It was that time again. For other holidays I am very flexible – but NEVER December 25th. Christmas supper was held at my home and my children knew, from experience, that absence was not an option, except, maybe, if that option was death. Don’t even dare plan on doing anything else, anywhere else. Still, I figured that a reminder wouldn’t hurt. It must have been intuition.
“Ah no, Mom,” answered my oldest son. “What Christmas? I’m just staying in the city and renting a movie or something. I don’t even want to think about Christmas. Forget me this year.” Whoa!! This was my son talking – the one who revelled in family get-togethers even more than I did. The tone of voice echoed his words. He was seriously depressed.
“What?!! No, no, no.” I replied. “What in hell is this about? What’s going on?”
He told me what I should have known. Yoshiko would not be here, and they had both so looked forward to spending their first Christmas together. As much as he loved his family, it would not be Christmas without her. He would only dampen the spirit for the rest of us.
Two months before, his Japanese fiancé had been refused entry to Canada when her flight had landed in Montreal. There was no valid reason given by airport customs. More than likely she had been greeted by an official who was having a bad day. The girl was well educated, had a healthy bank account and no police record, and, although not fluent, could speak the two official languages of this country. My son and I had stood in the arrival area waiting for hours, and hours…. and agonizing hours. I watched my son’s face as his worry turned to panic, and realized to what extent he loved this girl. Her arrival was at 18:30, and at 1:30 AM, the surly custom official finally allowed her to call us on my cellular. She was to depart, the same night, on the first flight out of Canada. She had been coming here too often, he told her. Before returning, she needed Canadian authorisation, and this she must apply for from her own country. It meant, at best, a year of paperwork before she could come back.
I hung up the phone with an ache in my heart. My child was hurting. My ache soon became a mother’s anger. This was NOT acceptable! Anger turned into determination. Damn it! This was Canada!! The land lauded as glorious and free! There had to be something that could be done? I mean – Japanese citizens were not typically singled out as terrorists, were they?
A co-worker of mine had experienced immigration problems with his relatives relocating from Ireland, and gave me the name of a good (but expensive!!!) immigration lawyer. I contacted my future daughter-in-law in Japan by e-mail, asking her to be specific about what she had been told, and that she keep our conversations secret. The last thing I wanted was for my son to have his hopes dashed again! Within the next week, the lawyer had advised both myself and Yoshiko what needed to be written, said, mailed, and faxed to further our cause. Together we set it up. My other two children were sworn to secrecy as well. That left my son’s boss.
Yoshiko, that beautiful, eternally optimistic girl had booked her flight for December 18th, and I knew my son’s office party was the night following her arrival. Hearing what I had to say, and being the epitome of an ‘Italian’ romantic, the boss not only told me he would obtain the second party admittance ticket, but also agreed to be silent. He knew, as well as anyone, how sad my son was, what it would do to him to be disappointed a second time. My son had refused to go to the office party until his co-workers, hearing that he had decided not to attend, got together and purchased the ticket for him, practically forcing his hand. His boss kept repeating to me into the phone “This is so cool! This is so nice! It HAS to work!” His voice was full of emotion.
The day arrived. That morning, wanting to cover all the bases, worried about another entry refusal by customs, I placed a call to the lawyer’s cell phone, waking him up in Copenhagen, where it was 4:30 AM (to be fair, I didn’t know he was there – but probably would have called anyway). He was quite gracious, in spite of the hour – assuring me that all should go well, but that he would talk to an agent if need be – he would leave his cell open -to just contact him at any time. I was beginning to think that the man was worth his high retainer fee.
My son is not the best of housekeepers at any time, and his depression had only made matters worse. Not wanting Yoshiko to arrive in such a mess, my friend and my mom (who was still alive at the time) volunteered to help me clean his apartment before going to the airport. I had warned my son that his grandmother be at his place when he arrived from work, the excuse being that she had come into the city with me for a doctor’s appointment, but I had to meet an important client late the same afternoon, so would drop her off at his home instead of having her wait in the car. So far, so good.
My daughter and my friend joined me at the arrival gate. I can’t begin to explain what I felt as we waited there. Not able to sit when I’m agitated, I must have walked a couple of miles in that one circle. When people around us began to look at me apprehensively, my daughter explained to them what was happening. Later, many of them, already having collected their expected party, came over to wish us luck as they went on their way. Two hours had passed since the flight had put down, but there was still no sign of Yoshiko. Despair filled my heart. Not this again! My daughter had gone to see if she could get any information, and I turned quickly to look at her when she called my name. Her eyes were full of tears.
To be continued.....
Luv From the Bush in Quebec
Photo by tmonastero in Photobucket
