My Wife Followed Me From Peru to Wisconsin and Almost Didn’t Survive
Finding new life in the long, cold, dark winter
My body knew there was something wrong even if my mind couldn’t recognize the danger. I fidgeted, my hands were sweating, and I ground my teeth in desperation. Every instinct told me that I should get up and run, but I couldn’t because I was strapped into the seat of an airplane.
It was 2009, my wife and I were flying into Miami from Lima, Peru. We’d been married for ten months, and were on our way to start a new life in my native Wisconsin.
We’d submitted the appropriate forms, paid the necessary fees, and endured the required interviews. Nestled within the pages of my wife’s passport was a colorful sticker that indicated she had been approved to reside legally in the United States.
We’d done everything right. We were completely legit. Yet, I was absolutely terrified.
My body knew to be afraid even if my mind couldn’t recognize why. All it would take was one prejudiced immigration agent, one jerk in a process that would span years, and our progress would be derailed.
My wife sat beside me calm and resolved. She was the one leaving her family behind, yet she showed not the slightest concern.
She’s still like that. I don’t know how she does it.
Interrogation
We landed in Miami and my wife was promptly escorted into a room. There were glass windows. I was told to sit outside. I could see in.
One hour passed, then two, then three. She didn’t complain. She persisted.
Why was there a delay? Just because they could? They never explained it and when my wife was released we didn’t ask.
I guess we were among the lucky ones.
We made our way through the airport, rented a car, and hit the road. We drove for two hours and stopped at a hotel.
Only then, when we were safe, did I allow myself to recognize that we had done it. We’d made it! I crashed on the bed and slept harder than I ever have before or since.
The community all around us
When your wife is clearly Latina, a whole new world opens up to you. Spanish-speaking people are all around us. When they sense an ally, they attempt to make a connection.
My wife is an approachable woman with an engaging smile, but there’s more about her that draws them. She’s a teacher. She’s intelligent. She’s compassionate. It’s as if others sense in her a person they can trust to provide valuable advice.
Maestra, they call her, and other titles of respect.
Even though I’ve been with her every step of the way, it’s as though she’s traveled farther than I have.
When we speak together in Spanish it sends out a signal. A bartender in Chicago brought complimentary ice cream for our girls just because he heard his language. A shuttle driver in Miami told us all about his family.
It’s a loving and compassionate community that I never knew existed.
When we first arrived in Florida, they approached as well. “Where are you going?” they asked.
“Wisconsin,” my wife said.
“Cold, very cold,” was always the reply. “You shouldn’t go there.”
My wife would always laugh, but by the fifth or sixth time, I saw her armor had started to crack. She didn’t protest though. That’s not her way.
Wisconsin
We flew into Minneapolis on a mild November day.
“Oh, this isn’t so bad,” my wife said, “after all those conversations, I’d begun to worry.”
The leaves were in full color, and that’s a good first impression to have of this part of the world. It looks a bit like Rivendell. People don’t think of Wisconsin that way, but it’s true. Unfortunately, the time of beauty passes quickly.
“Is this as cold as it’s going to get?”
I told her the truth, but she didn’t believe it.
It’s hard to describe the harsh reality of a Wisconsin winter. Jack London comes close, but even he doesn’t prepare you. The thing people are surprised to learn is that cold burns.
Real cold, biting cold, Wisconsin cold is like sticking your hand into a fire. It’s that flash of pain beyond the heat, that white heat, that instantaneous cell death.
That’s Wisconsin cold.
What happened to the sun?
As the days went by and we began our descent into our first winter, the newness wore off and my wife was put to the test. She was valiant, but I could tell the situation was affecting her. She didn’t complain, but I could see the muscles tighten in her face. Her hands clenched into fists, the skin taught and white across the knuckles.
The hardest thing was the sun.
“The sun isn’t where it should be,” my wife said.
“It’s winter,” I replied. “The days are short.”
She looked at the sun, low in the sky, and it appeared as if she felt betrayed. Throughout her whole life, the sun had always been directly overhead. Here, in Wisconsin, it just barely cleared the trees.
Nothing conveys that you’re far from home like a sun that misbehaves.
You might as well be on another planet. Nothing was familiar. The days looked different, the nights were long, and it was cold.
I took my wife to a sporting goods store and bought her several hundred dollars in technological base layers.
“Don’t take these off.”
“Until when?”
“March.”
I told her that after the Solstice we’d start getting minutes of daylight back. It would be bright again. She clung to that promise even though the words didn’t provide much consolation.
Why can’t I eat the food?
Her stress was enormous, and it started to affect her appetite.
In Peru, the chicken is delicious. Processed chicken from the United States injected with water and growth hormones and who-knows-what tastes like wet cardboard by comparison.
“What is this?” My wife asked.
“It’s chicken.”
She ate it and threw up.
“I can’t eat chicken?” she asked in a voice that was a mix of defiance, anger, and sadness. She took a deep breath and carried on like she always did, but she’d reached the limit of her endurance. We needed to hold out a few more weeks before it would start getting lighter. I didn’t know if she could make it.
The sickness persisted as the cold came in. The temperature dropped to freezing which is still considered warm in Wisconsin. In Wisconsin, the phrase “it’s freezing” is only used when it’s 50 degrees or more below freezing.
The temperatures dropped from freezing to zero, and then to below zero. Other foods began to make my wife sick.
“What’s going on?” She asked.
I took her to the hospital. The doctor ran some tests and returned.
“You’re pregnant,” he said.
Motherhood
I was overjoyed and terrified. This was what we wanted, but was now the time? Now, when she had so much to contend with? It was a blessing, but now? Now? Could she handle this along with everything else?
I looked at my wife and almost couldn’t believe what I saw. She was transformed. The stress was gone. The worry was gone.
It didn’t matter that we were in the long dark of a Wisconsin winter because now she glowed with her own light.
She was going to be a mother, and somehow that magnified her resolve to a degree that almost seemed superhuman.
She was going to be a mother, so she could endure the cold.
She was going to be a mother, so she could endure the food.
Here I was terrified this news would be the straw that finally broke her, but motherhood turned out to be the exact miracle she needed. The perfect time for pregnancy is now.
We were going to make it, we would be fine.
I went with her, every step of the way, but I was just a passenger. The passengers can never fully understand what it means to be a mother, but we can respect them and honor them and treat them with deference.
They deserve it, they deserve it more than a Wisconsin winter is cold.
So, to my wife, and all the mothers, I’d like to wish you a happy Mother’s Day. Thanks for allowing the rest of us to accompany you on you way.
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I so enjoyed reading this! Beautifully written. As a daughter, mother, grandmother and great grandmother, I am filled with gratitude spending this weekend with my son, my only child. Despite a number of years struggling on his life’s journey, I couldn’t be happier or more proud of him. Happy Mother’s Day to all the other mothers who read this today! 🌸🪷❤️
What a beautiful story, my eyes are filled with tears of happiness for your family. Blessings and tribulations often go hand in hand, and they can be sneaky buggers! It's 10pm on mother's day in Australia, and I had the loveliest one I have ever had, 22 years after my first. A beautiful card drawn by my 17 year old artist, depicting the two of us as mother and daughter unicorns, a lovely trip to the movies with my 18 year old special needs son, and lunch with both of them and my mum which my 2 nieces joined later on. I got cherry earrings, a unicorn tshirt and lots of love. My non verbal son even managed to say something which sounded like happy mother's day mum (to me at least). 17 year old made the best banana bread I think I've ever had, and it made my day that it wasn't carrot cake like last week (even though that was honestly the best carrot cake I've ever had, because ive never liked it).
It was a beautiful autumn day here, crisp but lots of sunshine, and two drivers in a row stopped and waited as my son and I crossed at the roundabout, when they didn't have to.
Just a really, really lovely day.
Did see my eldest too, briefly, was nice to wish her "happy almost mother's day", she's due with her first in the next couple of weeks and we can't wait! Life goes on..