Monthly Archives: May 2012

Invisible as Air


This will probably end up being a very transparent post for me.  I can’t help but be what I am, and right now I am completely vulnerable.  I guess it really doesn’t matter how vulnerable I get here anyway, considering hardly anyone reads this blog (lol).

I got a new set of glasses yesterday. After I got the call that they were in, I was very thankful.  I had wanted them to arrive before I take my trip to California next week, but considering that would allow less than two weeks from the time the order was placed it was a stretch I would get my wish.  Usually it takes 3-4 weeks for me to get my new glasses, but it was a wish I had nonetheless.  When it actually “came true”, I thanked Allah.  Then I thought, if Allah is eager and willing to grant me such simple wishes, what makes me think He will abandon me in the major things? It was a thought I tried very hard to hold on to, to build more faith into, but I have not succeeded.

If I were to look back at all of my life so far, I would say there have been four times that were the most painful:

1. Being infertile at age 21, fearful that I would never bear children and never know why

2. Losing my daughter

3. Being sued for custody of my two older children (right after losing my daughter) by my ex husband, and the court letting him keep them for the two years those suits played out while grieving the loss of my daughter.

4. Now.

I can usually measure how bad my pain is by how much I think I need to do to counter it.  With “average” pain, I can sit in it until it passes.  These four events are extreme pain, and sitting in it would be debilitating. It would render me useless and dysfunctional.

When I was going through court, there was a lot I could do to work on getting my kids back. Those tasks kept me busy, and those sacrifices paid off.  My kids came back.

When I lost my daughter, I sheltered myself in my husband’s arms.  He and I braved it together, and before long we had another child to build our future dreams upon.

When I was infertile, that was a bit harder. It being my first shock of true testing and pain, my first real freefall, I didn’t manage so well. I tried to lose myself in sin thinking it would cover the ache, but it never did. Nothing seemed do, until I was able to get pregnant with Clomid.

Now, with this current issue, I am doing things I’ve never done before, or at least not in years.  I have been fasting every day since the beginning of rajab, saying all kinds of salawat, astaghfir, names of Allah, and for the first time in months praying ALL my salats.  I have been going to the gym in my complex every day after work to work out for 45 min (yes, before maghrib comes in!).  I am doing all of this, hoping against hope, that Allah will grant us a miracle, because at this point it would take nothing short of that. Even with all of those efforts, the pain remains like a fixed coal in my chest.  The fear lingers in the corners of my mind like a taunting spectre.

So what is it then, that is causing this crisis? What is this freefall that inspired this blog? I know I’ve aluded to it before, that my family is at risk of being broken up, my husband at risk of being parted from me.  I know none of it makes sense to anyone except me, the one who carries the details of its reality into each day with wearying resignation.

In three weeks, my husband will be pleading “not guilty” to a felony he didn’t commit.  He will be defending himself against a case which is merely built upon an administrative detail pertaining to his whereabouts during a 3 day period.  If the powers that be had so wanted, they could have chalked it up to a mere misunderstanding and let this go. Instead they pursued charges against him, the conviction of which could have him spending the next 30 years in prison….a place where he already spent the first 10 years of his adult life and has vowed never to return to.

Those are the nuts and bolts, and the details are numerous and exhaustive.  If I hadn’t lived the last 6 years with him seeing how things were shaping up around the type of laws that are now being applied against him, I would have hope.  As it stands right now, a “not guilty” plea will lend to a trial, a trial my husband will ensure he never attends.  He would rather disappear than take the chance of losing his freedom, wrongfully, again.  I can’t blame him. I know first hand what the first go did to him, and how much he has worked to distance himself from those traumas.  A second round would break him. I love him, I don’t want to see him broken.  So I hope the best for him when he disappears.

I don’t know what life will look like after that. I am sure I can manage the details somehow. I worry more about him, hoping he is able to make a way for himself somehow because what has happened is already so unfair.  It’s incredible what great lengths society and law enforcement will go to just to prevent a man who committed a terrible crime 20 years ago, as a 17 year old kid, from having any type of decent life thereafter.  I hope he finds the freedom he has been kept from here.

As for me, I will go back to being a ghost.  Invisible to all before I met him, and invisible to all after. He was the only one to see the real me, to love me, validate me, understand me.  I would have wished for more than 9 years of truly feeling alive, but at least I had the 9. I will have to adapt back to my comings and goings being breezes and shadows, and my voice merely words on a page.


Sliding Down Again


I didn’t care about the burns the salty, hot fries were searing into my tongue; I kept methodically delivering them into my mouth.  I didn’t care about the tediously slow drivers in front of me; I followed them at their pace with a distracted mind.  I didn’t care about the haraam Burger King cheeseburgers awaiting their consumption in the bag to my right; they offered nominal comfort against the blow received.

All I cared about was the fact that another lurch toward a frightening future had shifted me again into the freefall.

I suppose I may have gotten too comfortable with hope, to familiar with faith.  I suppose I leaned too easily on the dream that everything could, and will, work out toward a tidy resolution.  I suppose the protective elapsing of days, weeks, months….hypnotized me into a false sense of security; the shattering awakening from which could not be penetrated by incessant oral cauterization.

Two days later and the burns on my tongue have healed, but the certainty in my heart continues to list.  Today I am feeling that this pain is nothing more than a novelty; a scene change to challenge my sense of adventure.  That tells me that the pain is too great, indeed. I don’t run from pain, so if I am feeling effusively welcoming toward a tragic end to my present security it means that the thought of loss will devastate me.

Yet that’s what I’m doing, again.  Looking at plans B and C and telling myself that they aren’t so bad, and could be enjoyable.  I convince myself so thoroughly that I start to believe I would rather have these outcomes, than the one I spent the last 9 years of my life investing in.  The one I have put nothing short of my life, reputation, and heart on the line for.

So I tell myself, I don’t really want a house. I don’t really want to live the rest of my life with my husband, and have my children know what an intact family is for the rest of their childhoods. I tell myself I never really cared about touring the world and country with him, and all of our past inside jokes and epic moments of bonding were insignificant and meaningless.  I tell myself that I would be happier on my own or with someone else entirely. I tell myself every lie to contradict 9 years of hearfelt and sacrificial truth.

As the world continues to sway,  and as I continue to slide- though clutching gravel and dust- off of another cliff, I believe the delusions befored my tightly closed eyes.  I believe they will keep me from falling, and from hurting.  And while I believe, and manically conjure more dreams to distract me, something deep inside tells me that all of this existence is an illusion anyway, even the fall.