To lay awake at night and wonder why it happened the way it did, and why I never got to say good-bye to the man I will always love will haunt me forever.
It seems like only yesterday I felt his skin against mine. It seems like yesterday I could smell his cologne that lingered in the air. It seems like yesterday that I saw that look in his eyes that informed the world that he loved me.
It seems like yesterday that he would wake up, shower, dress and make a fresh pot of coffee before waking me up with a kiss.
It seems like yesterday that he would call me at lunch time and ask me if the food was ready, so he could come home and have lunch with me.
It seems like yesterday that he would come home, plant a kiss on my cheek and tell me to get ready because he wanted to take me out to dinner.
The way he would whisper the silliest things in my ears to hear me giggle.
The way he would proudly hold my hand wherever we went.
The way he would do anything to make me happy after he upset me.
It seems like only yesterday that he would call out my name, from the living room to come watch TV with him.
Who would believe that it has been 14 years since I have heard his voice and smelled his cologne?
It seems like yesterday that I could talk to him whenever I chose too and not have a worry in the world.
It may seem odd that someone could have such love for a man that has become nothing more than a distant memory.
Growing up, the girls in my family were taught that when you get married, you start your marriage off based on trust, love and faith.
You see in my religion and culture, there was no boyfriend/girlfriend. You were raised to be a virgin until you wore the white wedding dress and the only man to touch you would be your husband.
So, I never knew what it was like to have a boyfriend and go out on dates, hold a guy’s hand or even what a kiss was.
I married at a very young age, and that was normal with my generation.
It was my first visit overseas, and it was customary for family, no matter how distant they are, to come and say hi.
That was when I met my first husband at the age of 14. He was just another guy that came to welcome me and my family to their country.
I never thought anything of it, as I was born and raised in the United States.
Even though I was in the country I identify by, yet I didn’t understand how the world worked there.
Apparently it was normal for a girl to get engaged and even married in her mid-teens.
In my religion and culture, if a man sees a woman he is interested in, he asks about her. If she is suitable for him, he proceeds to inform his mother of the woman he is interested in.
The man’s mother then calls the woman’s mother and arranges for a visit. The visit usually includes both mothers, the man and the young woman.
It is customary for the bride-to-be to be in attendance and is usually the one serving the hot tea, Turkish coffee and dessert.
It is at this point that the two may speak to each other and ask questions. Usually, after this meeting the two have made the decision on whether they want to continue or not.
If they chose to continue, then the father or the eldest male on each side have a sit–down, and the bride’s hand in marriage is requested.
It may seem weird or odd, but every culture has its rules and regulations, and this is how Palestinians go about on this matter.
Apparently when he visited the first time, I caught his attention and never lost it. I was on the same boat.
I will always remember that meeting, as he was shy and would steal glances whenever he could.
The time came and went and the family trip came to an end and we headed back to the states. My sister got engaged and was over the moon with excitement.
I never thought anything of anyone. It wasn’t until two years later, when my family and I went back overseas, for my sister’s wedding.
It was a couple of days after we landed back home that I saw him again.
When I saw him again, it was as if I had known him forever.
He insisted on coming to my uncle’s house every night. It is customary for anyone to stay with family if they are visiting from another country, hotels were not an option. He insisted that he just wanted to help with my sister’s wedding preparations.
Overseas, the way weddings are conducted are nowhere near the way weddings are conducted here.
There, the men would physically go to every family member’s home and hand deliver the wedding invitations. The invitations were usually super fancy and had the patriarch’s name written on it.
He went to the wedding hall with the groom and spoke to them about the desserts and drinks.
He even spoke to my father, so he could make sure that no one would ask for my hand in marriage. This I didn’t know until after I got married.
In a heartbeat, my sister was married and I was informed that there was a groom that wanted to marry me.
Apparently this man had his eyes glued on me during both nights of my sister’s nuptials. It was apparent to everyone there, except me, that he was focused on me and only me.
Everything after that was a whirlwind.
After asking my father for my hand in marriage, he requested we sit down alone and talk.
I never knew that I would sit down to talk to this man and walk out in love with him.
How could talking to someone for a couple of hours make me feel like I am floating on a cloud?
I was always the girl in the family that refused to take any nonsense from anyone. This was the girl that everyone swore would never marry because she was too tough.
I was always the girl in trouble for speaking my mind. The girl that never backed down.
How was it that this girl, who was always the tomboy of the family, had a 6’3, dark, man with green eyes that refused to marry anyone but her?
Everyone was shocked. Finally, was it true that the 5’11 tomboy was possibly getting engaged to be married?
Nobody wanted to believe it, at least until they saw her in the white wedding dress.
It all seems like a dream that evaporated into thin air.
I will always love him, no matter what. He will always hold my heart, mind and soul in the palm of his hand.
I know I will never love any other man the same way I love him.
The wedding came and went, as did the first year of marriage. Then the second, third, fourth and before the fifth anniversary the marriage flew off of a mountain top.
Every marriage has its ups and downs, as did my mine.
What hurt was the unnecessary involvement from both families. The constant bickering back and forth.
Neither family would sit down and just listen to their grown child.
It was always, “You don’t know what’s best for you,” or “It’s not up to you.”
Within a short period of time, we were both lost in a raging war between the families. He and I lost our voices, as the elders fought over every little detail.
Being forcefully removed from a home built on sweat, tears and love broke me mentally.
I lost the love of my life within the blink of an eye. The man I loved with every breath I take was gone.
I no longer knew what love was. I no longer knew what happiness was. I no longer knew what to live life was like.
Suicide was considered, as was physical harm. Food was not something that no longer was needed, a body with no soul.
It took two long, hard years to even begin to breathe.
Even though I moved on in life, I will always wonder why we didn’t fight harder, why we didn’t stand up to our families why we didn’t say enough is enough.
Fourteen years have been lost.
A vital piece of me gone forever, always needed, yet never to be found.
So many years have been lost, never to be found again. I wonder if he still loves me as I love him. What will happen from now on, only time will tell.
All I can do is struggle to stay afloat and try to forget.
