Sometimes I feel like I've been Kanye'd by the universe.
After years of personal development and hopeful waiting, I finally won the Outstanding Life Partner award. Like T-Swizzle at the MTV awards, I strode down the aisle to collect my trophy but before I could revel in my victory, Kanye Universe bum-rushed the stage and took the mic, going "Imma let you finish, but..."
A year and a half later, I'm still just kind of standing awkwardly to the side, waiting for the universe to say its piece so that I can just thank the people who have supported me along the way and take my trophy home.
Only now the universe is Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (CIC). They aren't saying anything, but they are holding the mic aloft, eyeing me and my trophy judgmentally to make sure we legitimately go together. When they finally speak, the trophy will still be mine, but there's no 100% guarantee I will actually get to take it home with me.
Ok, I'm losing control of this metaphor.
The point is: Waiting stinks.
And I've done my fair share of it. Both before meeting Steve and since then.
I can say, without a hint of hyperbole, that Steve and I have been waiting to be together for 90% of our relationship. So far this year, we have been able to spend about a week face-to-face. I traveled back to Cameroon in early April and we celebrated Easter together. Steve was sick the whole time, so we didn't leave the four walls of our rented apartment except to get necessities from the market... but we were together.
7.5 days out of 243.
I don't know how well you math, but I'll save you the trouble. That's 3% of the year to date. Don't worry guys, if I manage to get back there for Christmas, we may be able to bump that up a bit. Heck, if I can make it a week, we could be pushing 4%!
Despite work, time zone complications and unreliable internet, we managed to log 148 hours on the phone from the beginning of January to the end of August, including many middle of the night conversations, and video chats roughly one day out of four. (Note: I don't actually keep a log. What's App does. I was just crazy enough to go through the logs to add it all up.)
Objectively, 148 hours sounds pretty good. I mean that's, like, six complete rotations of the earth. But if you keep mathing, you realize that actually means we get an average of 37 minutes a day.
If you round up.
Of course, the reality is much more variable. Some days we get to talk for an hour, 90 minutes, or — on exceedingly rare occasions — two hours. On other days, we can't connect at all. Like on my birthday. This year and last year (but let's not be bitter here). Often, the call drops after just a few minutes, leaving ache and frustration in the place of the unstated "good night" and "I love you".
Most days the crappy internet connection is basically a third party in our conversation, butting in incessantly like a chatty toddler who needs attention NOW! We're the tired adults, left scatterbrained by the repeated interruptions, unable to recall the thread of our conversation, or simply giving up on a point after repeating it four or five times and still not being heard.
It's a little shocking to realize that for the past eight months, my entire marriage — everything from casual chatter and joking around to joint scripture study and prayer; setting goals and discussing challenges to seeking and giving comfort, encouragement and advice — has been carried out in less time than I spend driving to and from work each day.
Less time than I spend doing most things, really: getting ready, doing chores, walking the dog, reading or prowling YouTube.
No wonder it often feels as though we're not even really married!
Sure, there are many parents and exceptionally busy couples who would relish having 37 minutes a day to just talk with their spouse. (Cue the real, living and breathing chatty toddlers). But most of those people also share a bed and at least the occasional meal. They can kiss goodnight and hug goodbye in the morning, plan a night out together every once in a while, text their spouse to say "sorry babe, forgot to put out the garbage bins, can you please do it?"
And if not, it's only for a few days or, at most, a few weeks at a time.
Usually, even the busiest of people get to celebrate special days like birthdays and oh, say, their first wedding anniversary, together. The reality is, Steve and I likely won't. I'm currently on contract without paid vacation and still recovering financially from my student years (not to mention four trips to Africa within the past 18 months) so I can really only afford to take off a few days around Christmas. Unless Steve's permanent residency is miraculously approved sooner, by the time we next see each other, it will have been eight months.
To be clear, I'm not trying to have a pity party. For one thing, I know we are far from the only ones who are separated by circumstance. My own parents lived apart for a whole year in the early 90's when my dad was training as a police officer. Meanwhile, my mom was living in her parents' basement, pregnant and alone in managing three other children under the age of four. Yikes! Unable to afford the astronomical long distance fees for frequent calls and without the technological advantages that Steve and I have today, like internet access and video calling (as unreliable as it often is), my parents resorted to snail mail, penning letters to one another and recording messages on cassettes just to hear each other's voices.
I am also aware that our situation could be much worse. I have friends who are, or who have, military spouses and must live apart for months at a time while their partner is in a literal war zone. I have acquaintances who have fled their home countries with their children and taken refuge in Canada, burdened with daily worry for the spouse they had to leave behind, and no guarantee that they will be reunited in this life. I know young parents who have lost their spouse to accident and disease.
My point is, on the spectrum of challenge/heartache, Steve and I are pretty blessed.
And I know that many more blessings await us. I take a lot of comfort in the Doctrine and Covenants scripture that says For after much tribulation come the blessings... the hour is not yet, but is nigh at hand (D&C 58:4). We may not know exactly when this trial of faith will come to an end, but we can rest assured that our future is in the hands of a loving Heavenly Father who knows us perfectly and has great plans for us; even greater than we can really fathom.
Importantly, the blessings aren't limited to AFTER. I honestly don't know if there are words strong enough to describe how much I'm looking forward to putting this phase behind us (CIC, if you are listening, I'll take that mic back any day now!) but as emotionally and financially draining as this whole process is, I know that through this we are learning a lot. We're constantly unearthing new discoveries about ourselves and our individual strengths and weaknesses as well as about our relationship.
What we're not learning a lot about is the timeline.
This is the number one question I get asked. Have you heard about Steve's application yet? When will Steve be able to come? It's lovely insofar as it's wonderful to know people care. I appreciate the people who inquire because I know a lot of them are praying for us and eagerly wait for the day we can live under the same roof. In some cases, almost as much as we do :)
It's just also a bit annoying because 1) I haven't the foggiest; 2) You can bet your first child on the fact that if I had news to share I'd be broadcasting it readily. It would be the first thing out of my mouth upon seeing you. I will tell you, your dog, your pizza delivery driver and any other stranger who happens to engage me in conversation (and probably even some who don't... have you met me?)
Most of the time, I'm just doing my best not to think about the uncertainty, to ignore the aching pangs of loneliness and longing, to look for all the reasons I have to be positive and grateful. Having someone else bring up immigration is a pretty reliable way to bring me down a notch, even if it is to be expected. I mean, who really enjoys having their bruises poked?
In any case, we submitted our application mid-April. It was a beast to assemble! In late May I received an email saying I'd officially been approved as a sponsor and that Steve's application had been forwarded to his regional embassy (in Senegal) for processing. Meanwhile, Steve got a letter requesting him to go get the required medical exam. On June 13 we got word that they had begun processing his application. By the end of the month, they acknowledged receipt of the results of his medical exam. So far, so good!
There has been no new information or updates since then. In some respects, no news is good news. The only communication that would happen between now and the issue of their decision would be a request for more information or otherwise highlighting a problem that could delay the process. Of course, it could also mean that they just haven't gotten around to actually going through our application piece by piece, yet. We're signed up to get email notifications for any changes whatsoever, so my heart leaps in a combination of dread (that there is a problem) and anticipation (that the decision is made) every time I get an email notification on my phone. Even when there aren't any emails, I log in to the web portal several times a week, just to see.
In any case, the CIC says family reunification is a priority and the average wait time for a spouse-sponsored permanent residence visa is one year. (Really, they say the goal is to have 80% of new applications processed within 12 months, so let's just cross our fingers that we're not part of the other 20%). I have spoken to people who have waited much less time and others who have waited significantly longer. Most people I have talked with who have gone through the process themselves say they got their decision within 3-6 months of submitting their medical exam (which I find hopeful because that would put Steve's arrival any time before the end of the year) but it doesn't actually mean that will be the case for us.
Yes, the uncertainty of when is a big part of the stress. Probably the biggest source of it, actually. We would certainly be more comfortable from day to day if we had a date to count down to; if we could see the time ticking away from what's left of this involuntary separation. But the unknown and the fact that the only certainty we have is that which is found through our trust in Heavenly Father and His timing, is exactly what defines this as a trial of faith.
That being said, we can have reasonable confidence that Steve should be here by mid-April 2019. (Ok, maybe moderate confidence, given our track record with things going the way we hope.) That's only seven more months. Only?! Ahhh! Calm down, thiiiiiink positive!
226 days.
140 hours of phone conversations, give or take. (Hopefully, take.)
But who's counting?
After years of personal development and hopeful waiting, I finally won the Outstanding Life Partner award. Like T-Swizzle at the MTV awards, I strode down the aisle to collect my trophy but before I could revel in my victory, Kanye Universe bum-rushed the stage and took the mic, going "Imma let you finish, but..."
A year and a half later, I'm still just kind of standing awkwardly to the side, waiting for the universe to say its piece so that I can just thank the people who have supported me along the way and take my trophy home.
Only now the universe is Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (CIC). They aren't saying anything, but they are holding the mic aloft, eyeing me and my trophy judgmentally to make sure we legitimately go together. When they finally speak, the trophy will still be mine, but there's no 100% guarantee I will actually get to take it home with me.
Ok, I'm losing control of this metaphor.
The point is: Waiting stinks.
And I've done my fair share of it. Both before meeting Steve and since then.
I can say, without a hint of hyperbole, that Steve and I have been waiting to be together for 90% of our relationship. So far this year, we have been able to spend about a week face-to-face. I traveled back to Cameroon in early April and we celebrated Easter together. Steve was sick the whole time, so we didn't leave the four walls of our rented apartment except to get necessities from the market... but we were together.
7.5 days out of 243.
I don't know how well you math, but I'll save you the trouble. That's 3% of the year to date. Don't worry guys, if I manage to get back there for Christmas, we may be able to bump that up a bit. Heck, if I can make it a week, we could be pushing 4%!
Despite work, time zone complications and unreliable internet, we managed to log 148 hours on the phone from the beginning of January to the end of August, including many middle of the night conversations, and video chats roughly one day out of four. (Note: I don't actually keep a log. What's App does. I was just crazy enough to go through the logs to add it all up.)
Objectively, 148 hours sounds pretty good. I mean that's, like, six complete rotations of the earth. But if you keep mathing, you realize that actually means we get an average of 37 minutes a day.
If you round up.
Of course, the reality is much more variable. Some days we get to talk for an hour, 90 minutes, or — on exceedingly rare occasions — two hours. On other days, we can't connect at all. Like on my birthday. This year and last year (but let's not be bitter here). Often, the call drops after just a few minutes, leaving ache and frustration in the place of the unstated "good night" and "I love you".
Most days the crappy internet connection is basically a third party in our conversation, butting in incessantly like a chatty toddler who needs attention NOW! We're the tired adults, left scatterbrained by the repeated interruptions, unable to recall the thread of our conversation, or simply giving up on a point after repeating it four or five times and still not being heard.
It's a little shocking to realize that for the past eight months, my entire marriage — everything from casual chatter and joking around to joint scripture study and prayer; setting goals and discussing challenges to seeking and giving comfort, encouragement and advice — has been carried out in less time than I spend driving to and from work each day.
Less time than I spend doing most things, really: getting ready, doing chores, walking the dog, reading or prowling YouTube.
No wonder it often feels as though we're not even really married!
Sure, there are many parents and exceptionally busy couples who would relish having 37 minutes a day to just talk with their spouse. (Cue the real, living and breathing chatty toddlers). But most of those people also share a bed and at least the occasional meal. They can kiss goodnight and hug goodbye in the morning, plan a night out together every once in a while, text their spouse to say "sorry babe, forgot to put out the garbage bins, can you please do it?"
And if not, it's only for a few days or, at most, a few weeks at a time.
Usually, even the busiest of people get to celebrate special days like birthdays and oh, say, their first wedding anniversary, together. The reality is, Steve and I likely won't. I'm currently on contract without paid vacation and still recovering financially from my student years (not to mention four trips to Africa within the past 18 months) so I can really only afford to take off a few days around Christmas. Unless Steve's permanent residency is miraculously approved sooner, by the time we next see each other, it will have been eight months.
To be clear, I'm not trying to have a pity party. For one thing, I know we are far from the only ones who are separated by circumstance. My own parents lived apart for a whole year in the early 90's when my dad was training as a police officer. Meanwhile, my mom was living in her parents' basement, pregnant and alone in managing three other children under the age of four. Yikes! Unable to afford the astronomical long distance fees for frequent calls and without the technological advantages that Steve and I have today, like internet access and video calling (as unreliable as it often is), my parents resorted to snail mail, penning letters to one another and recording messages on cassettes just to hear each other's voices.
I am also aware that our situation could be much worse. I have friends who are, or who have, military spouses and must live apart for months at a time while their partner is in a literal war zone. I have acquaintances who have fled their home countries with their children and taken refuge in Canada, burdened with daily worry for the spouse they had to leave behind, and no guarantee that they will be reunited in this life. I know young parents who have lost their spouse to accident and disease.
My point is, on the spectrum of challenge/heartache, Steve and I are pretty blessed.
And I know that many more blessings await us. I take a lot of comfort in the Doctrine and Covenants scripture that says For after much tribulation come the blessings... the hour is not yet, but is nigh at hand (D&C 58:4). We may not know exactly when this trial of faith will come to an end, but we can rest assured that our future is in the hands of a loving Heavenly Father who knows us perfectly and has great plans for us; even greater than we can really fathom.
Importantly, the blessings aren't limited to AFTER. I honestly don't know if there are words strong enough to describe how much I'm looking forward to putting this phase behind us (CIC, if you are listening, I'll take that mic back any day now!) but as emotionally and financially draining as this whole process is, I know that through this we are learning a lot. We're constantly unearthing new discoveries about ourselves and our individual strengths and weaknesses as well as about our relationship.
What we're not learning a lot about is the timeline.
This is the number one question I get asked. Have you heard about Steve's application yet? When will Steve be able to come? It's lovely insofar as it's wonderful to know people care. I appreciate the people who inquire because I know a lot of them are praying for us and eagerly wait for the day we can live under the same roof. In some cases, almost as much as we do :)
It's just also a bit annoying because 1) I haven't the foggiest; 2) You can bet your first child on the fact that if I had news to share I'd be broadcasting it readily. It would be the first thing out of my mouth upon seeing you. I will tell you, your dog, your pizza delivery driver and any other stranger who happens to engage me in conversation (and probably even some who don't... have you met me?)
Most of the time, I'm just doing my best not to think about the uncertainty, to ignore the aching pangs of loneliness and longing, to look for all the reasons I have to be positive and grateful. Having someone else bring up immigration is a pretty reliable way to bring me down a notch, even if it is to be expected. I mean, who really enjoys having their bruises poked?
In any case, we submitted our application mid-April. It was a beast to assemble! In late May I received an email saying I'd officially been approved as a sponsor and that Steve's application had been forwarded to his regional embassy (in Senegal) for processing. Meanwhile, Steve got a letter requesting him to go get the required medical exam. On June 13 we got word that they had begun processing his application. By the end of the month, they acknowledged receipt of the results of his medical exam. So far, so good!
There has been no new information or updates since then. In some respects, no news is good news. The only communication that would happen between now and the issue of their decision would be a request for more information or otherwise highlighting a problem that could delay the process. Of course, it could also mean that they just haven't gotten around to actually going through our application piece by piece, yet. We're signed up to get email notifications for any changes whatsoever, so my heart leaps in a combination of dread (that there is a problem) and anticipation (that the decision is made) every time I get an email notification on my phone. Even when there aren't any emails, I log in to the web portal several times a week, just to see.
In any case, the CIC says family reunification is a priority and the average wait time for a spouse-sponsored permanent residence visa is one year. (Really, they say the goal is to have 80% of new applications processed within 12 months, so let's just cross our fingers that we're not part of the other 20%). I have spoken to people who have waited much less time and others who have waited significantly longer. Most people I have talked with who have gone through the process themselves say they got their decision within 3-6 months of submitting their medical exam (which I find hopeful because that would put Steve's arrival any time before the end of the year) but it doesn't actually mean that will be the case for us.
Yes, the uncertainty of when is a big part of the stress. Probably the biggest source of it, actually. We would certainly be more comfortable from day to day if we had a date to count down to; if we could see the time ticking away from what's left of this involuntary separation. But the unknown and the fact that the only certainty we have is that which is found through our trust in Heavenly Father and His timing, is exactly what defines this as a trial of faith.
That being said, we can have reasonable confidence that Steve should be here by mid-April 2019. (Ok, maybe moderate confidence, given our track record with things going the way we hope.) That's only seven more months. Only?! Ahhh! Calm down, thiiiiiink positive!
226 days.
140 hours of phone conversations, give or take. (Hopefully, take.)
But who's counting?
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