![]() Karla and her “ma” have slowly built their own traditions. Since then, Karla has settled into life in her new home – the most consistent since living in Honduras. The next day, June 2, 2021, she packed her belongings in two trash bags and never looked back. Howell, a school social worker, suddenly became “Ma” to Karla almost two years ago. Sarah Howell and her daughter Karla make s’mores in their oven at their Houston, TX home on Thursday May 11, 2023. When Karla returned home drenched, she called Sarah to apologize and asked if she could move in with her permanently. He told her his step-sister had run away, barefoot and in the rain, in search of her dad, who hadn’t been home in days. One night, Sarah received a panicked phone call. He told her that, if she really loved Karla, she should take care of his daughter full-time. She had known them for years, as she had also counseled Sammy, Karla’s step-brother. Karla spent most weekends with her, an arrangement Sarah had offered to provide the family some respite. For years, Karla bounced around, living in more than a dozen different homes with people whose faces are now a blur, until finally returning to Houston, where she reconnected with Sarah. She met her at school, where Karla only attended classes for a few weeks before her dad took her to another city. Soon after crossing the border, Karla entered Sarah’s life. Sharon Steinmann/Staff PhotographerĪfter living for some time in southern Mexico, they headed north, riding on the spine of “ La Bestia,” a freight train thousands of men, women and children use every year to reach the U.S.-Mexico border when they can’t afford other forms of travel. Sarah Howell and her daughter Karla eat dinner at their Houston, TX home on Thursday May 11, 2023. “He scooped her up, told her they were going to a better country and they left the same day,” Sarah said. Then, before her 11th birthday, Karla’s father suddenly showed up. They didn’t have much, Karla once recounted to Sarah, but she remembers living a happy and healthy life. Unable to take care of her, her father took her to Tegucigalpa, where she was raised by her great-aunt. ![]() Though Sarah has read just about every research paper and handbook on how to counsel trauma and torture survivors, nothing prepared her for the reality of parenting a child who has been through so much.īorn in San Pedro Sula, Karla was around 1 when her biological mother left. “That’s when I realized what it really means to be a mom,” Sarah told a member of the editorial board. Teenagers, she remembers him telling her. In January, after a particularly explosive argument, Sarah got in her car to cool off and called her dad, explaining her struggles through tears. ![]() I’m here.” Karla, who ran ahead during a walk, waits for her “Ma,” Sarah Howell, to catch up in their Spring Branch neighborhood on Thursday in Houston, TX. Now, a scratch on the head means “Hi, I love you. So she and Karla decided on a different way to communicate. She’s learned to provide love and care and boundaries to a child who has never really known those things.Įarly on, Karla told her she didn’t like to be touched because she hadn’t received “a hug with feeling” in six years. From fighting over the shared bathroom and undone chores, Sarah’s learned to pick her battles. Theirs is a story of love that transcends borders and biology and whatever preconceived notions many of us have about what motherhood is.īut being a mom has come with its learning curves. Now, Sarah can’t imagine life without Karla, her 17-year-old Honduran daughter. A self-described extroverted introvert, she once cherished her time alone to decompress. What was once her home office has been transformed into a teenager’s bedroom, complete with anime posters and stickers plastered on the walls. ![]() Sarah Howell and her daughter Karla walk their two dogs in their Spring Branch neighborhood on Thursday in Houston, TX. Then two years ago, one girl was left with no options and no one to turn to. Even when it seemed she might need to step in to keep a child safe, she had always managed to direct kids to the appropriate public services or to a family member. but she tried hard to draw the line between her work and her home life. The harrowing cases she took on often kept her at the school until 9 or 10 p.m.
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