I started writing a book…oh, about 2 years ago. Back when I started my first blog. And…I just STOPPED. Like I do for everything. But this has been tugging at me. This project. Because it needs to be finished. I go back and read it, every so often. And I think to myself…it’s good. It’s really good. But…woman…get on the ball. Finish it. Tell your story. So I think I’m going to start doing a chapter a week. And I’m going to post it, every Sunday. And maybe one day…I’ll actually finish this…journey.
It was a perfect June day. An absolute ideal day for my wedding. The sun was shining warmly. Gentle summer breezes softly embracing and caressing me. This was the day. The day I was to become part of a union of body and soul. The day that every girl waits her whole life for.
The hotel where the event was to take place was the storybook setting for the fairytale wedding. The band we had hired was exactly the one that I had so desperately wanted. The floral centerpieces were filled with exotic flowers arranged elaborately. Everything appeared to be perfect. So, why did it all seem so surreal? Why, despite the warmth of the air, was I chilled to the bone?
Pre-nuptial vow jitters, I kept telling myself. There is nothing to be nervous about. This boy. No, this man, who was to become my husband, he offered me, potentially, everything that I would need to lead a fulfilled life. We enjoyed each others company, on the most part. He came from a very fine, well-to-do family. My life and the lives of my future children would be financially secure. I was gaining an entire family. Brothers and sister-in-laws, nieces and nephews. Another mother.
Life should be, would be, wonderful. Yet, why am I facing this day like I’m meeting my doom? Like I should run through the front doors and get as far away from this place as I can. My heart, it keeps dropping into my stomach. During the picture taking, I can barely muster a smile without feeling as if I am going to break into tears. Is this really how one feels on their wedding day? I keep looking at Michael, who seems so excited and truly happy. Completely opposite from how I am feeling. He looks at me with a large, sheepish grin on his face. I fake a, hopefully, realistic smile back at him..hoping my eyes don’t give me away.
My whole body is shaking inside.
Maybe, just maybe, I am feeling like this because I haven’t eaten yet. All of my friends who were married before me, they warned me that I needed to remember to eat. Maybe this is why.
Or, maybe, I know something that I just don’t want to admit to myself. Something that I should have realized and admitted to, before this day even arrived. Maybe I really don’t want to marry Michael for who he is. Perhaps I was too blinded by what he, materialistically, had to offer. And to please my parents…who thought of him as a son. I am not marrying someone that I am in love with. I am marrying someone who is more like a brother. That thought fills me with guilt. Yet, I’m going to go forward with this wedding, I am going to say “I do”, and live the life that I have committed to. I will learn to deal with what it is I am feeling. I am sure that Michael will gain some maturity. That he will pull away from his mother, once we are married. I can only hope because, it’s too late to call this off.
So, I take a deep breath. The doors open, announcing the bride. The guests pivot in their seat to catch a glimpse of me, the bride. Michael is at the chupah, waiting, tears streaming down his beaming face.
I start the bridal march towards him. My parents meet me half way. My dad raises my veil, looks at me with pride and kisses both my cheeks. They are so pleased by my choice. They have no idea what he is really like or how I truly feel. They finish the walk to the chupah, with me, giving Michael my hand.
I realize that I have made my bed. Now, I have to lie in it.