A Christmas story

I have a picture of my love and I. It's from near the start of this decade and we are standing in front of a Christmas tree in the lobby of the Delta Chelsea Hotel. She is tall and beautiful and there is the sweetest smile on her face. It's the smile of possibility and of a bright future.

Fast-forward to the end of 2010 and the beginning of our fourth year of waiting for a decision from CIC on our case. I imagine if we stood in that same lobby today, in front of a similar tree, that smile wouldn't show up in the picture this time. If a smile was there at all it would be one tempered by caution and worn by the emotional erosion of waiting.

For three full years our lives together have been on hold. For three full years we have seen each other when time and jobs and money allows, but its never enough. For three full years I have disappeared from the lives of our friends in Toronto while I wait to go home. Each day that goes by, I diminish. The story doesn't change. The only thing that does change, that increases, is the pressure my love and I feel, and the anxiety that goes along with it.

But each Christmas I still remember our first together. Each Christmas I fall in love with her again. We met at this time of the year and that alone, despite everything else, is reason to celebrate.