They say that there are five stages to grief: denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I think I am or may have moved into the 'acceptance' stage of my grief.
Acceptance is supposed to be the final stage of grief. I am here in Mexico for life, and I accept it. Does it make me angry? Sometimes. Does it make me sad? More often than sometimes. But it is what it is. Hector has no chance of a waiver. I am going to live all these miles away from my beloved Oregon, for the rest of my life.
I meet women in my situation occasionally. Sometimes they are miserable, sometimes they are looking for a way to fix this, to go home. Most of the time, I find that the prior who want to leave most are prior who's husband only have a 10-year ban, not a lifetime ban. I can't imagine knowing that there could be an end, and having to wait ten years for it. I am thankful that I know this is life; I can move on.
Very rarely do I meet anyone else who accepts that this is life. It's rather lonely to think that all of these women in the same situation are trying to get Mexico over with and get back to the US. I mean, I understand them. Sometimes I just wanna go to work and keep on driving till I hit Eugene. But it makes it hard for me to relate to other people. I don't understand all if the legalese on internet message boards where 'my husband has this ban' and 'can I apply for this rather than that?' I don't get it. It's one of those bars that separates me from people here. I'm not looking to spend several thousands of dollars to get denied. I wish then all the best and I hope they make it wherever they want to get.
We're home here in Mexico. This is the place my kids will say they've grown up. Their landmarks will be the Minaret or El Arco rather than the Hawthorne Bridge or the Portlandia statue. Their dreams week have Cerro Colorado in the background, rather than Mt. Hood. This is our life, we just have to get on with it.