They worked their way through nursing school, and now they want to train as nurse practitioners. But they can’t start because they don’t know where they’ll be in nine months.

Winston-Salem firefighter Luis Olvera, 24, is pursuing certification in swift-water rescue. He said he had hoped he would be trained to deploy during the next hurricane season, but his plans for the future also were thrown into doubt when President Donald Trump announced the end of Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals.

This program provides temporary deferment of deportation to undocumented residents who were brought to the country before age 16. It gives these young people the ability to work legally, go to school and get a driver’s license. You must have and maintain a clean record to remain eligible.

Olvera’s fellow firefighters were shocked to learn that he could be deported when DACA expires.

“They always thought I was a citizen,” Olvera said.

There was no reason to think otherwise. Olvera, like the Andres brothers, Greensboro firefighter Andy Marchi and human relations professional Laura Garduno Garcia have gone to school, started careers and, in some cases, started families.

They are part of the community, part of the workforce. They share the American Dream. In many cases, they have had to work harder than natural-born citizens to pursue it.

Despite not being eligible for federal financial aid, about 5 percent of these young people have bachelor’s degrees, and another 20 percent are enrolled in college.

Between 87 and 91 percent of DACA recipients are employed, and 5 percent have started their own businesses. Sixty-five percent have bought their first car; an estimated 16 percent are homeowners.

All while paying taxes — an estimated $2 billion a year in state and local taxes alone, according to the nonprofit, nonpartisan Institute on Taxation and Economic Policy — but getting no benefits. DACA recipients are not eligible for Medicaid or insurance plans offered under the Affordable Care Act.

With the end of DACA, these young people who have worked against the odds to build a life here could lose pretty much everything.

“I am not a hateful person,” Guillermo Vargas Andres said. “But when it happened, I was raging. It’s frustrating to have your future in the hands of people who should not have it. We’ve faced so many barriers along the way.”

Despite being undocumented, Garduno Garcia graduated from Reidsville High School and earned a scholarship to UNC-Greensboro, where she graduated in 2007 magna cum laude with a bachelor’s degree in international business and economics. She was a working mother with two children when she became documented under DACA in 2013.

“I don’t want your tears,” Garduno Garcia said Tuesday at a forum on immigration issues held by the League of Women Voters of the Piedmont Triad. “I don’t want your pity, because I don’t pity myself. I feel perseverance. I have left behind me a trail of defeated obstacles. We have defeated far too many obstacles to give up now.”

Garduno Garcia recently quit her job as a human resources manager to become an immigrant community organizer with American Friends Service.

“I have been activated, ignited,” she said. “I am undocumented, and I am unafraid.”

Fixing DACA is not enough, she said.

“There is no way in good conscience I will bargain away a future for my parents and my husband for something that will only benefit me,” Garduno Garcia said. “We need to look beyond DACA and beyond sanctuary.”

Two undocumented women are taking sanctuary at churches in Greensboro to avoid deportation after President Trump gave Immigration and Customs Enforcement the green light to deport anyone in the country illegally. Both are mothers, and one is a grandmother. They are law-abiding residents who have made their homes in the U.S. for decades.

Andy Marchi’s father, Nestor, was deported in August, and another Triad resident, Raul Ortiz Garnica, has been in immigration detention since July 25.

Comprehensive immigration reform is the only policy that will address all these situations. All law-abiding residents who are willing to work, go to school, serve their community and care for their families deserve a path to citizenship.

“When you hear ‘dreamer,’ you should really not think of me,” Garduno Garcia said. “You should think of my father. He had the dream. It was never mine to begin with it. He planted it in me.”

Her father sweated under the sun in Florida orange fields and North Carolina tobacco fields and worked long shifts in cold meat-processing plants. At 70, he continues to work, now in the construction industry. He is not eligible for Social Security benefits, although he has paid into the system for years.

These are the people being swept up and turned out of the country under the current policy. But there’s no time for sorrow, Garduno Garcia said.

In less than six months, your friends, neighbors, coworkers — people you’ve relied on for professional services, personal care and lifesaving rescue — could begin to disappear before your eyes.

People such as Garduno Garcia, the Andres brothers, Olvera and Marchi.

People you probably never imagined were undocumented, because they are just like you.