In 1976, Antonio and Rosa’s son was disappeared. “In El Salvador,” Antonio says, “that means the military captured him and then denied they have him.”
Their son was disappeared in retaliation for Rosa and Antonio’s activities with the teacher’s union, Rosa says. So they switched their focus to a new group, COMADRES: Families of the Disappeared. They became a thorn in the government’s side when they spoke out at human rights conferences. Every friend advised them to leave before they, too, were disappeared. “But I was committed to the search for my son,” Rosa says. Then Rosa’s brother’s body was found, naked and burned. They left El Salvador.
“This practice of disappearing people is the most criminal,” Rosa says. “It leaves a wound that never heals. Every day, every day, something reminds me of my son. I have developed sores on my knees from praying.”
“There is the permanent nightmare,” Antonio adds, “of never knowing what happened.”

Rosa’s Dream
Last night I was taking care of a neighbor’s baby, and I fell asleep. The mother came to me in my dream, asking for her child. I told her we’d been to the park and someone took him. But in my dream I couldn’t tell if they had taken her child or my own. I became confused, and I woke up and ran with great fear to the other room – and the baby was still there. 
I dream there is a big party in front of my house in El Salvador. Everyone is dancing, and I feel so happy to be there. Then they see me, and the party stops. I am so frightened from the expressions on their faces that I hide in my house. And I ask, “Why did I come here?” The need to speak is like a weight on me when I suddenly see the shadow of a soldier in the house.  And I wake up in terrible anguish, with a lasting feeling of the menace of the soldier. And I cannot sleep again.
I have so many dreams. But I never dream of my son. I never see his face. I always dream that they are chasing me and I am running. But at the moment when I will either be caught or escape, I wake up. There is never any resolution, never an ending.