I lost my sister-in-law just two weeks ago. She was a part
of our life since she married our eldest sibling in the family. I felt how my brother and the children went through after the loss. I planned to
publish my eulogy on this blog but prudence dictated it’s too late praising a dead person. So I put aside
my literary skill for sometime.
When I opened my Facebook page, I saw selected pictures
from the just concluded event, but I was attracted to a post by my nephew who seldom use this technology as he was busy with his ever growing business. The picture was so dramatic and meaningful as the
shades of color were in contrast yet unified in effect. Who did the shot? I asked. “I did Auntie”, was the bashful
reply. Of all the many pictures posted, this has caught my attention. I
started to write about the scene but I suspected there was a story behind these all. I texted the youngest child, the one cradling a phone close to her ears in the picture and
she told me that even if she was
attending the graduation ceremony of her daughter, she was going through
pictures of her mother in her iPad and how she was in a hurry to go home to visit her grave. My eyes were blurred with tears and I lost all words to describe her feelings so I stopped writing and did something else.
Three days after, the eldest child, the one lighting the candles in the
picture told me the story behind
the shot. She was telling it over
the phone miles away and I just
imagined the physical distance but the emotional closeness was evident between us.
She was leaving for Canada the day after
the picture was taken. My brother told her that he was going to visit th e grave of their mom. She
and her sister won’t allow him to go since it was getting dark and he was prone to danger because of
his unsteady steps due to a
stroke. He was insistent, so the
children accompanied him to the Divine Heritage
cemetery.
There he bared the story
of a beautiful dream and told the
children that their mother was now
in heaven.
He narrated that while he was fast asleep alone in his
room he saw a bright light and his wife appeared in a white flowing dress as though floating on a white foamy cloud. He saw my father who died fifteen years ago now dressed in
white and heard him excitedly say, “Rachel (my sister-in-law’s name) so, you are here!” She replied, “yes
Papa”. Just then, the minister who officiated their wedding forty nine years and two months ago, the old time friend of my father also came out in white apparel and greeted
my sister-in-law. “Rachel, You are also here!”, “Yes. Pastor!”. The three of them just walked in and out of the room without even acknowledging the presence of my brother. My brother felt
dejected and out of place as not
one of those whom he loved and respected ever knew his
presence and how he wanted to be a
part of that meeting.
The pinkish light of
the sunset was invaded by darkness arrogantly
displaying a monochromatic effect, then there would be one color – black. The candles were
lighted and the place grew bright. Darkness, ”where is
your sting?”, but that was only temporary. Soon the sun would completely disappear and the candles‘ light would no longer glow. My brother was aware of the
changing colors of his surroundings, surely he has not reached the realm where his wife now belonged. How could they have met? He was still
with his children and siblings who
supported him in his grief.
He must have been
reflecting on their love together. My brother was not so demonstrative of his love nor of his grief that he could laugh
and make funny remarks during the wake. Many said he welcomed the loss of his wife. But why did one of
his children saw him cry before the coffin of their mother in
the middle of the night when everyone was asleep? Was that not love? Did he not
grieve over the loss of that love? Did everyone see what was in his heart, knew
his feelings, fathomed his
emotions?
When the Shah of Jehan built a white marble mausoleum, Taj Mahal for the tomb of his most beloved Persian
wife Mumtaz Mahal, writers described it as a monument of an eternal love. It took twelve years
for thousands of artisans and craftsmen to build it. It has become one of the
wonders of the world. Would love be demonstrated in a display of wealth? How
about those artisans and craftsmen who sacrificed in their labor? Did they not love because they
cannot offer such grandeur? Love
may not always be demonstrated in our own terms.
Love is in the heart. It is not shown in material things, not interpreted by beholders. My
brother has loved and others may
not see it. But he longed to be
in that meeting of people whom he
loved.
Would I meet
them there too, when I reached
that realm?
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