Woman becomes advocate for husband's return

Before they were to be separated by thousands of miles, the last words her husband said to her were, "I love you. Have faith in God."

Linda Cedillos had turned the corner on her way home from dropping off her daughter, Victoria Morales, from school on Jan. 26. She hit the brakes when she saw black cars with ICE written on the side parked outside her house. Three agents wearing bullet-proof vests had positioned themselves around her property where her husband, Roberto Cedillos, lay sleeping.

When Linda read the letters branded across the black cars, her heart dropped. She knew the U.S. Immigration and Custom Enforcement, or ICE, agents had come to deport her husband back to Honduras. The next moments with Roberto would be her last.

According to Linda, the agents followed her up to the bedroom as she awoke her husband and watched him get dressed. After wondering whether they should post outside the back door in case Roberto tried to escape, the agents were surprised at the couple's cooperation.

"My husband is a Christian. He is not going out the window. He's going out the front door," Linda told the agents.

When Roberto arrived in the United States in 2005, he turned himself into ICE agents at the Dallas airport, seeking temporary protective status. Such status is granted to some immigrants who are unable to safely return to their homes. Though Roberto was not granted protective status, he was given permission to stay in the country on the condition that he would appear in court six months later.

"The court notice to appear gives you the opportunity to explain why you are here without inspection," said Dean Wanderer, Linda's immigration lawyer.

Roberto's failure to appear in court because he lost his court documents triggered his removal orders. Roberto moved to Virginia in 2006 and met Linda in 2007 when he worked at a restaurant in Dinwiddie County. After the couple was married in 2008, Linda paid $1,495 in fees to file paperwork in a bid to keep her husband in the country as a lawful permanent resident. Yet she did not know that those forms were useless because Roberto's removal orders remained. Instead, filing the forms in 2011 would have made ICE aware of his location, according to an ICE official.

Roberto was deported back to Honduras in March, two months after being detained in several ICE holding facilities.

Deported immigrants are typically given a five-year ban before they can attempt to re-enter the country. Roberto's ban was extended to 20 years after he was caught trying to re-enter the country illegally in July. Linda said that Roberto slept on trains and walked through the desert for five weeks to get back to her when she needed him.

"He's my life, and I'm his," Linda said. "I was having a partial hysterectomy at the time, and no woman wants to go through that without her husband."

Even though Roberto's successful return to Colonial Heights would have meant the family would go into hiding, Linda said she was glad he tried to get back to her.

Roberto, 31, now lives with his mother in Honduras in a one-room tin-roof house. He works as an industrial mechanic in a nearby factory, earning $2.30 per hour.

The majority of Linda's income from Right at Home, where she cares for the elderly, goes towards supporting Roberto and his mother, who both suffer from medical problems. Linda also helps support Roberto's daughter, who lives in Honduras, to go to private school.

But Linda does not think twice before she signs the checks and mails them to Honduras. For her, Roberto was a gift from God.

"Everybody that met him loves him. No one can believe that he was deported ... especially when there has been people here that have gotten DUIs, and they have been allowed to stay," she said.

Roberto's lack of a criminal record made Wanderer wonder why ICE was so intent to deport him.

"Normally, people that get in removal proceedings are those that are picked up for a crime. Roberto's case is remarkable in that he has no criminal record, he came to improve his lot in life, and Linda has been desperate to get him back," Wanderer said. "He is different in that I don't have to deal with traffic violations or alcohol-related offenses."

ICE officials did not respond to requests for information about this specific case.

ICE statistics indicate that Roberto was one of 174,880 non-criminal immigrant violators to be removed from the country by August 2012. Nearly 191,400 convicted criminal immigration violators were deported by ICE by August 2012.

Most days, Roberto, Linda and Victoria would attend Victoria's soccer games or go fishing at Lakeview Park. Roberto would take bag lunches to the homeless with Linda when she worked for the state health department and comfort 13-year-old Victoria, his stepdaughter, on nights that she would have nightmares.

In the four years that they were married, Linda drove her husband wherever he needed to go because he was not allowed to obtain a license.

"[The ICE agent] asked me why my husband and me never drove. And I told him because my husband didn't have a license. We were trying to do things the legal way, the right way," Linda said.

Her husband's deportation despite his lack of a criminal record, the fact that he turned himself in, and filing the appropriate forms has made Linda believe there is something wrong with the system.

"When you try to do the right thing then you are punished by your own government," she said. "The government has separated us, and it's not fair."

Roberto's failure to appear in court coupled with his attempt to re-enter the country illegally has made his chances of obtaining an immigrant visa slim. An immigrant visa would allow Roberto to travel to the United States and apply for permanent residency.

Because her husband's immigrant visa application will most likely be denied, Linda and her lawyer are submitting waivers to rescind Roberto's 20-year ban on the grounds that his removal has caused extreme hardship on an American citizen.

Every night, Linda holds Roberto's iPod up to her ear. She listens to a recording of him singing in Spanish to God to drown out the numbers in her head. In addition to the $10,000 in lawyer fees, Linda faces nearly $2,000 in waiver fees and thousands in doctor bills. Linda said that now that her daughter's stepfather is gone, Victoria suffers from migraines brought on by stress. Linda, 42, has moved back into her parent's house, and her things are packed away in a storage facility.

"People talk about how immigrants go on welfare and Medicaid. We weren't on Medicaid before, and we paid taxes," Linda said. "Now, I'm on Medicaid, I'm on food stamps."

And every day her husband lives in Honduras is another day Linda doesn't know if he will survive.

"Everybody says, at least he's not dead. But with death, you have closure. With my husband deported, I don't know what the future is going to hold," Linda said. "God didn't mean for it to be that way."

Linda said that even if she had the money to visit her husband in Honduras, she would not go because it is too dangerous. A week after Roberto returned to his mother's home, Linda said his friend was shot for refusing to join a gang. Gang violence and political turmoil caused the 158 Peace Corps volunteers to evacuate Honduras within weeks of Roberto returning to his home country.