The Death Knell of my Nonprofit Career

It’s not often that I am completely caught off guard, but this definitely took me by surprise.  It was a normal Thursday, a little chilly compared to the rest of the week, but still good bubble weather.  I stopped at Target on my way in (as I do about once a week) since my friend Bella was in dire need of caffeine, and since I needed snacks for my drawer it was no hardship.  I got my desk in order and promptly dove into the large stack of financial aid applications.  In retrospect there were a few things that should have tipped me off that something was not right.

I suppose I need to provide a little bit of background information.  I worked for a non-profit organization that works in conjunction with other organizations to strengthen and build communities.  Every employee and volunteer needs to pass a criminal background check since our organization works with children and potentially sensitive information.  My last few weeks have been occupied by processing mounds of financial aid application, and hundreds of product request forms.  I had been sending out emails by the hundreds, asking for additional information in order to process the applications, and I began getting responses in the beginning of June.

 

Into the Den of Jackels

This post has been a long time coming, but it is still in fresh in my mind as though it were only yesterday.  Knowing myself intimately the way I do, I decided that I should schedule myself a bunch of appointments to help keep myself occupied while I waited impatiently for the interview to come to pass.  The first stop of the day was to get some testing for an allergy study.  They did a blood test and a quick review of my nose and mouth to see if there was anything that was prevent me from qualifying for the study.  I'm hoping I hear back from them since this would potentially add a few extra Benjamins to my wallet at a time when I find myself in need of some extra money.

I arrived at the building where the interview would take place a little earlier than I had hope.  It was closer to 30 minutes before the interview instead of the 15 minutes I had planned on.  This gave me ample time to rifle through the paperwork I brought with me, obtain a paper-cut, put a hole in my nylons, pick at the hangnail next to my new paper-cut, and make a mess out of my hair under the pretense of fixing it.  After seeing the damage I did to my hair in the rear view mirror of my car, I decided it was probably better if I just went in the building to pace about at my leisure.

Crafting Arrows for Battle

I received the I-130 interview letter this week from the USCIS. Molly sent me a copy via email along with a memorandum that outlines the categories for which I should supply proofs to support the status of our very real relationship. The 5 categories that I need to cover are: 1) Evidence of Visits and Communication, 2) Financial Records for Joint Assets or Liabilities, 3) Birth Certificate of Child Born to the Marriage, 4) Statements from at Least Three Persons, 5) Other Evidence Establishing a Bona Fide Relationship. I immediately made a list of what I had in my files or could obtain and sent that information back to Molly asking if there was anything I might be overlooking. I also mentioned that some of the documentation I don’t have copies of (i.e. last bank account we held jointly) should be in the waiver packet we sent back in February of 2012. Lance said, “Just add to the heap of paper post waiver submission.” Ok, that gives me a starting point!

I opened my copy of the waiver and reviewed the table of contents and scrolled through some of the pages to see what they already had. I started a table of contents for the documents I was going to give Lance and Molly since I am nothing if not obsessively organized when it comes to anything immigration related. At the end of day one, I had printed and cataloged over one hundred pages of supporting documentation that I had on my flash drive. Those hundred pages were almost exclusively tax returns from 2007 through 2012 and I didn’t print copies of W2s or other supporting documentation.

Distressing anniversaries

Last week was particularly hard on me in ways that I hadn't anticipated. My psychiatrist canceled my appointment a few hours before I was supposed to go and see her. I was counting on being able to discuss my feelings and this desperate need to occupy myself with a rational third party. I had been hoping that she might have some special tip to combat the anxiety that was threatening to strangle me on a near daily basis. Maybe it's time I put some serious time into finding either a meditation or yoga class that could work with my schedule.

For the last two weeks Alberto had been sending me a message through Facebook. It wasn't elaborate, just a simple good morning, but it was really nice to know that he was thinking of me while he was 2000 miles away. One day the messages stopped without warning or any apparent reason. For two whole days I heard nothing, my phone calls to Alberto's cell phone didn't ring half the time and my calls to the Madrina weren't going through either. By the time I got through to the Comadre I had envisioned a catastrophe and Alberto in the hospital with no way to communicate with me. The Comadre said that Alberto was still in Mexico City and working in the store, so I asked her to tell the Compadre to have Alberto contact me.

Pity Party at Table 1

Ever look at one of those posters with all the cartoon facial expressions and just want to set it on fire because there is no little cartoon expression for how you're feeling today?  No?  Must just be me then.

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.

RIP George

Our first weekend in Mexico was nothing it not eventful.  Alberto made sure to warn me that we would be getting up very early in the morning because we stayed the night in Mexico City instead of driving straight to his mother's house from the airport as he'd planned.  When the alarm went off at 5 am I awoke to find myself more or less pinned to the bed by my snoring yet adorable husband.  I can't remember the last time I slept in a twin-sized bed but thankfully having less space makes it harder to be a bed hog.  I remember many nights where I would wake up clinging to the edge of our full size bed to keep from falling off, and having to wrench the blankets away from Alberto so I wouldn't become an ice cube by morning.

I kissed my husband lightly on the cheek and snuggled closer to prolong the simple pleasure of waking up with the man I love.  He stretched as he woke and I saw the moment when he realized that I was really there lying in bed with him.  A beautiful smile of contentment spread across his face and mirrored my own smile.  We looked over at Ashley who was still out cold on the couch and I had to chuckle at the look on Alberto face.  The best way to describe how Ashley sleeps is to think of the child pose in yoga, which is very comfortable and all that but I don't think I could sleep on my face all night.  We decided to leave Ashley in her pajamas and let her sleep during the trip.  It was time to get up and dressed so we could load my suitcases into the van.

Good Day/Bad Day Routine

I hate to say it but this whole good day/bad day routine is getting old really fast.  One day will be really good and many good things will happen, the next day an equal amount of bad things will happen and make me want to cry.  Today has been a bad day.  This morning my car attempted to go on strike by almost not starting, but it gave in to my demands easily.  I managed to get Ashley to Preschool without incident and make my way to work.  Since my headlights come on automatically the only reason I use the switch is to see my gauges on the dashboard.  Since in the past two years I have required a jump-start approximately five times, I try my hardest to check the status of my headlight each and every time I get out of the car.  My car, a German import that inspires an episode of rage each time I think of how much I’ve spent keeping it running, does not have a signal indicating that you left the lights on.  So you see I need to think about it as I get out of the car which can be difficult when it’s no longer dark enough to need my lights when I pull into the parking lot.

I’m sure you guessed by now that I left my headlights on and drained my battery today.  My battery was dead with not enough juice to use my remote to unlock the doors, so I went back inside and got the only supervisor who was still in the building. She came outside with me and we got down to the business getting my car started, but unfortunately her car just wasn't warm enough to jump-start my car in the balmy 11 degree (fahrenheit) weather we enjoy during the winter here on the frozen tundra.  Defeated by the dastardly car battery, I went back in the building to call my mom for help.  We have a new group of cleaners in our building, so when one of them heard about my problem, they offered to use their van to try jumping my car.  We went outside and got the vehicles hooked up, at which point I apparently set my keys on the driver’s side seat and shut the door.  My car has a ‘feature’ where if you use the fob to unlock your car, the doors will relock after 30 seconds.  This irritates me to no end because I have left my door open to run back in the house for my lunch bag, the doors relocked, I got back in the car without thinking about it and had the alarm blaring when I turned the key in the ignition.

Home and Hearth

I’m alive and its Friday, which means the next two days, will be spent mostly at home doing laundry.  @#^%!  I’m sure I’m over-reacting, right?  I mean I do get time to myself, granted I’m never awake to enjoy it, but that counts for something right?  I want what my mom wants, some quiet time where I can sit and read a book should I so desire without interruption.  I’m seriously considering getting a hotel room for me and Ashley to have a mini-vacation.  We could have French toast for breakfast, a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, and popcorn with a movie; if it came with a Jacuzzi tub, a bodice-ripper romance novel, and a complimentary hour of child-care it would be a restorative dream come true.

I need a little escape, but I can’t afford that little bit of relief, especially now.  My mom said something on Tuesday that I have never heard before, “I went to go put gas in my car and I wasn’t sure if my check would bounce.”  My mom may have spoken of financial hardship in the past, but never like this.  She’s spending three times what she normally did for groceries that don’t last half as long as before.  My brother has yet to pay her the rent he’d promised and they aren’t helping much beyond using the WIC coupons that Carol has.  The electricity bill is through the roof just like the other utilities and my brother’s main concern seems to be where he’ll find his next economy-size bottle of Bacardi and does it come with a complimentary can of Kodiak (chewing tobacco).  I just doubled my rent payment because I need to do something, anything, to help out.  I’m also going to start extending my exercise schedule after working at FedEx so I can shower at the YMCA 5 days or more a week.

I’m putting an immediate halt on all unnecessary spending and I’m counting the days until I can file my 2012 tax return.  I won’t get as much back as I have in other years, but I will get something.  I just hope that something is enough for 2 tickets to paradise for me and my favorite girl.

“I see my path, but I don’t know where it leads.  Not knowing where I’m going is what inspires me to travel it.”

Rosalia De Castro

Ciao

Remember When

I was driving on the same route I take to my full-time job Monday through Friday when I was assaulted by memories.  It was so painful that I thought about filing charges, but the police would think I've lost my mind.  I've driven that same stretch of highway so many times since Alberto left that I couldn't possibly count.  The memory itself was probably triggered by the fact something appears to be wrong with my car yet again, big surprise, but the incident that came to mind is from about 7 years ago...

Año Nuevo

Dear readers and friends, yet another year has come and gone without my best friend here by my side.  I'm a little older, perhaps a bit more cynical than before and seemingly no closer to the end of our personal immigration nightmare.  While everyone around me prepares to celebrate the coming of a new year with friends and lovers, I just want to sit in my room and watch Ice Age 4 with my darling daughter.  Instead I find myself forced to socialize with my brother, sister-in-law, and their 3 children.  The holidays just don't bring out the best in me these days...

Business as usual

My husband has never been content with the status quo. It has been four months since Alberto left the United States with his brand new outlook on life. In that time he has gotten a job, fixed his car, and he is now buying an established business. He is determined to buy the creamery where he works from his boss despite the fact we don’t have the money to pay upfront. I asked him what he planned to do with the business if the waiver was approved and he said that this business would provide a way of life for his family. I don't know what other people might think but to me it seems like a win-win situation.  If worst comes to worst it would mean that we should have at least one income to help us survive in Mexico until we know what we're going to do next.  It’s almost a relief to know that we have at least one thing we can fall back on.

This living situation is driving me insane!  Carol is the single most disorganized person I have ever met, which is pretty bad coming from someone that more often than not cannot find a pair of socks that match. I haven’t been able to get to bed on time since they moved in and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it.  I‘ve told Carol that I have about 4 1/2 hours in which I can sleep Tuesday through Saturday; it is extremely important that I am able to get to bed by 9 o’clock because the less sleep I get, the less civilized I am.  I haven’t been able to get to bed before 10 pm because of the shenanigans.  I have been in a bad mood for over a week already and unfortunately I don’t anticipate this ending anytime soon.  Ashley will not go to bed if Kay is not in bed, and I can’t go to bed if Ashley is still up being the responsible adult that I am.

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…

Interview with the Devil’s Advocate

Yesterday I emailed Lance and Molly to see where the interview would be.  Molly told me to wait for them on the third floor when I arrive, but to try not to be there too early.  Easy for you to say since I cannot arrive anywhere less than 15 minutes early.  I was hoping that my morning errands would help to keep me grounded until the interview.

I had a fitness consultation in the morning at the local gym; she promised she wouldn’t go easy.  I was not looking forward to being tortured by a personal trainer chick that is ridiculously peppy, half my size, and frigging cute as a button.  I’m sure you’re all seen the type of fitness fanatic I’m talking about here.  I got about halfway through the consultation when an employee from the kids’ corner comes downstairs with my daughter who was visibly upset.  Ashley had an accident because no one took her to the potty.  The chick tells me she was in the kids’ corner all by herself and couldn’t take Ashley to the bathroom.  Ok, so how did you manage to bring her to me?  Well she’s the only kid I had up there to watch.  I was livid.  My almost 4 year old daughter is upset because she pissed her pants, and the accident occurred because you wouldn’t take her to the bathroom?!  I had to shut down the anger and quickly because last time I became upset at the gym, my supervisor heard about it the very next morning.  We took the rest of the consult upstairs to a private training room so that I could finish up since Ashley couldn’t go back to kids’ corner.  The personal trainer (who even has a cute name: Julia) could tell I was upset but chose to say nothing about it.  We finished up and I stalked out of the building with Ashley in tow.

Today, I feel…

Very upset.  It has been a while since I have gotten this upset about something while still at work, but this was bound to happen.  On Tuesday this week Graciela emailed me saying that she had found a Doctor that was willing to travel to the jail to conduct Alberto’s immigration medical exam.  Graciela made sure to warn me that health insurance does not typically cover this exam, and the doctor was estimating charges in the amount of $350.  I guess the arrangement with that particular doctor fell through.

So today, Graciela told me about a different doctor who was able to conduct the physical on Friday afternoon so that we could have this taken care of before the hearing on Monday.  I guess they wanted to have some progress to report in order to secure the continuance.  Anyway, Graciela asked me if Alberto had ever had the chicken pox and if immigration have his passport.  According to mi suegra, Alberto had varicella when he was only 1 but it was a mild case.  According to the records from when he was enrolled in school in Minnesota, he had also received the varicella vaccine.  Actually he received the full battery of vaccinations because his sister didn’t have his records from Mexico and he couldn’t be enrolled in school until they were done.  Graciela told me the exam was estimated to cost $400 and I needed to call the clinic right away to arrange for payment.  I called and I talked to Sally who told me that prepayment was mandatory for all immigration physicals since health insurance hardly ever covers them.  Sally told me they would not go see Alberto for the exam until the prepayment was complete.  This is how I got upset.  How in the hell am I supposed to prepay a $400 medical exam when I don’t even have $40 between all of my bank accounts combined?!  I called my mom and asked the hardest question of them all; can I borrow $400 in order to prepay Alberto’s immigration exam?  The exam will take place Friday afternoon and I was able to tell Alberto all this during our Thursday visit.  Lance tells me I just purchased a continuance, as if that will make me feel better.

Keep moving forward

Friday came and went with little fanfare.  I managed to come up with an excellent idea on someone who could vouch for Alberto’s moral character; the pastor currently leading our church.  As of approximately 6 days ago, the pastor at our church is now Father Ortero, originally of Mexico.  I had a meeting with Father Ortero on Wednesday and told him the whole sad story.  He agreed to meet with Alberto in Jail and write a letter vouching for his good moral character.  He said he would even write the letter just based on what I had to say, but I thought it would be helpful to Alberto to visit with a priest anyhow.  The only downside was when Father Ortero said the Mexican man is not typically mature before they reach their mid to late 30’s, but I suppose I already knew that on my own.  I just need to talk to Alberto to make the appointment for Father Ortero to go and visit him. 

The thing I hate the most about this whole situation is when I see my husband so downtrodden.  The guards are rude to all of them and seem to go out of their way to belittle and harass their charges.  I understand well enough that more people will sign the deportation papers after a few days of this treatment, but isn’t being in jail for wanting a better life bad enough?  I know there are immigrants out there that do bad things and deserve this fate, but there are just as many if not more who contribute to society and wish to raise their children somewhere safe.  Would you punish the son for the sins of his father?  Oh wait, our government does that already.  Isn’t Alberto a prime example of a minor child brought to the United States who became a deportable ‘alien’ a mere 6 months after his 18th birthday?  I hate how these immigrants are referred to as ‘aliens’ as if they were from Neptune, instead of from the other side of a line someone long ago drew in the dirt. 

 

Infierno

I consider today to be somewhat of a disappointment, but I suppose it could have been worse.  We had our third immigration hearing this morning and the weather certainly made driving interesting.  The commute that normally takes under 30 minutes lasted a full hour and 45 minutes thanks mostly to snow stupor syndrome*.  I have a definition at the bottom of the post for those of you that are unfamiliar with this horrible disorder although I suspect a great majority of my readers may have observed something similar.  Lance arrived shortly after 9:30 am for the hearing and muttered his apologies, faulting the excessive traffic for his tardiness.  I expect to arrive well ahead of the attorney in any given situation, so I wasn’t surprised in the least.  Actually, I had been late myself, arriving about 10 after 9.

I have to say that the USICE office here in Minnesota is a downright depressing place to be.  You first begin to feel the woe when you enter the hallway to be inspected before you’re allowed into the bowels of this immigration hell.  The uniformed officials are cleverly disguised agents of evil that fix you with a potent glare and demand to see your hearing letter.  I send my own potent glower at the head agent respond coolly that I am HERE for my HUSBAND, daring him to make an issue of my presence.  I’m surprised they haven’t posted a sign in the room that says Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.  What else could our broken immigration system be if not one of the Nine Circles of Hell created by the same people whose souls will be condemned to Eighth Circle?

Wait... What?!

Ok, so today I’m a little upset, although I believe that I am entitled this time around.  I emailed Lance yesterday to see what his thoughts were about the outcome of the hearing and this is what I get back from him:  “I will review the charging document.   The question I am trying to resolve is whether he can apply for residency here at all, regardless of whether the court or USCIS has the power to do it.”  Wait a minute, what the hell is that supposed to mean?

I guess I’m waiting, albeit impatiently at this point, to see what will happen next.  I really hate immigration policy.

Ciao

(I'll update as I get more information...)

It’s done

There will be no trial, the battle is over.  This afternoon Alberto plead guilty to the lesser charge against him: Riot in the Second Degree.  This is still a felony-level conviction, which means we have to submit a criminal waiver as well as the waiver of inadmissibility.  As Lance is out of the country, the attorney at his office that was helping us today told me that the chances of getting the criminal waiver approved are about 35%.  I tell myself that 35% is better than 0%, but the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach says that we are watching our chances blow away in the cold October wind.  This conviction comes with a sentence of 240 days in the workhouse, credit for time served, and Brian says he may not have to serve the full amount.  We have a sentencing hearing in November, which should be interesting if nothing else.  At the time of that hearing he will have been locked up for about 184 days, with 56 days left to go on his sentence.  God willing we could have him home on parole in time for Christmas this year, our first Christmas in 3 years and his first ever with Ashley.  This nightmare is over, and a new one will come forward to take its place.

I’m feeling ok considering I have been plagued with a series of tension headaches since Friday when the negotiations began.  As long as Alberto is still at the county jail I will be able to see him tonight although I am not bringing Ashley with me.  Every once and a while I need a break from the routine, and then there’s the fact that my sweet little Ashley never allows me to have a conversation with her Papí.  I wonder what the attorney told Alberto during this negotiation that I don’t know about yet.  I hope they didn’t use any underhanded tactics to get Alberto to agree to plead guilty.  Alberto is smart and can handle himself, but the language barrier concerns me at times.  I know there was a court certified interpreter available for the proceedings, but I guess I would have felt better if I was there and witnessed everything.