I woke up this morning to one of those nightmares that you swear are real. I dreamt that I received an email from our immigration lawyer that Husband’s immigration had been denied, and that he was barred from entering the country. All that money, and all that waiting, had been for nothing. I remember picking up my phone in my half-asleep daze, thinking, “It’s Sunday… this can’t be right.” I also remember almost throwing my phone across the room because I was so upset all our work had been for nothing.
If asked, I will talk at length about Husband’s situation, but I am usually quite upbeat about it. I smile, I laugh, I am hopeful. I make it out to seem that everything is ok, and that “we’re young; we have a lifetime together. A few extra months is nothing compared to that.” Usually I believe it. I turn off the part of me that is sad that he’s not here. I pretend in the deepest parts of me that my life is not made too much less by his absence. We Skype every day, we text, we send care packages and letters. It’s not as if we’re missing out on each other’s company, technically, but anyone who has ever felt the absence of another person – be it family, friend, or lover – knows that you can talk all day every day, but a hug just can’t be replicated over a computer screen. If only.
I feel, sometimes, kind of guilty at how good I’ve gotten at not feeling sad. My spouse is in another country. What right do I have to be happy without him, to do things without him? I go for coffee, and paddle boarding, and to the gym – I go on with my life – while half of me is missing. Any time he’s free, I feel like I need to drop everything – from blogging to jogging – to spend time with him.
Part of me hates that I’ve figured out how to turn off my feelings, even though I know it’s the most practical way to exist right now. Treading the line between I miss you and becoming a hopeless blob of sadness is exhausting. If I gave in to my sadness every time I thought about how much I missed him, I wouldn’t get anything done, ever.
I drove down to the US to visit last week – hence my absence – and it was great. We didn’t spend as much time as I wanted together, since we were camping with friends and doing other awesome things, but we got to sleep together at night, and hold hands. I got to see his face in the flesh rather than over a screen. I got to touch him. It was for just a couple days, but it was enough, for now. My birthday is next week, and I’m willing the Canadian government to get back to us with his papers in time to make him my present, even though I know it’s far too soon for that.
It’s only been three months since we applied – the very shortest amount of time ballparked by our lawyer – and from our experience, the chances that we’ll see results on the lower end are pretty slim, but a girl can dream. I’ll be visiting him again for his sister’s wedding soon, and then camping again at the end of the summer. I live for those moments, now. They exist in the waypoint between hopefulness at his immigration coming through and fear that it’ll never arrive. For now, his existence, his face, and his voice need to be enough. Everything else… well, everything else is something to hope for.