Friday, May 26, 2006

A Million LIttle Wishes

Today the fluff fell from the trees and it looked like it was snowing.

No, not snowing, because that's what a person from down South would say. They only see light snowfalls. I've seen the blizzards, so I can't say that it was like snow.

It was like a giantic dandelion was blown and all the seeds went flying through the air hoping for a soft place to land. It wasn't dandelion seeds though. I think it was cottonwood, but the seeds carried the same message, "Please accept me and let me grow."
I stood there after the call from my kids' father. He has them now. I can't offer them enough at this time. Their father wanted to tell me, "They are not going to be allowed at your house as long as he is there. He has gotten too angry too many times and the kids are scared of him."
My son had told him, "Dad, I've got an analogy." He got the idea of analogies from me. "It's like their house is full of gas and us kids are the matches. I'm not sure what's going to set it off."
Part of it is the whole Arab way of talking with lots of volume and gestures. Part of it is true. My husband has gone past the limit of being civil to two children who need a place to feel safe.
Standing in the street, with all that whiteness swirling, I thought of how I used to try to catch them, hold them in my hand, make a wish and let them go. It seemed as if all the wishes were coming to me and asking me to pick one. Pick one wish. Which one would I pick?
That my husband and I survive his infidelity wrapped in polygamy?
That I don't have to give up my children?
That my faith grows through torment?
My husband had gone to a different masjid. I had called him en route to tell of the news from the kids' dad. He doesn't see his part in it. He doesn't see how he was wrong."If you have to pick between me and the kids, choose your kids. I'll be fine " he said.
I had brought the baby alone to the masjid where I said, "shahaddah." Everything had been changed and I couldn't find my way. Where were the women praying? Not the first floor. Not the second floor. When I did find the women, the door to the prayer hall was locked. I stood in the hallway with all the shoes and prayed. Alone. Me and my baby alone.
Afterward, I went to see the sheik who is working with me now. The other sheik from Iraq, who knows the story so well, doesn't speak English enough to understand me without a translator. This new sheik can communicate, although we didn't talk much today since he was surrounded by men. When I did get called up to talk, I only got out a few words and started to cry. He ushered me to his office and I stood there. Alone. I wiped my tears and left without saying another word. I couldn't risk crying infront of all the men again. I left with my gaze downward and I headed back into the heat of the day.
It was then that I stood on the street with a million little wishes floating by and I didn't know which to take.

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