It's officially Monday, and in 8 hours, I will load up my rental car and drive to the airport. I'll be with my husband for the next 13 days before I return home for two weeks for a conference and some other work. Then I'll spend the remainder of the summer with him. This is when I am so grateful for a career that gives me these chunks of free time. Without it, this process would be so much more difficult.
This is already difficult enough. We live in two separate countries. We have two houses. Two beds. Two computers. All my life, I have viewed marriage as the institution that makes two become one. I understand now why this is such an important concept. You're supposed to be one. One house. One bed. One computer. I wish the United States government understood this. Instead, we are stuck in limbo land waiting for the official word of whether or not they believe we are a real married couple.
It's bad enough that we are forced to live apart for now. When I'm in the U.S. without him, my heart aches in a way that I cannot adequately describe in words. My husband, the man who is my best friend and helper, is so far away from me. I miss his smile when he wakes in the morning. I miss sitting on the porch or balcony with him talking about historical trivia and our plans for the future. I miss the sound of his laughter when he cracks a joke at my expense.
And when I'm there, I miss the pieces of my life that I leave behind. I miss the Saturday afternoons that I could spend with my aging parents. I miss chats with my friends over coffee. I miss the loyal companionship of my dear Winnipeg who follows me everywhere, wondering when I'm going to pull out the dreaded suitcase and leave her behind again. The more I think about it, the more angry I get because the only thing that forces this painful, heartbreaking separation in my life is a government policy.
I cannot help that I fell in love with a man here on a tourist visa. I cannot help that the man who understands me and makes me feel safe carries a passport with a different cover. It just happened. This is the reality of U.S. immigration policies. We are the unheard voices in this debate because our story isn't political enough. We're trying to do the right thing and follow the law, and this is what happens. We wait.
So the next time you hear about the upcoming reforms, think of me and my husband. We'll continue to divide our lives and our hearts and sort through a dizzying flight schedule and Skype dates and hope that soon we will have positive news that we are moving forward in the land of U.S. policies. And none of this will matter this afternoon when I feel his arms again.
This is already difficult enough. We live in two separate countries. We have two houses. Two beds. Two computers. All my life, I have viewed marriage as the institution that makes two become one. I understand now why this is such an important concept. You're supposed to be one. One house. One bed. One computer. I wish the United States government understood this. Instead, we are stuck in limbo land waiting for the official word of whether or not they believe we are a real married couple.
It's bad enough that we are forced to live apart for now. When I'm in the U.S. without him, my heart aches in a way that I cannot adequately describe in words. My husband, the man who is my best friend and helper, is so far away from me. I miss his smile when he wakes in the morning. I miss sitting on the porch or balcony with him talking about historical trivia and our plans for the future. I miss the sound of his laughter when he cracks a joke at my expense.
And when I'm there, I miss the pieces of my life that I leave behind. I miss the Saturday afternoons that I could spend with my aging parents. I miss chats with my friends over coffee. I miss the loyal companionship of my dear Winnipeg who follows me everywhere, wondering when I'm going to pull out the dreaded suitcase and leave her behind again. The more I think about it, the more angry I get because the only thing that forces this painful, heartbreaking separation in my life is a government policy.
I cannot help that I fell in love with a man here on a tourist visa. I cannot help that the man who understands me and makes me feel safe carries a passport with a different cover. It just happened. This is the reality of U.S. immigration policies. We are the unheard voices in this debate because our story isn't political enough. We're trying to do the right thing and follow the law, and this is what happens. We wait.
So the next time you hear about the upcoming reforms, think of me and my husband. We'll continue to divide our lives and our hearts and sort through a dizzying flight schedule and Skype dates and hope that soon we will have positive news that we are moving forward in the land of U.S. policies. And none of this will matter this afternoon when I feel his arms again.
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