Meet Little Mr. N!

This blog was originally posted by tgdindenmark1, 18 April, 2013

Mr. N may be a little man, but his way to your heart is swift, and in the grandest way he melts it with his toddler charm. He is much like other little boys his age, or so I have been told. He proudly puts on his little shoes all by himself, although at times they end up on opposite feet. And, just like any other toddler, he is learning the way of life by trials and errors. “It’s mine” (or, more likely, “it’s mine!!!”) and “no” are some of the words of his newly acquired vocabulary which seem to be used with frequency, thereby letting the world know that he has intellectually acquired the ability stand his ground. He loves tow trucks, pancakes, and the family dog. Like so many other children, he goes to a daycare facility where he is being taught how to count, and to recognize the letters of the alphabet. He is also being taught the greatest lesson of them all, at least for a two-and-a-half year old: To share toys, snacks and the attention of the day care provider. In fact, at first glance into his little world of existence, there is nothing which differs from other little American boys his age. While looking a little closer you begin to see that his life has a different nuance than the rose-colored lives of his peers:

Little Mr. N started out sharing his mother’s womb with a twin. But life gives everyone surprises, and due to immense stress in his mother’s life, his twin was lost in what was perceived as a spontaneous miscarriage. A succenturiate placenta absent a fetus identified on an ultrasound image became a direct evidence of such. However, little Mr. N was a survivor and he fought for his will of life. And his mother, as she surprisingly found out about his existence despite the miscarriage, fought as furiously for his survival as himself. The following months, they forged a bond unimaginable, and as a team the two of them made it through the

months by which was perceived as a healthy pregnancy, all by themselves.

His father abandoned them both, although temporarily, as he called pass; the extreme circumstances in his mother’s life, in form of an impossible immigration legal battle, became too much for him to handle. When the time came for little Mr. N to enter the world, he was, despite the turmoil, welcomed in the most precious and peaceful way, surrounded by most of his family. But, it didn’t take long before life began to present little Mr. N with challenges. Only nine months old, not able to bottle feed yet, his one and only companion whom he had relied on for everything necessary in his life had to depart, as his mom agreed to a voluntary departure from the United States of America in order to end the immigration battle, which at the time seemed by his mother to be endless. Little Mr. N. was supposed to have departed as well, and was issued a ticket by the Dept. of Homeland Security; he became one of the youngest in the neighbourhood to have his very own passport, courtesy of the Danish government, as the little man is, in fact, dual citizen. But as the local courts aren’t well educated in immigration affairs, a local judge decided to stop little Mr. N from going away with his mum. His fate, therefore, took a sharp turn. He had to learn new ways of life with a new companion...his father.

The little toddler and his family seem to have found a way to manage, even though the

circumstances are not what anyone would call normal. When other children are kissed good night by the woman that they know as “mum”, little N has a different definition of the word . To him, “mum” is not a person- rather, she is a concept. To him, “mum” is why he gets to wave at a camera with his little hand and smile while everyone around him encourages him to do so because “mum” has to see how big he is becoming and how happy he is; “mum” is the strange voice on the telephone telling him how she loves him, and the face on the webcam which, most of the time, scrambles into a digital blur due to lack of proper connection- and, “mum” is the reason why he blows kisses into the video camera while showing off his trampoline moves...to him, ironically, “techno-mum” is the only mum he has ever known.

The reason I know so much about this little toddler is because little Mr. N is my son. I am the

strange voice on the telephone; I am the digital image…I am, what he has been told by others, but doesn’t understand, his absent mother. I am that mother who, because of the tiresome U.S

immigration bureaucracy, opted for a “voluntary departure”, in order to see my children being

relieved of the chaos deriving from the immigration issues of which I was not only surrounded but also entirely consumed by. I am the one whom experienced the ripple-effect of immigration issues leading to other legal problems in form of divorce and child custody issues- which combined, became the core root of financial problems. I am the person who, despite of being mentally able to handle the immense pressure of the stress, my body failed to pass the same test. I am the one whom will have to face my youngest son one day knowing that a life under normal circumstances would have, most likely, given him the gift of a twin.

As for my circumstances, with regards to immigration issues, there is no one to blame- it was a unique case of a massive cluster of unintended errors made by many, myself included. As ironic as it could possibly be, the very issues which I had become aware of by observing the lives of other immigrants, I have now been able to experience in my own life. I was given the shoes to walk the journey; and I have done so since by walking, running, crawling and sometimes crashing. I have fought with every emotion known to man in order to sustain. I know every emotion associated with adverse immigration status and the separation of families due to immigration policies...I am thankful that little Mr. N was too young to understand what the separation from his mother means, but do I have concerns that it will present negative issues in the future when he is able to comprehend the circumstances, just as his siblings comprehend our situation? Absolutely!

Some women experience in their life the agony of carrying an ugly purse, most likely bought on

impulse, thereafter being reminded every day of the poor choice until the ugly purse can be substituted by the purchase of another purse. I carry the agony as an ugly purse of uncertainty whether I made the right decision to depart voluntarily, leaving my children behind, as opposed to staying in the USA and keep on fighting the immigration battle all the way up the latter of justice. In comparison to the women with fashion faux-pas purchases, my choice does not leave me with an opportunity for a do-over; I get to carry the ugly purse of burdens indefinitely. I, as so many others opted to leave on a voluntary basis because it seems to be the best choice, in order to re-open the doors to America, eventually; others leave because they are demanded to do so, in form of deportation, in order to re-open the same doors. Either way, although we are presented with the same opportunity and the route to such opportunity differs, it still comes with a great price. It comes at the price of uncertainty of what will become of the future, and of what will become of those left behind. It comes at the price of temporary but enormous pain only known to those who have experienced great loss. While everything I ever loved faded into the horizon that day leaving the United States of America, the pain began to penetrate slowly but surely until it filled up all within...as if igniting a fire, blasting through one’s body singing every nerve, one by one, until it eventually disintegrates your soul, and leaving the body in a state of numbness. The pain may be short-lived, but the scars of the pain run deep. It has been almost two years since I departed, and I can still feel the pain every time I am reminded of the lost opportunities to kiss my youngest son’s tiny toes; every time I sense the sadness in my youngest teenage daughter’s voice when we have to end our telephone conversations. The thought that I may miss the opportunity to attend my oldest daughter’s wedding, just as I was unable to attend my son’s High School graduation. The journey has, without a doubt, changed my life, as my world has been turned upside-down and inside-out, leaving no possibility of returning to what was once the status quo. Having gone through this, I can truly say that I understand the millions of undocumented aliens living in the shadows, avoiding their turn to pay the price of the painful unknown. 

The reason I have decided to share this story is because I know there are so many others with similar stories. The deportees represent all nationalities, thus, deportation becomes a global phenomenon. Somehow, most stories are not heard, simply because no one asks to hear them. Although the issues of immigration and deportation are mentioned in the media everywhere around the world, the stories of the people who have lived through the process are far and few in-between. Whether anyone refuses to believe this to be reality, let me tell you: Not only has this been the reality for my family and I, but these are the realities of so many. So many “Mr. N” exist everywhere in the USA as there are thousands of American-born children in absence of one of their parents due to separation by deportation. 

Huffington Post claimed that in the year of 2013, 73000 parents had to leave behind children in America due to deportation. (For more information, please follow the link: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/06/25/parents-deportation_n_5531552.html)

I can testify, that immigration issues do tear families apart and damages done to the core family structure may eventually be beyond repair.

As the gang of eight is on the brink of reforming U.S Immigration, we should all hope for reform with the right intent, not solely for economic purposes; not because it will make the immigration flow charts look better in the following years, and not because it will make political history; rather it should be done because it may lead to more individuals with stable and productive lives free from fear of family separation and financial stress; free from discrimination and free from any further exploitation than what most of the individuals currently classified as immigrants have already been subjected to…

Our little family knows that sooner than later will come when all the frustration U.S immigration has brought upon us can come undone...little Mr. N will, eventually, be able to hug his mum rather than blowing kisses into a camera; he will be able to buy his ice cream cone together with the woman who gave him life, rather than going to the ice cream parlor with a parent-substitute, buying his cone with the money for which he has received via a Western Union wire transfer from a guilt-stricken mum...it is only a matter of time.

Kindest regards,
TheGreatDane