I've never believed in love at first sight. Or being struck by lightning, as the expression goes in French. So it shouldn't be surprising that the fireworks weren't immediate when I met my wife.
To be fair, I didn't actually see much of anything the night Brooke and I met. The power was out, it was quite dark and I wasn't paying much attention. I'm used to my parents hosting visitors, so I came out to greet her out of politeness, then went right back to relaxing in the comfort of my bedroom.
And we all know that "love at second sight" isn't a thing. Other than thinking she seemed nice, my first impression of Brooke boils down to a single word: intimidating.
The first few days we were around each other, Brooke's eyes trained on me like the laser dot of a sharpshooter's rifle. Even when I would catch her eye, it was usually me who would look away first, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact. At first, I had figured she was just another girl appreciating the view. For some reason, I've had more than my fair share of gawking girls staring at me with hearts in their eyes. Some guys probably like that kind of thing. Me? I mostly find it uncomfortable and well, boring.
But I quickly realized this discomfort was different. Brooke's gaze was different. She wasn't just looking at me, she was looking in me. Other girls looked at me like they were hungry for a snack. Brooke looked at me like she was starving for answers. Her stare carried a challenge I'd never faced before.
Maybe that's why I tried to impress her by speaking English when I picked her up for her second weekend with my family. I couldn't really tell you why I wanted to impress her, but I can tell you that I crashed and burned. She didn't seem to understand what I was trying to say and didn't have much to say in response. We both kept it zipped for the rest of the taxi ride to my house.
Actually, we avoided talking to each other for the next 24 hours. On my end, now that I was aware of her background, I was worried about saying the wrong thing and not being able to express myself well. What could I possibly say to such an intelligent and accomplished woman?
The fear melted away completely when we did finally start to speak to each other. Everything just started to click into place for me over a few hours at my dining room table on that sunny Sunday afternoon. It's funny to me that this single conversation would change so much for both of us. Somewhere between sharing music and stories about our lives and past relationships, Brooke had her "unicorn moment" and I was having a defining moment of my own.
I'd been on a bit of a quest to settle down since getting home from my mission, but despite dating a few different girls, I was feeling like things weren't really going anywhere. I just couldn't seem to find the right woman. A bizarre sense of familiarity grew in me that afternoon as conversation flowed free and easy between us. A promise from my patriarchal blessing began running laps in my mind: "When you meet your wife, you will recognize her."
I'm not saying I was instantly convinced, but it definitely caught my notice and opened the door of possibility.
I'd felt the flicker of connection that had passed between us in the little road in front of my house earlier that afternoon. As we walked with the little girl betwen us, it didn't escape my notice that we looked like parents with their child. I was reminded of a dream I'd had as a child, of being married to a white woman, and it brought a smile to my lips. I didn't outright deny it when neighbours asked "is that your wife?" after Brooke had gone inside.
Though it didn't have the same mind-numbing effect on me as it had on her, I also felt something akin to a static shock when I placed my hand on Brooke's back to guide her across the street to the cybercafe the following day. The gesture had come naturally from an inexplicable urge and desire to protect her. Inside, I got quite the kick out of watching her panic over her login screen. When she finally remembered her password, I jokingly asked if she'd give it to me and was stunned when she seemed ready to hand it over, with nothing more than a request not to read her Facebook messages. I was baffled and touched that she seemed — again, inexplicably — so ready to place her trust in me.
When Brooke left Cameroon that night, I didn't have any expectations. Both of us were technically dating other people. Still, the warmth and familiarity of her parting hug played on my mind, along with that line from my patriarchal blessing. I had to at least send a message!
Soon, we were talking nearly every day. The more I got to know her, the more I felt like she might just be the right woman for me. I was comfortable and captivated, never bored, never wanting to leave our conversations. If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I'm not particularly talkative. In fact, I really like my solitude and my own company more than just about anyone else's. But with Brooke, it was just so simple. The exchange of knowledge and feelings that we shared was unlike anything I'd experienced in previous relationships.
As much as Brooke says she chased me, I was the first to write. The first to call. The first to initiate a video chat. Even the first to say "I love you". Honestly, I don't remember the specifics. I certainly hadn't explicitly planned on saying it. I just know all of a sudden I felt it, and once I did, I had to say it.
Brooke has alluded to our dark period and truthfully, it was a very difficult time. When we are hurt, sometimes the feeling of protection pushes us to want to overlook what we might know to be true. For a moment I doubted our relationship, but I knew Brooke was meant to be my wife. From the moment I had discovered the beauty and goodness of her heart, I knew she held my happiness. I knew I could trust the confirmation I'd gotten through my patriarchal blessing.
As for the proposal, I didn't really plan it. It had crossed my mind to do it at several points, but it made me so nervous. It's not like I'd ever proposed before. Even though we had talked at length about marriage and had big plans together, I couldn't consider it a given until I had asked outright. It wasn't until Brooke said yes that I really allowed myself to imagine the rest of our lives together.
I would have loved to have been able to ask for her dad's blessing before proposing; that was important to me. But that kind of question also feels like something too important to do over the phone or email. I didn't feel like that showed enough respect for the magnitude of my request. In my culture, a dowry is also customary and it felt odd not to go through that process. A dowry has become seen as a bit of a commercial transation and even condemned as objectification in the West, but to me the original intent represents something beautiful: a statement to the bride of how much you value her and a symbol of gratitude to her parents for the love and time they invested in raising her to be the woman that she is.
As it turns out, I asked for my inlaw's blessing in a hotel room just a couple of days before the wedding, shortly after meeting them face to face for the first time. You may think it was little more than a formality at that point, but no matter how I felt about Brooke, I couldn't have gone through with the wedding if I didn't have her parents' blessing. Let's just say I'm pretty grateful they were on board!
I know our wedding day was a paradox for Brooke — happiness and sorrow wound together. The most stressful thing for me was getting reports from the family friends who were checking in on her throughout the morning, hearing that she was struggling and knowing that I couldn't do anything in the meantime to comfort her.
The stress was certainly having an impact on my bladder. I had to leave several times during the hours we spent waiting in separate vehicles in front of city hall. When the moment finally came to go inside, I had to go again. So while my bride proceeded inside, I ran off with my uncle to look for a place to relieve myself. The funny thing is, I don't think Brooke ever realized what was happening but several other people assumed I was making a run for it.
When I finally got inside and got to see her, I was absolutely dazzled; blown away by the image of her in her dress and headpiece. She was truly magnificent. The glow in her eyes and the smile she wore showed me how truly happy she was in that moment, and it perfectly reflected the joy I felt knowing she was almost my wife. I was on the verge of tears through our whole ceremony.
I now appreciate what it must have been like for Brooke to completely lose her train of thought in the cybercafe that time because I had a moment like that at our wedding reception. I was excited to sing for Brooke, a song I know inside out. But that night, when she took my hand and looked deep into my eyes, the lyrics vanished in a puff. I couldn't remember a single word. But it didn't phase me. I didn't care about my performance. My only concern was to be entirely in the moment. Nothing had ever felt as good as the love and happiness reflected in my wife's glittering eyes and I knew I always wanted to be the one to put that look on her face.
It's these precious memories, along with the ones from our sealing, that help me get through these terrible, long months of waiting. It's now been almost seven months since I've had the occasion to hold my wife in my arms, and patience has taken on new meaning in our lives. Every day it hurts to be apart, and the ache never diminishes, but I think for the most part we're bearing it well. Every special occasion and season that passes, we think hopefully "this will be our last blank apart" and pray mightily that it's true.
I have heard it said that nothing worth having comes easy and if that's the case, I suppose we should take comfort in the fact that this is easily one of the hardest things either of us has or will ever have to do. I know we're worth the wait.
No comments:
Post a Comment