Until death do us part.
That’s a wedding vow people take, wishing in their hearts that nothing, absolutely nothing, separates them till they are living on this planet.
And the story from The Humans of New York that we are going to read, reminds me of this vow.
Narrated by a woman reminiscing moments between her parents, this is how it starts:
He had five daughters. And whenever he came home from a work trip, we’d all line up to give him a kiss. But he always kissed my mom first, because she was his ‘first love’.
It’s clear, she is talking about her father who loved her mother more than anything in the world. In many ways, he was obsessed with her. He’d sing for her, appreciate her and would never let go of a chance to make her feel special.
On weekends we’d all pile into the car and take these long road trips. We’d drive for hours, and the whole way he’d be singing to my mother. It was a normal thing for us, because we were used to it. But that kind of affection wasn’t normal in our culture.
And the family obligations never came in the way of him telling his wife that she is loved.
We used to have these karaoke parties with our extended family, and everyone else would sing normal songs. But Papa would choose these old, romantic Bollywood songs. And he’d sing directly to Mama. She loved every second of it.
But this perfect world the two had created together, came crashing down when the woman’s mother was diagnosed with brain tumour.
However, that only made her father’s love grow.
When she couldn’t walk properly anymore, she grew embarrassed of her limp. So Papa held her hand wherever they went. He’d sit next to her bed, and stroke her cheek, and recite the Quran until his lips went dry. Some nights he’d fall asleep sitting up in his chair, but then he’d wake up, and begin praying again.
Until one day, her body gave up.
In her final moments, when she was slipping away, he leaned close to her and whispered: ‘You won’t be alone. I’m coming with you’.
In some way, his daughter found it selfish. Were she and her sisters not worth living for, she wondered.
But love is love. As poets say, you do it the only way you know how to.
Every day he visited Mama’s grave, even though we told him not to. He applied for the plot next to her, and every few hours he’d ask if the cemetery had called. He was obsessed.
Her father wanted to be close to his wife so bad, he bought a piece of land near her grave. And every day, he’d wait for a call from the cemetry.
Finally, the paperwork arrived, and that was the moment he went quiet. He was already with his wife in spirit. Soon his body and soul followed.
On the third morning, he walked in our front door and told me he wasn’t feeling well. I bent down to help him with his shoes, but he collapsed on the floor. There wasn’t time for him to suffer. Because by the time the ambulance arrived, he was already gone.
They tell you many things about love. But people like this woman’s parents, show that there is no rule. There is no limit to how much of it you should give. Or any parameters for moderation.
We hope they rest in peace. Together.
You can read the complete post, here: