Hola, amor. How are you? I am fine. Our three kids are well. They grow more and more each day. Our oldest son looks just like you. Autism isn't stopping him. He learns more words day by day. Our beautiful daughter asks about you all the time. She's still a daddy's girl. Our baby boy is getting so big. I hate you missed his first words, first steps, and first birthday. I wish you were here to see it all.
Why didn't you ever tell me you were illegal when we first met? You spoke great English. You had a house, land, a great job, and a car. Yet, you had no social security number, no driver's license, and no papers. How was I supposed to know? You really thought it was fit to tell me after we got married? While I was 5 months pregnant with our twins?
I really wanted to help you. I wanted to get a lawyer and sponsor you so I wouldn't have to worry about you being taken away. I tried to do research, but I didn't know where to start. I tried to save money, but it was never enough. This immigration stuff was just so expensive. I asked you for help, but you were just as clueless as I was. You always seemed to brush it off. Like you weren't really concerned about your legal status. You spent 17 years in this country illegally... Did you really think you would be able to stay here forever?
Why did you trust your uncle? Why did you party with him and hang out and travel with him? You knew he was a drug trafficker. And you didn't bother to tell me that either. People like him don't care about anyone. They kill for money. They kill for pleasure. You are his nephew, but family is nothing to people like him. He didn't care you had a wife, 2 year old twins and another baby on the way. You thought he wouldn't throw you under the bus when he got caught? You didn't think he would plant the drugs on you, and run across the border when the heat came down on him? I believe you when you say didn't take part in the actions, but you witnessed his deeds. He kept you close, and you became his scapegoat.
I hated visiting you behind bars. I hated taking our babies there to see you. I hated that that was the only place our newborn could see you. I hated how they couldn't hug you. You couldn't kiss them or hold them. I hated that your court appointed lawyer never tried to help you. I hated how we could only see you on Saturday mornings only.
I understand you come from a poor rural area in Mexico. I understand you came here for a better life... but I don't understand how border patrol just let you drive across the border without checking to see if you were legal or not. I just don't understand why you chose to have American born children when you are not a US citizen yourself. I just don't understand how you would never try to get your papers, before and after we met.
Now it's been a year since we have seen you. I am trying to work hard and save money to find some way to get you back here. It's hard being a single mom. I work as much as I can, but it's never enough. I hate relying on welfare to pick up the extra slack. We never needed it when you provided for us. I get so depressed. I thought about killing myself and our kids. I'd rather us die than live without you.
I don't know... sometimes I hate you, and I want to forget you. And other times I want to pack up and go to Mexico with you. I just don't want to take our kids away from everything they know and love. I don't know if we can adapt to another culture or get through the language barrier... maybe we will get by. Maybe we should go. I know you want us there. I'm just worried about a lot of things.
We will see you soon, amor. I have to save up for plane tickets and passports. I have to pay the immigration lawyer off first though. The lawyer said it would take about two years (or maybe more) before you can get approved to return to the US. Until then, we will just try to live a decent safe life in your home town, learn the language and culture. I can't wait for the babies and I to meet your father and the rest of the family. I will be so happy to have our family back together, so I will try not to worry much about the future once we get there. I have faith that the lawyer will come through for our family. I have faith that the US government will forgive you, and we will one day be back in the US as a family.