From Heart Ache to Peace and Freedom
I have been there. Shattered and in pieces, sad and lonely, lost and afraid. How did I get there? What choices did I make that led me down that path? What was I going to do to change my life around?
I am not talking about drug addiction or an eating disorder. I was not in trouble with the law or hiding from the mob. I AM talking about being married to a man who was a polygamist and not knowing until after the wedding.
He was a nice guy, with a good sense of humour and not too bad looking. He liked to surprise me with little gifts and expensive wine. He was a chef too and enjoyed cooking for me. I do not know of any woman who would not find that a positive trait. We fell in love quickly and he surprised me one day with a ring. It was like a fairy tale romance!! I was so excited for our future together. As I was making out the wedding invitations I asked my man if his parents would come to the wedding. He looked nervous, fidgety and turned beet red. “What is the matter”? I asked. “I think it is time to meet my family”, he said. “Yes I think it is” was my response.
My fiance phoned and made arrangements to visit his family the next Sunday. He had told me a bit about what to expect when we arrived. He sad there was an older woman there that they called granny. Ok, I thought, his grandmother lives with his parents, no problem. What I found when we arrived gave me shivers to the bone!! We were welcomed inside his parents’ home, escorted to the couch and invited to sit down. There were 8 boys and 5 girls there, all of varying ages. All the girls were dressed in dresses and covered from wrist to neck to ankle. All the dresses were made of the same fabric and they all had their hair long and braided. All the boys were dressed alike as well. They wore country style, plaid, home-made shirts and matching home-made pants. It was eerie! Then in walked his mom and dad. What a surprise that was!
His dad was old enough to be my grandfather! He was old and gray and wrinkled. He dressed like an old man, with pants that were home-made and too short, same kind of shirt as the boys and suspenders to hold up his pants. His mom was pretty and the right age for his mother. She had a gentle smile and was meek and quiet. His parents sat down on chairs in front of the couch, and they were in the middle of all the other chairs that were in a semi-circle in front of us. I felt like I was being interrogated. Question after question came my way. “Do you love my son?” “What are your intentions?” To say I was uncomfortable was an understatement.
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