The reality is that my heart will believe it when I hug him on U.S. soil. But the plan on paper is that he’s here by next Tuesday at this time.
I jump and swerve between two extremes. On the one hand, I’m psyched out of my head that my husband’s coming. On the other hand, I’m freaking out about hitting the reset button.
Let me backtrack a minute to explain.
I had a Skype call with Picasso this past Sunday. It was a wee bit all over the place, both messy and straightforward. It was a long walk in the conversational woods about about money issues, future jobs, politics and art, with a big analysis about Mexico’s National Soccer team possibly not making it to the World Cup.
I was talking with Mr. Vulcan afterwards about the conversation. I shared with him the tensions around money and future jobs. At one point, Mr. Vulcan said this:
“Look, this is naturally an extremely intense and overwhelming time for the two of you. It’s as if you’re hitting the reset button. Your life as you knew here in the U.S. as a couple stopped twelve years ago.”
Through hot and silent tears I said, “Yeah, that’s it.”
A large part of me is hesitant to blog about what comes up post-visa approval, I’m hesitant because there are so many of us out there in immigration situations who’d kill to be having these post-visa approval issues. I understand the deep and real privilege inherent in the emotions I’m grappling with right now.
The decision to continue to speak up and out is everyone’s personal choice. But I know that I really do want to talk about life post-visa approval. One big reason is that there are so few of us out there with the means and the desire to talk about what happens after.
So while there’s a lot running through my jumpy and swerving mind, the thoughts that are the most insistent are these:
While my husband was deported for the second time from the U.S. in 2001, and that act in itself was quite violent, the pre-9/11 U.S. that my husband knew is so truly and very different now. This militarized, Patriot-Act-wielding, Internet-and-cellphone-humping, Big-Brother-is-watching United States of America takes some getting used to.
The impending permanent move that we’re planning in the next few months for Picasso and our two cats is going to cost some serious hard-core cash.
And the thought that cartwheels through my mind the most?
We’ve been in a long-distance relationship for the past two and a half years, i.e, me here in the U.S., Picasso in Mexico, with a two-hour time difference between us. We both sleep alone in our beds for months on end, with the exception of my visits. We both have our ways of meeting the morning and ending the day that don’t involve one another.
So this reset situation?
Yeah. When an elevator is slow, and I’m in a rush, I’m one of those people that stabs the up/down buttons with my index finger like I’m tapping out a morse code message.
Picasso isn’t like that.
I’m counting on him to hold my hand so that I don’t break my index finger.