.
Sitting in this chair more often than I’d like, feeling the weight of years inside my bones.
Watching my daughter lose her youth to care for mine.
Watching my son slip further from the faith I once held like a torch.I did not ask for this illness.
But I did ask to be the one who carried the burden.And so, I believe I am still answering that prayer.
Even now.
Family, Friends & Associates
Luisa – Daughter.
Diego – Son.
Tia Carmen Márquez – Sister.
