An Unfortunate Turn of Events

We knew there was a small possibility this could happen.

We even joked that this whole move could end up being a very expensive 90-day vacation with no home to return to. We told ourselves that if it happened, we’d figure it out.

Unfortunately, it happened.

Chris’s business plan—the pathway to our visa—was not approved.

We trusted our lawyers, who were very confident it would be approved. We knew we were taking a bit of a gamble by moving here before everything was finalized, but there were so many pieces that had to happen simultaneously. To even apply for the visa, we needed to already be renting a long-term place. We had to interview and enroll the boys in school because, if we waited, there likely wouldn’t have been any spots left. We didn’t have to sell our house in Colorado, but we knew we’d get a much better price selling during the summer than waiting for an unknown timeline.

We could stop the sale of our house and go back to the life the boys had in Colorado. It’s tempting because everything there is familiar. I know the language. We have doctors. The boys have friends and sports teams. Life there is easier in almost every way.

But the future we imagined here is tempting too: the highest level of soccer available for Will, an amazing school opportunity, full immersion in a new language, and the chance for all of us to experience a completely different culture and way of life.

When we told the boys what had happened, their reactions surprised me.

Colin probably had the hardest time leaving Colorado. He has deep friendships there and a swim team he loved. He said, “A month ago, if you told me the visa failed, I would’ve been happy. But now that I’ve been here, I really want to stay. I don’t think we should give up.”

Will’s response was classic. He asked, “Well… does the 90-day thing apply to kids? Or could you and Dad go back to the U.S. while I stay one week with this friend, another week with this friend…?”

Apparently, he’d rather stay in Spain without us than return to America. That made me laugh.

What isn’t funny is that Chris and I now have to scramble to put together a backup visa plan. I won’t bore you with the legal details awaiting us—they’re tedious, frustrating, and headache-inducing.

If I’m completely honest, a large part of me wants to throw in the towel and move back to the U.S. I don’t feel capable of handling the emotional roller coaster of waiting for a visa while being homeless, floating around the U.S., unable to access the home we’re paying for in Spain. I want to hide and not talk to anyone.

But the three boys all want to keep trying.

So, we have to fly back next week to begin paperwork, round two. We have appointments at the Washington, D.C., consulate at the end of July, and then our passports will be held while everything is processed.

I’m hoping and praying that everything moves quickly enough for the boys to start school with the rest of their classmates, and that we’re back in Spain before August slips away.

Right now, though, I mostly feel foolish. I thought we were through the hard part.

I feel sick to my stomach with a new batch of worries. A week ago, it finally felt like we could exhale. We had started settling in. We felt so welcomed into our new home.

And then… wham.

A punch to the gut.

Sometimes you take a risk because the potential reward is worth it. Sometimes the odds look overwhelmingly in your favor. And sometimes, things simply don’t go your way.

We’re not giving up just yet. I’m not the most optimistic person in my little family right now, but I’ll borrow their hope until I find my own again.