Our lovely, unforgettable wedding night was spent
overlooking the ocean.
We were back in America, the Land of the Free.
A new life awaited us.
The end of my required time out of the US arrived. It was August of 1984. Hawaii was our last stop, and we decided to visit friends there before we headed to the mainland. Abdul had not been to Hawaii; I had been there one other time, shortly before going to Saudi Arabia. It was my kind of weather. The palm trees swayed, the temperate and gentle ocean waves warmed my soul. It was my favorite tropical paradise. We went sightseeing in Honolulu, visited Pearl Harbor, snorkeled, hiked a rain forest, and ate fresh pineapple and shaved-ice snow cones with neon-colored sugary toppings. Hawaii was a place I could live, but California was calling our names.
In California at last, I was ready to nest with my family. I was small for being six and a half months along in my pregnancy; and, other than the almost four months of pregnancy-induced sickness I’d experienced, traveling pregnant had not deterred us from doing all we’d wanted to do. Abdul was extremely supportive of my condition, and I loved the hormonal metabolic high of being pregnant. Other than a few crazy, emotional, scary hiccups at the beginning of our honeymoon, we had had a wonderful time bonding. Our love had grown, and we were learning to work out our differences through talking and compromising. We were extremely ready to get settled into our new home and have our baby.
A nurse friend of mine, Ginny, did my prenatal check. I had not had any prenatal care since leaving Saudi Arabia. As a nurse, I felt comfortable in knowing I would have sought medical attention if something had not felt right. Everything was going well, except, for the first time in my life, I was told to gain more weight. I had only gained twelve pounds.
Our wedding day in California was August 9, 1984, the same day as my oldest brother’s birthday. My father and four of my siblings joined us to celebrate our blissful union. My mother chose not to come, as she had just vacationed with us. This disappointed and saddened me. Why would she not want to come see her daughter get married? Wounded, I accepted this and tried not to let it overshadow our joy and happiness. My family chose to camp at a local state park in the Redwoods. Camping was something we had enjoyed as kids; it was not too expensive, and it gave us something fun to do. Abdul and I joined my family in camping for a couple of nights before our wedding. He camped in his nice pants and shirt and wore one of his fancy watches. We had not traveled with camping clothes, but I noticed the irony. What a drastic difference: I was raised with only one inexpensive Timex watch, not a whole briefcase full of valuable ones.
The weather on the northern Pacific coast can be quite unpredictable, but our wedding day was gorgeous—warm and sunny with not a cloud in the sky. The ocean, many shades of blue-green, glittered like diamonds, with the powerful sounds of roaring waves spitting puffs of white sea mist through the large holes in the boulders of our picturesque backdrop.
There was instant affection when Abdul and our officiant, my friend Tom, were introduced. They were opposites of each other. Tom was taller, with broad shoulders, and his rugged blue jeans and T-shirt were hidden under the long, royal-blue velvet robe he wore. He had long, wavy, graying hair tied in a ponytail down his back; very wild, bushy, untamed eyebrows; and an untrimmed beard to his chest. His appearance was in stark contrast to Abdul’s more manicured style and smaller stature. He was a very handsome man, my prince.
About thirty close friends and family were present to celebrate our union on this incredible summer day at the seaside, my favorite place in the world. One close girlfriend and her husband played their guitars and sang a love song they wrote for our special day. My sister read a passage from “The Prophet,” written in 1923 by Kahlil Gibran, an American Lebanese poet.
“On Marriage”
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.
Tom performed an uplifting nontraditional ceremony uniting our love and gave a blessing to our baby. The moment we longed for in Cypress had finally come to fruition: You may now kiss your bride. I’m honored to pronounce you husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. . . .
In a small town near the Pacific Ocean our reception followed, with a potluck dinner and live music. We laughed and danced the night away. Abdul had suggested that everyone wear nametags at the reception. I laughed at what seemed quite strange to me, but I understood this request much later, when the tables were turned and I could not remember Arabic names.
The wedding celebration was fabulous; we could not have asked for anything greater and could not have been happier than at this moment of our lives. Our lovely, unforgettable wedding night was spent overlooking the ocean at a beautiful bed-and-breakfast outside the city of Bodega Bay. We were back in America, the land of the free. A new life awaited us.