So on Wednesday, I traveled from Mexico to Minnesota via Atlanta. The two flights were actually suprisingly smooth.
Traveling to the States is great and terrible at the same time. A US airport is a constant reminder that my husband Picasso can’t travel with me here.
I was at the Hartfield-Jackson airport in Atlanta, Georgia. It was that moment during my travels where I’m so very tired, but nowhere near my final destination.
I took a seat by my gate and people-watched.
Have you ever noticed that couples in airports very rarely hold hands?
I always notice the couples, because Picasso isn’t with me.
If the day ever comes that Picasso and I can travel together in the US, I’ll be sure to hold his hand.
And this realization hit me: If a person was traveling in the Hartfield-Jackson airport that day, they weren’t undocumented. It’s just not possible anymore.
I always hold a deep, deep fear in my bones that I very rarely discuss. God forbid, if something ever happened, like a natural disaster, war, life-threatening illness, etc…and I had to leave for the States, would I go? If Picasso and I have a child in the future, would I leave with our child?
I know Picasso would want what’s best for me.
But would I go?
Please pray that I never ever have to face that day. Peeps, I’m serious. Pray.
The earthquakes in Haiti and today in Chile (that was felt from Japan to Argentina) brings it all very close to home. Mexico has earthquakes too, ya dig?
What comforts me during moments like this is that I know that I’m not the only woman in this situation, facing that deep fear in the bones.
Peeps, pray for the other women as well. We all need it.