Estimated reading time: 5 minutes
We stumbled upon the topic as our conversation meandered on our walk. We had just climbed a hill, the trees straight as arrows shooting their green darts into the blue sky. Clouds skittered beyond them, moved by the winds of the breezy day.
I had met a blogger that day, of “A Frog in the Fjord” fame. When I asked her if she would be staying in Norway, she said she definitely would be - in fact she had just become a citizen.
“I think you can apply for citizenship after your next residency permit,” my husband responded. He had heard about the required years of residency from a colleague that was applying for Norwegian citizenship.
As he said the words it felt like the air left my lungs, vanished in surprise. We had been in Norway for three years and my permit was valid for three years. We calculated the date of arrival, April 19, 2018 and it was July 5, 2021! How could I have forgotten? What could I possibly say in explanation to immigration? I've been sleep deprived? I'm a new mom for the second time? Things have been hard lately?
I took over the stroller so my husband could Google on his phone. We began the descent down the other side of the steep hill, my heels digging into the dirt to counterbalance the pull of the stroller. It looked like overstaying my permit would require a return to the States for three months before returning to renew my permit.
On level ground again our thoughts rushed to the practicalities, I would take one child with me and he would have the other. How would he manage? How would I manage? Maybe it would be good for me to be back home? I could see my mom again after her recovery from a brain aneurysm last fall. It would be a relief not to have seasonal allergies in the Arizona desert. But I would miss my oldest sons fifth birthday! And my sister-in-laws long awaited wedding! Not to mention every day away from my husband and son.
Suddenly my surroundings felt surreal. I saw the split log fence lining the path, the summer flowers blooming wildly, and the shimmering waters of the lake and it all looked so Norwegian - so temporary and not mine. The Norwegian Department of State could banish me from this country at any moment. Being there at the waters edge I looked at the horizon of forest beyond the lake framed by the cloud-filled sky and I saw it for what it was, a grace.
I had somehow thought that because my husband had become a professor, that I was in Norway permanently now. But my life in Norway with my husband and sons was as fragile as a slip of the mind, as flimsy as a forgotten resident permit.
I took my son in my arms and held him on a rock near the water so he could splash in the refreshing waters. I tried to push thoughts of immigration away, to be fully aware of his joy, knowing that this could be one of our last days at the waters edge.
When we were ready to go, my husband held out a blanket for our son. As I transferred our boy into his arms I thought of the sadness they would feel being apart. We were a family about to be separated.
We reasoned that there must be a grace period, but then we reasoned that there probably wasn't. Our future hung in the balance as we rushed up another steep incline, shaded with thick forest and brimming with mosquitoes, through a colorful schoolyard, then back along the familiar streets to our home.
Inside, I didn't bother removing my shoes as I rushed to the hutch and retrieved my passport where my residency permit was tucked safely inside. I scanned it for the expiration date. I read in disbelief: 20.10.2021. I restated it cautiously aloud in the US manner, October 20, 2021! I exhaled in relief. I verified it with my husband. We couldn't understand it, but it had not yet expired! In fact it was the perfect time to renew, just over three months ahead of time.
I felt a bit dizzy from the reorientation I had taken in just over an hour. At the wind whipped waters, my consciousness was twirled about in a surprise twist, allowing me to see how I had foolishly taken my life in Norway for granted. As I imagined my deportation, something shifted inside me. I suddenly, genuinely, absolutely knew that living here is a privilege. This is where my beloveds are, and I'm certain that that it is where I want to be too.
We stumbled upon the topic as our conversation meandered on our walk. We had just climbed a hill, the trees straight as arrows shooting their green darts into the blue sky. Clouds skittered beyond them, moved by the winds of the breezy day.
I had met a blogger that day, of “A Frog in the Fjord” fame. When I asked her if she would be staying in Norway, she said she definitely would be - in fact she had just become a citizen.
“I think you can apply for citizenship after your next residency permit,” my husband responded. He had heard about the required years of residency from a colleague that was applying for Norwegian citizenship.
As he said the words it felt like the air left my lungs, vanished in surprise. We had been in Norway for three years and my permit was valid for three years. We calculated the date of arrival, April 19, 2018 and it was July 5, 2021! How could I have forgotten? What could I possibly say in explanation to immigration? I've been sleep deprived? I'm a new mom for the second time? Things have been hard lately?
I took over the stroller so my husband could Google on his phone. We began the descent down the other side of the steep hill, my heels digging into the dirt to counterbalance the pull of the stroller. It looked like overstaying my permit would require a return to the States for three months before returning to renew my permit.
On level ground again our thoughts rushed to the practicalities, I would take one child with me and he would have the other. How would he manage? How would I manage? Maybe it would be good for me to be back home? I could see my mom again after her recovery from a brain aneurysm last fall. It would be a relief not to have seasonal allergies in the Arizona desert. But I would miss my oldest sons fifth birthday! And my sister-in-laws long awaited wedding! Not to mention every day away from my husband and son.
Suddenly my surroundings felt surreal. I saw the split log fence lining the path, the summer flowers blooming wildly, and the shimmering waters of the lake and it all looked so Norwegian - so temporary and not mine. The Norwegian Department of State could banish me from this country at any moment. Being there at the waters edge I looked at the horizon of forest beyond the lake framed by the cloud-filled sky and I saw it for what it was, a grace.
I had somehow thought that because my husband had become a professor, that I was in Norway permanently now. But my life in Norway with my husband and sons was as fragile as a slip of the mind, as flimsy as a forgotten resident permit.
I took my son in my arms and held him on a rock near the water so he could splash in the refreshing waters. I tried to push thoughts of immigration away, to be fully aware of his joy, knowing that this could be one of our last days at the waters edge.
When we were ready to go, my husband held out a blanket for our son. As I transferred our boy into his arms I thought of the sadness they would feel being apart. We were a family about to be separated.
We reasoned that there must be a grace period, but then we reasoned that there probably wasn't. Our future hung in the balance as we rushed up another steep incline, shaded with thick forest and brimming with mosquitoes, through a colorful schoolyard, then back along the familiar streets to our home.
Inside, I didn't bother removing my shoes as I rushed to the hutch and retrieved my passport where my residency permit was tucked safely inside. I scanned it for the expiration date. I read in disbelief: 20.10.2021. I restated it cautiously aloud in the US manner, October 20, 2021! I exhaled in relief. I verified it with my husband. We couldn't understand it, but it had not yet expired! In fact it was the perfect time to renew, just over three months ahead of time.
I felt a bit dizzy from the reorientation I had taken in just over an hour. At the wind whipped waters, my consciousness was twirled about in a surprise twist, allowing me to see how I had foolishly taken my life in Norway for granted. As I imagined my deportation, something shifted inside me. I suddenly, genuinely, absolutely knew that living here is a privilege. This is where my beloveds are, and I'm certain that that it is where I want to be too.