Triunfo!

Before Kim Romero makes the call to her husband in Mexico, she follows his plea and calms herself.

She will not cry.

From her apartment on King Avenue in Waynesboro, she readies her tongue for Spanish. Sometimes she checks the weather radar online to learn if torrential rains are battering the mountain town where Rigoberto – “Rigo” — lives.

If so, she surprises him with her knowledge, like she’s at his side beneath the downpour.

For 18 months they’ve been apart while Rigo waits in Mexico and immigration officials process his paperwork to return legally.

On some nights, Kim’s dreams of Rigo leave her grasping the opposite side of the bed.

“You can touch him, you can smell him, but he’s not there,” she said.

She expects him to be soon. Just before noon Saturday, Rigo boarded a bus in Tenancingo, Mexico, and rode north. By noon the following day, he neared the U.S. Consulate in Ciudad Juarez just off the border.

Tomorrow he expects to answer questions in a final interview with authorities.

Immigration officials this summer determined that Kim Romero, 38, suffers an undue hardship without her husband. “Hardship” is a legal threshold that overrides the ban on returning that Rigo would otherwise endure because he previously lived in the U.S. illegally.

Torn by conflicting advice, the Romeros more than a year ago decided Rigo would abide by the law and return to Mexico while sorting out his documentation.

Each day, the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services office handles about 4,000 visa filings from American relatives and spouses.

The Romeros’ marriage would not, as they’d hoped, help pave the way to a reunion.

After three visa denials, Kim filed paperwork in April 2009 to prove her hardship.

Finally, she received an impersonal form letter that began like many others.

“We’re pleased to inform you ...”

“I called him and he was at a loss for words,” Kim said. “He said he’s not going to get excited until both feet are on American soil.”

The colorless nature of the official, one-page missive belied the effort Kim poured into bringing her husband home.

She memorized 1-800 numbers to agencies, plagued immigration employees with questions, made dozens of phone calls and paid more than $2,000 in fees.
Bolstered by her faith in God, Kim said she trusts that this time, the right papers found the right people.

“I’m not even doing the what-ifs, ‘cause I’m not going to give the devil the satisfaction,” she said.

♦ ♦ ♦

Kim expected word from U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services in August or September at the earliest.

The letter came in July, on the brink of a new school year for her daughters.

Her weekly take-home pay of $300 from Sharp Shopper discount grocery makes life tight. And with two teen girls enrolled in athletics in Waynesboro schools, stress has taken its toll.

On the same day Kim received Rigo’s approval letter, she watched a New York-bound bus take her daughter Alina, 15, away for a weeklong Young Life camp.

Upon opening the envelope, her youngest daughter, Autumn, 13, cried from excitement.
Word spread.

One of the first to hear was Bonnie Craig, a stylist at Cutting Edge who’s known “Kimmy” at least 20 years.

“Kimmy has turned up every stone she can,” she said. “You don’t realize the crap you have to go through.”

Family and friends are anxious for Rigo’s return because he worked for them in gardens and backyards, provided soccer advice and conversed in broken English with Kim’s parents.

Because he grew up in a small, poor Mexican town, Rigo depended on his imagination, Kim said.

His influence on her daughters runs deep, she said.

“It’s an emotional roller coaster and [the girls] don’t know how to live in it,” she said.

Kim wanted to tell Alina about the letter in person, but broke down and called while her daughter traveled home from camp.

In the background, Kim heard the noisy bus load.

“I want you to hear this,” Alina told her mom as she called the news to friends.

“And the whole bus roared,” Kim said.

In Mexico, Rigo kept quiet, worrying that his final interview might never be scheduled.

When it was, Kim picked up on his sniffles on the phone.

“Quit snottin’ on the phone, I’m getting wet on my end,” she told him.

♦ ♦ ♦

In the weary fight to bring Rigo back, Kim has developed an array of skills and expertise.

In June she became a part-time translator for Waynesboro police and a youth leader at her new church, Harvest City, on South Poplar Avenue.

A woman in her 20s came to Kim for help on a recent night as she prepared for closing at Sharp Shopper. The woman’s husband had been deported leaving her with their children.

The wives bonded over their shared experience: Long trips to Mexico, jostling rides in Mexican taxicabs, expressions of love over phone lines and the heart-wrenching frustration of leaving their men behind while traveling back to Waynesboro.

Kim spotted in her new friend the uncertainty and determination first familiar to her a year earlier. But with her newfound expertise and leadership roles, Kim could also see the yawning gap she’d traversed in gathering what she knew about immigration services.

Much of it left a bad taste.

Even in the joyful wake of learning Rigo could return home, Kim could not overlook what she found through another round of calls: His application was approved June 16, a full month before the letter reached her.

“That’s how slow our government is,” she said. “[Officials] call the shots, you jump through the hoop of fire … I’m getting pretty good at that.”

When Kim recites the Citizenship and Immigration Services phone number from memory she gets it right: 1-800-375-5283. Somewhere deep inside the agency’s building in Washington, her name covers a call log almost 20 pages long. Lawmakers in the Capitol, including Rep. Bob Goodlatte, R-Roanoke, and Sen. Mark Warner, D-Alexandria, know her story.

Yet she cannot know the effect of her persistence.

“The agency … that makes the decision here, is run by people, and people have families and husbands and wives and children,” said David Leopold, president of the American Immigration Lawyers Association. “If you reach the right person who can identify… that personal touch can make a difference.”

Goodlatte, who put staffers on Kim’s case, said he can’t be sure what, if anything, sped the process.

“Quite frankly, that waiting time is too long,” Goodlatte said. “I’m especially pleased he did this the right way.”

Leopold said its understandable that criminals would be barred from immigrating. But he and Goodlatte said cases involving spouses ought to be handled more efficiently because of the impact registered on children and their families’ financial well being when the system separates couples.

“[W]hen you’re talking about a husband and a father, it really is a travesty to see people split like that,” Leopold said. “People shouldn’t have to do this.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Kim said she used to see a faint light at the end of a long tunnel.

“Now it’s kinda hot,” she said.

She’s rearranged her apartment and ordered Spanish-language channels. Her parents started watching Latin soap operas.

She pictures a computer in one corner — Rigo wants to learn about the Internet.

He also wants his GED.

The Romeros don’t know how long the last step will take before Rigo returns. They said they hope it will be a matter of days, which would put the couple back together by Sept. 15, their sixth wedding anniversary and the same day he turns 27.

“I pray a lot, an awful lot,” Kim said, citing workplace lulls during which her lips move without making sound.

Every piece of good news reaffirms her faith.

“She could have turned her back on God,” Craig said. “It seemed like she would get one step forward and get kicked two back.”

Now she can see a calm approaching.

When Rigo boards his plane for America, Kim will rest.

When he steps off the plane, he will rest.

“I just think it’s time,” Kim said. “I’m ready to have a husband.”