I came up with "immigration wife" as a riff on "army wife". I want to be very clear that, as opposed as I am to war and the US's unnecessary military interventions, it is totally inappropriate to compare my situation to that of someone with a spouse or partner in a far-off place, with little or no contact, and no guarantee that they'll ever see them again. That said, there are some parallels. There is no way for me to know with any degree of certainty when my husband will get his visa and be able to come to the United States to live with me. The process has gone pretty smoothly so far, but it is completely unpredictable. And for the last three years, I have had to live with separations of two to five months interspersed with visits of 2-3 weeks. The one exception was the three months I spent in Niger last year, which represented the most continuous time that my husband (then fiancé) and I have been able to spend together. That trip was no picnic, but what kept me going through the myriad of challenges thrown my way was the awareness of what a gift it was to be with him and not have to separate again.
The last time we saw each other was on our honeymoon in November. We said goodbye in public, like we are often forced to do, at a train station in Casablanca, realizing that it was the seventh time we'd had to say goodbye. So let me say this: I don't wish that experience on anyone. For lack of a better descriptive word, it SUCKS, in the largest type I can select.
But then I get back to the Bay Area and life continues, a day to day that has never included my husband. I love my life here--so many aspects of it are so incredibly fulfilling--and I am used to living it alone. Here, I'm effectively single. I don't have to check in with anyone, I don't have to be home at a certain time, I can eat weird concoctions when I'm too lazy to go to the grocery store, I can watch crappy TV or waste a ton of time on Facebook when I choose, I can accept social invitations on a whim, be spontaneous, have plenty of "me time"...you get the picture. So there are definitely times when I worry a bit about what it'll be like to integrate a partner into this life I've put together for myself. And which compromises will go unnoticed and which will be hard to swallow.
But then (and these "but then's" are intentional, because for every aspect of this experience there is one of of them...) I have a weekend such as this one, a quiet, lazy weekend where the main objective is to catch up on sleep, do some chores and cooking, and relax. And then I'm not functionally single, I'm just alone when I should have the person I love next to me. And that's when I alternate between feeling sorry for myself, angry at the situation, and jealous of other people who take for granted the fact that they can just be with their spouse any time they want.
Today in the check out line at Oakland's Lakeshore Avenue Trader Joe's, one of my favorite people watching locations (this grocery store's clientele reflects Oakland's incredible cultural and racial diversity, and makes me feel so fortunate to live here), I saw a West African family ahead of me (or at least, a French-speaking family from the African diaspora). They had three children with them, younger than my stepchildren, their girls' hair braided like my stepdaughters, in full-on American kid gear, and I was filled with longing. How long will I have to wait until I get to dress my stepkids in fun American gear and take them to Trader Joe's? When people that should be by your side--your spouse or partner, your children, biological or not--are not there, the most banal aspects of everyday life smack you in the face the most. It's a reminder of how you're not lucky enough to simply experience the mundane aspects of family life.
So, ironically enough, it's lovely to have a lazy weekend, but going back to work on Monday, where I am engaged and distracted and reminded how full my life is, is not at all a bad prospect.
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