This Fucking Sucks

Wifey’s homesickness has progressed into something resembling depression. She is 90% sure that she will not be able to handle the time away from her eldest son that is necessary to complete the process of becoming a legal permanent resident.

I tried to explain that it shouldn’t be more than a year, and then she can go back whenever she wants, to the extent that we can afford the travel. If she leaves the country before the process is complete, she cannot return.  Well, she could, if, before she leaves, she gets  a travel document/reentry permit/excuse for Nanny Sam to take more money, which costs $360 each, and takes about three months to process, putting her at the halfway mark anyway.

Correction.  She would not be able to return without re-filing the same paperwork that I already filed, paying the fees again that I already paid, and then completing the process in a foreign consulate that already has the reputation of being a bunch of hardasses. And without what they would consider a good reason for leaving the US, they would deny the petition and refuse to adjust her status.

Which would mean that instead of $3,000 pissed away on INS fees, it would be $6,000. Just for this step. Which doesn’t include the $6,000 that I already spent in getting her the fiancée visa in the first place, and covering her household expenses in her home country while she has been here. Or the $4,000 that I spent for the first segment of her and the Boy’s dental work. Or the $1,800 for a trip to the ER for arrhythmia that ended up resulting in nothing but a bunch of expensive tests that all came out normal.  Barring any other, explanation, she was diagnosed with anxiety attacks, and given a Rx for Valium.  I’m trying to convince the hospital that I can’t afford to pay, and my request is pending.  Wish me luck.

No, it’s not about the money. I knew the risk at each step. I knew that there was a possibility that she would not stay. I never imagined that it would be because of homesickness-induced depression. I figured that I’d fuck up and do something stupid along the way, since this is what normally happens. However, it hurts when one takes a gamble and loses this big, particularly when there is nothing that I could have done differently/better to change the outcome.

It will take me a year and two months to recoup the money that I have already spent, based on my current pay rate and the average number of hours that I work.  It would have been worth every penny had it worked out.  But it appears that it will not.

I know that she may decide to stay and try to tough it out.  I hope that she does, as long as she doesn’t stay miserable like she is now.  However, if life here with me is that hard on her, I don’t want her here.

But, if she goes, I’m done.  I have no intentions of seeing or even speaking to her again.  Ever.  She will have made her choice.   She will have decided that she prefers to scratch for an existence, rather than sucking it up for a year.  Better to work as many as sixteen hours per day, six or seven days per week at three different jobs just to survive, but be together with both of her boys during the rare moments when she is home and conscious.

It’s no picnic to move to another country.  But she has her sister here, who has lived here for the past decade, to help her out.  And she has me.  And her youngest boy is here.  The only thing that she doesn’t have besides familiar surroundings is her adult son, who is finishing his equivalent to a Master’s degree and wouldn’t have come with her had he been young enough to do so.

Does it sound like I expect her to go back?  I do.

God, I hope I’m wrong!

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