I came home to America 26 years ago today, on June 29, 2000. Massachusetts will always be my home. I grew up here, and it’s the only home I’ve ever known. My family is the only one I’ve ever known.
From the day I arrived, it was clear that I was cherished deeply. Many of my relatives were eagerly awaiting my arrival at Logan International Airport in Boston, Massachusetts.
I was born prematurely in Kolkata, India, in 1999. If I weren’t taken to the International Mission of Hope (IMH) when I was, I probably wouldn’t be alive today.
I often wonder what the thought process was behind bringing me to the IMH. Nearly 27 years later, I cannot help but wonder what went through their minds when making the decision to bring me there. What fears? What hopes? What helped them make up their minds? Someone saw me, this premature baby with an uncertain future, and decided to give me a chance to live.
I have been surrounded by loving people my whole life. Both of my moms have always been there for me. They were the ones who took me to St. Louis Children’s Hospital for my Selective Dorsal Rhizotomy in 2004, outpatient PT appointments, doctor’s visits, dentist appointments, and countless visits to Children’s Hospital Boston.
In between medical appointments, my moms packed me lunches, helped me with homework, cooked dinners, drove me to school, read me books, and always made sure I knew I was loved. I never doubted that both of them loved me.
22 years ago, my younger sister was born. Being an older sister has taught me that watching someone grow up is a wonderful experience. I wouldn’t trade the hours in the gym or on the softball field for anything. I loved seeing my sister pursue her passions.
My aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins have also always been there for me. I have fond memories of us watching Independence Day parades and gathering for Thanksgivings, Christmases, and birthdays. They show up in little ways, too. Phone calls, text messages, cards, and gifts are all reminders of how deeply I am loved.
One of my most cherished routines is a weekly phone call with my uncle. We have been doing it for so long that I can’t remember how it started. Nearly every Saturday morning begins the same way. I try my best not to take it for granted because not everyone has a loving family.
As I look back on the day I came home, I’m struck by how many people helped me become who I am. I may never know what went through the minds of the people who brought me to the International Mission of Hope. However, I carry their decision with me every day. Their selflessness allowed me to live.
Twenty‑six years after arriving in Boston, I’m filled with gratitude for everyone who has helped me become who I am. I am a living example of their choices, their sacrifices and their love. And I carry that with me, always.
To all the people who have loved, cared for, and supported me over the past 26 years: thank you for being a part of my life. The past may hold some mysteries, but the present is clear: I’m surrounded by love and prepared to continue writing my own story.