Our First Ramadan.

Ramadan, in years past, was a bustling affair involving whipping up rich stews and dashing from iftar to iftar. I volunteered for fund raising events and balanced printing out flyers with attending Taraweeh. It was a busy and wonderful time with friends and a peace that seemed quite at home in the midst of a flurry of activity. I'd hoped that Ramadan would improve even more when I married. I was wrong.

I spent my first Ramadan as a married woman in a roach infested apartment, preparing rich meals that were sometimes ignored, sometimes criticized, by my ex and his sister. I would prepare suhur amidst complaints from my ex's sister, as she's not Muslim and never missed an opportunity to, well, sneeze in my ice cream. My first Eid as a married woman was spent alone due to a protection order. As they say, "cheer up, things could get worse". Well, I cheered up- and they did get worse.

My last Ramadan as a married woman was last year. I spent it trying to flee, fearing miscarriage due to the violence I experienced at my ex's hands, and wondering where my ex was and with whom. Eid was spent with him pondering marriage proposals from other women, before a loud argument in IHOP. It was the most blessed of months, but I came to dread this time, for my hopes were higher than ever for a happy family life, which meant that they were more cruelly dashed.

This year? Alas, no fasting- my milk supply is too fragile for that. And I've not had a chance to go to the mosque, either. I've not been in a mosque for Ramadan since before I married. But it's the best Ramadan in years. Hearty muffins prepared for the suhur of an acquaintance of mine, reading Qur'an with Zak in my lap, and holding Zak during prayers. It's an unconventional Ramadan, but it's got family, worship, and great food- just about everything needed to make Ramadan complete.