Today I planned to post some family portraits from a shoot I was supposed to have last night. Unfortunately the afternoon Colorado thunderstorms rolled in over the mountains just as we were about to begin. The family really wanted the portraits outside, so instead of dodging lighting bolts and rain drops we set another date.
As a replacement to the family portrait shots, I will tell you a little about my family. My husband is Swedish and he was originally transferred to the United States for a job. He has been working on applying for a “green card” for six years or so. Can you imagine? Six years? I am trying to think of something I did for six years and I can’t come up with anything except grade school. Anyways, last Friday, the big day arrived. He had, or I guess I should say we had, his much anticipated “green card” interview.
Leading up to the interview I was not nervous, but then Thursday evening it hit me. I thought, “If I mess this up, my husband, my true love, my partner in life will be sent back to Sweden. I can’t screw this up! What would we do if we were not together?”
As I prepared for bed my mind went crazy thinking of all the questions they could ask that I might not be able to answer. For example: Spell the name of the town where Martin’s parents were born? What year were Martin’s parents married? EEEKKS! What if I mess this up? I know, you can tell me I was over reacting and to chill out. Martin told me to relax. MANY times that evening and the next day.
We arrived at the CIS building with plenty of time to spare prior to the interview. After clearing the security check, we sat in the waiting area with about 15 – 20 other couples and families. Some had four-inch thick binders of documents with each sheet of paper in plastic sleeves. Others carried wedding albums and their attorneys accompanied some. As we waited for about 30 minutes, my anxiety grew. I thought: Did we have enough pictures to prove we are really in love with each other and committed to spend the rest of our life together? How come we don’t have a four-inch binder of documents? Where are all our papers?
And then his name was called. We stepped into the office and the immigration officer asked us a couple of simple questions. I fumbled around answering them, as if he was speaking another language. Martin grabbed my hand to reassure me it was going to be fine and then we began speaking about the immigration officer, his Japanese wife and how much he likes traveling in Japan. We listened to him for a good ten minutes and he then said, “Okay your card will be mailed to you in a few weeks.” My response, “What? That is it?” And it was it. A few more stories about Japan and we were on our way. I was shocked, all that stress and anxiety for nothing.