I used to breath only for this day. The fantasy of this day was my reason to keep moving forward. Nothing else felt worth it, but this day made me put one foot in front of the other. Every decision I made was painted by the possiblity that today would be the day. I woke every morning and thought "today will be the day", and then day after day after day... it wasn't.
Soon after the shock of third world hell had healed, and life started to feel more like third world normal I stoped waiting for this day. I started loving palm trees, and creating relationships, and relishing my brilliant bi-lingual children. And the dream of the day faded, and even though I thought it might come, it felt more like longing to win the lottery, something that could happen but probably wouldn't. So forward we marched.
And then one day Washinton called, and said " the day might be coming" And I started hoping again, and then chastizing myself for hoping for something that I knew probably wouldn't come. But my hero in Washington kept working, and her letters would scratch off the scab in my heart that wouldn't let me hope, and my bleeding heart would hope again. And then she said, something she had never said before. She told which day would be the actual day. She said the words Tuesday or Wednesday.... not in the near future, or as soon as possible, not " we are optimistic that is will be soon" an actual concrete day. ( well one of two)
What will I do if today is the day? Cry. Tears of pure joy, and saddness. Tears of relief, and tears of trepedation. Tears of excitement and tears of fear. And then I think the overload of emotion will leave me numb, and completely disbeliving that the day has actually come.
