She wore red on her wedding day, although the pictures that captured the event were all taken in black and white, you could visualize the color. Her lovely hazel eyes were not reflected as she shied from making eye contact with the lens. The pictures seized her simplicity, her innocence, and her shyness. I’m certain that is why my father must have chosen her. But in those photographs the color is missing.
She’s covered in the same deep pink that was chosen for my wedding. On her final day, I must admit, she looked more beautiful than I, on my wedding day. As she lay there, still and composed, I saw how her timidness had vanished, how life must have made her the woman she became, strong and fearless, but not strong enough. Her young porcelain face glowed against the rich lip color that matched her outfit and she looked as graceful as ever.
Shades of red are the colors for an indian bride, it represents feminine strength that is portrayed in a hindu deity. My mother was my representation of both beauty and strength.
When a married Indian woman dies before her husband, she is dressed like a bride on her final day. According to hindu belief, life doesn’t stop with one’s death. The soul lives on and passes through cycles of reincarnation. And so one is prepared for life to come. A married woman is considered fortunate if her husband outlives her. No one is fortunate here, not him, not her, nor I.
My eyes didn’t shift from your face, I have no recollection of any other human from the hundreds that were paying their respects that day. You slumbered as if at any moment you would awaken. I would break free from the ones that were holding me back and hug you as tightly as I could and tell you that I was sorry. That whatever happened, how it happened, I would take the blame.
The mantras that were being chanted on repeat echoed down to my soul. They are meant to bring peace to the departed but they did just the opposite for me. My head pounded and the confusion of it all saturated me. Over again I asked the same questions, why? How am I here? Why am I seeing you this way?
I touched your face to make sure you were still you, the coldness told me you were no longer with me, you never stirred and so they let you lead and I followed behind. We were all lost in sorrow, losing you was the hardest thing I dealt with in my life. There is something to be said for the eldest child. The bond of your first born, I spent the most time with you, this mother and daughter connection will also last until eternity. I may not hold your hand again, but my heart will hold on forever and ever.
You were dressed for a wedding that day and yet you were going to a place where I will no longer have access to your smile, your comforting words and your warm embrace. There was a congregation, a priest and flowers Just like you must have had on your wedding day, and we will see you off except there will be no celebration, no photographs, no song and dance the way you enjoyed. You will be ushered from this world quietly.
Just like your wedding day, tears have shed, not one was a happy one. These tears won’t stop and each time I remember you they continue to fall. Even after years will go by and I am still here, I will glance at your photograph and see your smile and watch how your motherly face never got a chance to age. I remember your traits because I now display your sarcasm and your heroism and I too smile just like you.
I will tell your grandchildren all about you and how it is unfair that you left so young and they missed the most beautiful being I ever knew. I will tell them how their young grandmother was a bride twice and what a beautiful bride you made on your last day.