I can’t imagine what those astronauts feel when they have trained for months, have gone through all the right protocol, kissed and said goodbye to their loved ones, the planet, everything that is familiar and strap themselves into that chair. They feel the rumble from the explosion of the jets that will propel them into space, they listen to the countdown and somewhere before they hear “take off” the countdown ends. And this surreal scene begins to play out because it is real but it is so different from the one that has been playing out in their head. Mission aborted.
I get an email from Martin this morning saying he got one from a lady in Chicago apologizing for the glitch and promising that the delay won’t be too long and can they speak Friday. Well…FRIDAY he was supposed to be having a homemade lasagna dinner with ME. And oh yeah, FRIDAY is tomorrow.
He’s on the phone right now trying to figure out what this all means. Apparently you shouldn’t change a job description on an existing Visa and then try to use it as if nothing has been changed. Apparently his global, worldwide company he works for didn’t realize that.
I’m mad right now. I’ll be sad soon. He’s mad right now. I don’t know what he’ll be soon. The feeling of being tossed about in a washing machine is probably pretty accurate.
He’s sore from his root canal, he is doing much better at communicating what is going on with me (which is great but I’m sure even that much more draining for him), Maybe they will still let him come? He’s got two weeks before working and maybe they will get it sorted out while he’s here instead of making him wait?
That is our only hope and prayer at the moment.
I hate to be a pessimist and say I told you. So I won’t. But I think I just did.