Prairie Bride

When I think of it, the circumstances of my marriage to my American husband were pretty strange, for being considered normal. Michael and I met in graduate school in Austin, Texas. We were married by a Justice of the Peace there, in blue jeans, on a hot day, July 10, 1986. There was no reception, no friends, no bridal bouquet. We went and had some Mexican food, just the two of us, and one of Michael's room mates took just one picture with a Polaroid camera. After dating 16 months, we were married and graduated from UT the following semester, January 1987. After spending 11 years in the US on student visas, I was now married to an American  citizen. The citizenship process could now start. Seven years later, on September 29th, 1994, I was sworn in as an American citizen, in Seattle, Washington, in the presence of my husband and our two year old son, Nicholas, who was born in Olympia, Washington, where we had been living since 1988. Our son will be 21 this July, and we will be celebrating 27 years of marriage this year. One of the most challenging aspects of my marriage, that is warm and happy, are the persistence of long stretches of isolation, in spite of valiant efforts to the contrary. Being gregarious in nature, it is challenging to be married to an exceedingly solitary person, with very little connections to his family. My own family was decimated in a war of intrigue and lies and betrayal, so, I have no family left apart from a brother in Texas whom I have not seen in 15 years. That, of course, does not help, when you are a first generation immigrant trying to establish roots in a different world. Yet, there have been periods, off and on, of close and good times with dear friends, but the destruction of my family, all of whom were living in the US, in Georgia and Texas, combined with a basically indifferent family of in laws, certainly has been hard. After the deaths of both my sisters, and both my parents, in the span of just 8 years, I found, with the help of my husband, a good therapist, and she encouraged me to follow my dream to start writing, a dream I had since high school. That helped, because now I have a voice. I can share my story. It is still hard some days to shake the hurt of isolation, but this prairie bride, emotionally speaking, now has a way to get her story out. Becoming an immigrant certainly did not make my life easier, economically, socially, culturally or intellectually. But, it has made for an interesting life. I know and understand things now about life and people I would never have dreamed about knowing or understanding had I remained in Belgium. I would not have become a member of a black Baptist church, of which I have been a member her in town for 19 years now. I would not have known the strength and hope and joy I have found there at the hands of a very wise Pastor. I would not have become a black belt at age 45, under the grueling training of a ninth degree Korean Grandmaster. I would not understand firsthand the political complexities of this unique country, or wept with pride and joy having voted for the first black President and seen him being sworn into office. I would not have my American son, bright, funny, talented, towering over me at 6 foot 7, showing in his features both his European and Native American blood. I would not be who I am today, strong, resilient, determined, upbeat in spite of some overwhelming odds, my heart full of stories with a unique perspective, having been born from Flemish - French parents in Belgium and having lived in the US now for 37 years. If I had to carry the silence of one who sees things she often had no one to share with, I also have  the ability to share it now, with you, who are reading this story, and in that ability and knowledge, I am finally becoming my own person, finally becoming free, at 55, to be me.