Really?

As if I wasn’t already annoyed enough, I received the following email from the USCIS case status system:


Application Type: I130, IMMIGRANT PETITION FOR RELATIVE, FIANCE(E), OR ORPHAN

Your Case Status: Initial Review

We transferred your I130, IMMIGRANT PETITION FOR RELATIVE, FIANCE(E), OR ORPHAN, to your local USCIS Office for further processing. The new office has jurisdiction over your case and will send you a decision as soon as processing is complete or you will be notified if further information or action is needed. If you move, please use our Change of Address online tool to update your case with your new address.

If you have questions or concerns about your application or the case status results listed above, or if you have not received a decision from USCIS within the current processing time listed*, please contact USCIS Customer Service at (800) 375-5283.

*Current processing times can be found on the USCIS website at www.uscis.gov under Check Processing Times.

*** Please do not respond to this e-mail message.

Sincerely,

The U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS)

Feather in the Wind

Today is June 18th, or exactly one month until the one year anniversary of our waiver denial, which is also known as the worst day of my life.  It's times like this when I wonder if there are really 'signs everywhere', and I'm just too deep into survival mode to see them.  Nothing has happened for weeks in regards to anything.  Alberto has been making noises about beginning the process of moving to Mexico to be a family again, and I've been thinking about it.  I get angry when people on the outside of the situation insist it would be a grand adventure to live abroad, because they are stuck looking at an international move as a 'perpetual vacation' instead of a logistics nightmare.  There is so much to think about and do before I can pack a single box and my head is swimming with questions like:         Will Alberto's business be enough to support the family?  Will I need a visa and how much will it cost?  Will Ashley need some special paperwork to go to school?  What the hell will I do with myself all day if I'm not working and am too afraid to leave the house on my own?  What will happen if Ashley gets sick?  Will I have access to mental health care?  What about when I get pregnant?  Will I have to resign to suffer from stomach ailments and diarrhea for the rest of my natural life because I can't handle all the grease and oil the food is cooked in?!?!

Surviving with only Half a Heart

At first I wasn't going to talk about the last few days we were in Mexico or the pure misery of going to the airport the morning we left, but I realize now that I need to talk.  I need to mourn the loss of the physical connection that I so desperately need, and in order to mourn I need to feel once again.  Living for a week completely numb to the pain and horrible sense of loss was necessary to my survival.  I will live my life one day at a time, knowing that I can begin setting money aside with the hope that I can see my love again for Christmas.

Is there a Doctor in the House?!

My worst nightmare came to pass; we had to bring Ashley to a doctor yesterday after passing what was probably the longest day of my life waiting for Alberto to come home.  Sunday night the diarrhea started, Monday morning I bought her Gatorade and started the BRAT diet, however by Tuesday afternoon she was burning with fever and refusing to eat because she felt like she was going to throw up.  Ashley, who is normally a ball of energy, was listless and spent most of the afternoon sleeping.  The Madrina came home first and stopped in to see me as was her habit and said we needed to bring her to the doctor as soon as Alberto got home.  We jumped on him the minute he walked through the door.

Ashley moaned and cried pitifully during the entire ride to the pharmacy that partnered with a doctor much like the Minute Clinics back in Minnesota.  We paid the 25 peso consultation fee and sat down in the uncomfortable plastic chairs to wait for the Doctor.  I could feel the heat radiating off her legs and Alberto recoiled in shock when I set his hand on her knee so he could feel it too.  Just then the Doctor came to the lobby to bring us back to the exam room.  As we sat talking to him about the symptoms and what she ate the last few days, Ashley continued to cry softly while poor Alberto broke into a sweat with each little noise she made.  The doctor focused on what she might have eaten asking very direct questions on whether she mostly ate chicken, pork, or beef and if we’d been anywhere outside of Mexico City.  I ran down a list of food I’d seen her eat, what she’d drank, and where we’d been including the meal we’d had at McDonald’s the other day much to my husband’s irritation.

He who shall not be named

I don’t want to talk about what happened in Connecticut last Friday.  I feel like the media has covered the matter in way too much detail as it is.  Truth be told, I want to complain about the media coverage.  They were interviewing children as they came out of the school building for crying out loud and posting pictures of them sobbing while walking away from the school with their hands on the shoulders of the child in front of them!  We knew the name of that individual before we heard the names of any of the victims.  Those that were on Facebook saw the creation of what seemed like 600 new pages/profiles devoted to the name the media gave out first, who turned out to be the shooter’s brother.  This sick individual became a celebrity the moment the first shot was fired, even if it was only because of the hate and rage at their actions.

When you look at the reaction of the public, everything has degenerated into a flame war.  Some want to increase gun control laws.  Others say that arming teachers is the answer and best way to keep our children safe.  The arguments are broken down into factions: gun enthusiasts, gun control seekers, atheists, über-religious, and the parents like me that are at a complete loss of words.  I don’t know that more gun control laws would make much of a difference; someone that is bound and determined to wreak havoc will find a way.  When it comes to religion, stay out of this type of situation completely.  Lack of religion in our schools did NOT cause this.  The remarks about the children receiving the best gift possible for Christmas, meeting Jesus, were completely insensitive and inappropriate in my eyes.  The comments stating this *proves* that religion is nothing more than the opiate of the masses is equally insensitive. 

Numb

The human mind can only handle so much before a breakdown occurs.  Whenever something devastating happens, my mind shuts off the outside world to wrap itself in a cocoon of misery.  I experience some of the classic symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder; feeling emotionally numb, trouble concentrating, avoiding activities I once enjoyed, and difficulty maintaining relationships.  I suppose that what I was experiencing wasn’t severe enough to be called PTSD, so I was diagnosed with Major Depression, Dysthymia, and GeneralizedAnxiety Disorder.  My first experience was after Alberto’s voluntary departure in October of 2008, and my second round started on Wednesday, July 18th.

I was destroyed, reduced to a pile of fragmented shards by the email informing me of the denial from USICS.  Joelle sent me home, though she wanted to call someone to come get me instead.  She only saw the tattered facade left behind by emotions run amok; she couldn’t see the core of steel, the resolve that was keeping me upright when all I wanted to do was crumble into pieces on the floor.  I left because it was easier to do so, and because I needed Ashley.

Decision 2012

So much for getting some sleep...  Here's a better rundown of the events of the day:

At 3pm today I received an email from the constituent services representative of Senator Franken’s office, Diana that the USCIS had notified them that a notice was mailed today.  USCIS did not let Diana know what the notice said.  I managed to get myself excited at the potential meaning of the notice.   I forwarded the email to Graciela and she responded that she was on pins and needles waiting to see what it would say.  I was floating on cloud nine thinking about all the good things that notice could say.

At 4:30pm I received the email regarding the new case status and saw that a decision had been made on the I-485 (Application to Register Permanent Residence or Adjust Status).  I’ll let you read for yourselves…

Empty Words and Broken Dreams

I hate waiting.  I don’t want to hear about how patient, strong, and wonderful I am.  I don’t want to hear how brave I am to do this all on my own.  I don’t want to hear any of these empty words that praise me for staying alive in this God awful situation.

So you think I’m patient?  I’m sure if you went through my posts you could find multiple examples of the times I’ve flipped the fuck out because I surpassed my maximum tolerance for stress, or the death-grip I have on my emotions snapped like an overstretched elastic band.  Honestly it doesn’t take much anymore.  I’m sure Lance has many stories he could relate, but even he hasn’t seen or heard everything.  I’m too internal of a person to tell one person every single thing I think or feel.  Alberto is the only person that I never hid myself from.

I’m strong because I have no choice.  What good would it do to fold myself into a ball and weep copiously for what has been lost?  Who, in my situation, has the time to be weak and what kind of mother would I be to Ashley if she couldn’t count on her Mamí to always be there?  Alberto needs me to be strong when in the past he was always my rock.  I am desperately trying to hold myself together.  I’m trying to cover the hole in my bleeding heart that may never heal.  Should I let those bitter tears run down my cheeks whenever someone I know gets engaged, married, pregnant, their dream job, a degree, or even just goes to the movies with their loved ones?  Being weak wouldn’t change a single damn thing about this nightmare I live in.  No amount of tears or begging on my knees would ever bring my husband home to us, and the cost would be my self-respect.  I will not allow the government to take my family away from me just because my husband wasn’t born on this side of an arbitrary line in the dirt.

What are you thankful for?

Today, on the day after Thanksgiving, has got me thinking about what I am thankful for this year.  I have a new outlook on life and a different set of priorities from years past, and my new perspective might help someone out there discover something that they can be thankful for.

1)    I am thankful for the opportunity to finally see an end to all this misery and heartbreak.  Our future is still currently up in the air and rides on the shoulders of an immigration judge, but even knowing that the end of this journey is near is a blessing.  Whatever the outcome may be, we will face it united, as a family.
2)    I am thankful that Alberto is in Minnesota, even though he has been residing in county jails.  June of this year was the first time we had seen one another face to face in 1 year and 2 months.  Since then Ashley has come to know her father in a way that talking on the phone and looking at pictures never could. 
3)    I am thankful that Alberto has rediscovered his faith in God.  Faith has the power to move mountains and gives us the strength to take whatever life throws at us.  He is well on his way to becoming the man that I knew he could be, someone to admire and be proud of.
4)    I am thankful to be employed.  I work with people that care and support each other in the good time and the bad.  I feel blessed that I was guided to apply at this organization, and only more so to become a full-time employee.
5)    I am thankful for my family; my parents, my siblings, and my extended family.  It is amazing how a family will rally around a member that is in need of support when they need it the most.  There are people in my family who are anti-immigration, but those are the people I have largely learned to ignore from a young age.
6)    I am thankful that my daughter loves me, even though I have not always been the best mother I can be.  It pains me to admit that I cannot remember the first year of Ashley's life and though I may never forgive myself for that, she loves me.

Anger Management

My weekend that started out so good, ended so badly that I am still recovering.  My cousin got married on Saturday and everything was beautiful.  The day was perfect, the location was unique, and the flower girl only slightly cranky.  Saturday morning Ashley was up early so we went to go and visit Alberto at jail.  We talked about nothing in particular and ended with the agreement that I would try this method I devised for Alberto to be able to call Mexico and talk to his family there.  After leaving the jail, we got home for breakfast and then left immediately for Ashley to get a haircut.  Since I’m useless when it comes to styling, I had Fantastic Sam’s create an up do for Ashley and so discovered they had a portable DVD player on hand with Dora movies.  Perfect!  About 45 minutes later we were on our way home again.  I had enough time to get dressed then get Ashley dressed before we had to leave for pictures before the ceremony.  After the ceremony I bought ice cream which was a shameless bribe to keep my 3 year old happy for another round of pictures and poses.  We arrived home and spent 20 minutes doing nothing before we left for the reception.  I made a call to the babysitter’s house to make sure she remembered that I was going to pick her up around 9; there was no answer so I left a voicemail.  I called several times before 9:30 without an answer or a call back from my messages, I even called her mother’s cell phone without any luck.  Ashley had already been asleep about 30 minutes and we were passing her around like a sack of potatoes.  Luckily my cousin agreed to babysit for me since she was able to dance due to a knee injury, and I took them to the house to get settled.  My cousin was asleep when I came home at 11 pm, and I promptly went to bed myself after seeing her off with her mother.

Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Today I am praying for the strength to get me through what is yet to come.  My very soul is battered and weary of this never ending battle which makes me wonder if I will ever feel whole again.  As of late I have been brusque and short-tempered when it is not normal for me to be this way.  Actually that’s not entirely true since this is an accurate description of my temperament before I met Alberto.  I only have myself to blame for my pessimistic bender this past week, and I have only myself to count on to pull it together again.

Early in the week I was already beginning to get irritable, but I only noticed it on Friday.  Brian was supposed to go to the jail will me to visit Alberto to learn more about the night in question.  This was going to be the first time I had ever physically been in the same room as Alberto within touching distance in over a year.  I was looking forward to being able to actually hold my husband’s hand!  Then about an hour before I was to leave work, I received an email from Brian complaining about his throbbing headache and how we would be better off going on Sunday.  I don’t know how to describe the pain that this simple email inflicted on me, but I wrapped my disillusionment into a tight ball and somehow resisted the urge to be sarcastic or biting in my response.  I suggested that Brian go lie down in a dark quiet room and nap for an hour.  My own migraines, which feel like a rusty hacksaw rendering my brain into minuscule pieces, can only be cured by a complete and total mental shutdown.

A week to forget and it's not even Friday

This whole last week has been pretty lousy to tell you the truth.  I had accepted on Monday afternoon that they were going to bring him back here since the 10 days had passed without Alberto gaining his release.  This inspired a mad cleaning frenzy since I was embarrassed at the condition of our room.  I make sure Ashley’s room is clean, and the family room where she plays is clean.  I honestly don’t care what my room looks like as long as my clothes are clean and accessible and the bed is in good order.  Alberto on the other hand doesn’t like having the bedroom in a constant state of disaster.  The problem is I have been in the middle of organizing and throwing out junk for about a month now, so I have things everywhere until I find a place for them.  I am a huge pack rat, and I have a hard time throwing anything out which makes our room cluttered.  I freely admit most of the things I have are crap, but that doesn’t stop me from having to sort through every single little thing I own and still setting things aside to keep.  I still have a lot of work to do on our room, but it definitely looks better.

On Wednesday I went online to make sure he was still in jail, and it showed he was released at 8 am that morning.  I called the information line at the jail, and the guy I talked to confirmed that he was in the process of extradition.  I didn’t know what mode of transportation they were using, but I knew he would be here sooner than later.  I didn’t hear anything else for the entire day.

A day of cleansing pain and whirling thoughts

Today was difficult to say the least.  This morning was the meeting of our Support Group for women who are married to Hispanic men, and it was my turn to tell the story of us.  I had prepared a story, thinking that if I could detach myself even a little bit I would be able to stay composed.  I minute I looked at the story typed neatly in my hand, I promptly burst into tears.  I told our story through a torrent of tears and emotional pain that I had no way of controlling.  I felt as though I was exposing my damaged soul for all to see, and for once I was not judged.  These women did not shut off their minds at the mention of undocumented immigration, or the situation that ultimately caused the dominoes to begin to fall.  They saw me as a survivor of a succession of shattering events.  They saw a family separated, a fatherless child.  They saw us, the Mendez family.  The simple kindness I was shown as gone a long way to restore my faith in people, and I have to thank my case manager for leading me to this group.

One of the women brought her son who was only 7 weeks old.  He is such a beautiful little boy with big eyes, and Ashley spent a significant amount of time kneeling and watching him.  Every time I looked over and saw Ashley, I couldn’t help but think to myself that Ashley was that size when Alberto left the United States.