When I tell my daughters that their mother was amazing, I am not sure they grasp the magnitude of her stature. They tell me, “Yes dad, we know,” but I want them to understand the steel in her soul.
I remember the day I saw Christina for the first time. it was in the halls of the chemistry department at Simon Fraser University. We both entered a long hallway at the same time, walking in opposite directions in our white lab coats. We had the opportunity to take a good look at each other. When we passed, our eyes crossed. She kept walking without turning, but I looked back to see her disappear into one of the laboratories. I thought, “Wow, I do not have a remote chance with that girl!”
Years later, after we reunited in Vancouver, she told me she had thought the same: "He is going to make a woman very happy one day." She said she had no idea it was going to be her.
In 1993, after I received an ultimatum letter from Canada Immigration, I was left with no option but to escape to the United States to avoid deportation and possible imprisonment in Cuba for being a "traitor" of some relevance. The problem was the logistics. I had stopped working for months and had burned through my savings. Christina was an SFU student; though she offered to help me financially, I would not accept her funds. I eventually requested assistance from a relative in the US.
With the deadline approaching in the second week of September, I was consumed by stress. All I had were ill-conceived thoughts about crossing the border undetected. When I presented my ideas to Christina, she was blunt: “You will be caught, you will be deported, and I am not going to visit you in a prison in Cuba. Forget that nonsense and listen.”
Christina’s plan was simple and involved no fence-jumping or midnight runs through unprotected fields. Her plan was to cross right under the noses of the border guards.
First, we secured a plane ticket from Washington State to Florida. It was Labor Day weekend; flights were booked to the maximum and cost a mint. My relative secured a seat for September 3rd out of Bellingham International Airport. The escape was set in motion.
Christina wanted to rehearse so nothing would be left to chance. Her plan utilized Peace Arch Park, right next to the border crossing. She would take me to a transit stop where I would board a public bus to the park, disconnecting my arrival from her car. She would arrive first, walk to the American side, and select a picnic table. When I arrived on the Canadian side, I would walk toward the American bathrooms, then meet her at the table. Sitting face-to-face, we each had a view of the other’s back—observing and recording.
We rehearsed the exit, too. I would walk south, then double back west toward the sea as if returning to Canada, just to test the movements. On the actual day, however, I would keep walking south, exit the parking lot, and wait for her at a nearby diner.
The first rehearsal on September 1st went flawlessly, but Christina was unsatisfied. “We screwed up the time," she told me in the parking lot. "Look at the clock; you would have missed your flight. We are coming back tomorrow.”
On September 2nd, every second was readjusted: the pickup, the bus, the time in the park. This rehearsal was like a clock. On the way home, we were silent. When she dropped me off, she said, “Be ready tomorrow real early, so we can spend a few more minutes together.”
On September 3rd, we spent a lovely, mostly silent morning in White Rock. As we headed for the bus stop, there were tears, but we quickly jumped into our rehearsed sequence. We were focused on the job.
When it was time for me to leave the park, we were not emotional. I started to walk south without looking back, but to this day, I feel her eyes burning into my back. I walked as if I had done it a million times. I turned, the diner came into view, and I ordered a coffee.
That was the deepest I had ever been on US soil. I felt like screaming, I was free! Then, I saw that sweet face with the biggest smile. She sat for a moment, held my hands, and whispered, “Let’s go. It is time, and we are not home free yet.”
The miles to the airport were the longest of my life. Every passing patrol car felt like a threat. At the airport, we had a few extra minutes. I had nothing but the clothes on my back, $200, and a pair of sunglasses. When they announced my flight, we fused together in a hug so intense that people around us stared.
Before boarding, I gave Christina my sunglasses. I told her, “You keep them. You look really mean and hot wearing them!”
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