On a day like today — Mother's Day — I find myself sitting here, holding yet another letter from President Trump himself. My president-president. 🇺🇸🇻🇪😄

And I have to laugh, because life is nothing if not wildly, absurdly, breathtakingly poetic.

Exactly on a Mother's Day like this one, I landed in America. Not for vacation. Not for a fresh start. I came for a second opinion — because the first opinion, delivered in Venezuela at the absolute height of my career as an actress, had been: *Stage 4 lymphoma. Three months to live.*

Three months.

This was already one year after losing my entire family in a car accident. One year after the world had already taken everything it possibly could from me — and then decided, apparently, that it wasn't quite finished.

I came to America on Mother's Day. I had my appointment on Monday. I began chemotherapy that same week.

And today? Today I am sitting here writing these lines. 😊

A few weeks ago I celebrated another birthday — what I can only describe as a B-Day Extravaganza in every possible sense of the word. A month of nonstop celebration, surprise after surprise, from Vegas to DC to Florida… and somewhere in the middle of all that beautiful chaos, another letter arrived. From President Trump. Personally.

Now, I've thought about what he and I have in common, and I've landed on exactly one thing: *we are both remarkably hard to kill.* 😂

But beyond the laughter, beyond the parties and the letters and the extraordinary improbability of still being here — what moves me most today is this: everything America gave me, I now get to bring back to Venezuela. The country that holds my roots, my history, my soul. And I get to return to her not empty-handed, not broken — but full. With a new family, the family I so desperately needed and somehow found. With a life rebuilt from what should have been ruins.

I came here with three months to live and I stayed to live the American Dream — the one the Founding Fathers actually meant: where it's your abilities, your talents, your fight, your fire that determine how far you go. No more, no less. A fair shot.

America gave me that shot. And I took it with everything I had.

So today, on this Mother's Day, I want to say thank you, Mr. President, for taking the time to write to me — not once, but again. For seeing me. For taking me, in your own way, under your wings. It means more than I could ever properly express.

And to America herself — this magnificent, maddening, generous, extraordinary country — thank you. For the second opinion that changed everything. For the Monday appointment that started it all. For every birthday I was never supposed to have.

I am here. I am grateful. And I am just getting started. 🇺🇸🇻🇪❤️

-S