His Wife, My Mother By Bissme S
My dad was an affectionate man. He was never afraid to shower the people he loved with caring gestures. But when I turned 15, all this changed, drastically and dramatically.
He completely stopped loving me or anyone else for that matter. He became restrictive with his emotions .To a certain extent, his wife, my mother, was responsible for this radical change. She promised that will be together forever. But she failed to keep to her words.
She left us and my dad couldn't accept this fact. On the day she left, my dad was emotionally upset. He shed tears uncontrollably. He was raving like a mad man. He begged her to stay, he begged God to change the fate.
But God and my mother disappointed my dad immensely. Indeed their refusal had made him a broken man... too broken to have any more love in his heart.
That was the last time I saw any emotion outburst from my dad. Since my mother's departure from our lives, my dad and I rarely had any more intimate moments.
He left the responsibility of bringing me up in the hands of nannies, maids and tutors. I saw more of them than I saw my own dad. He buried himself in his work.
He hoped that his work would distract him from remembering the pain in his life... his wife, my mother. Over the years, my dad and I became more like strangers.
Many times I have tried to bring down the barrier between us... and be father and daughter again. But I failed miserably. Dad was not cooperative. He preferred to have a distance between us. He didn't say this directly to my face. But his action spokes volume.
After my mother, he was afraid to get too close to anyone including his own daughter. Maybe he was afraid that I might leave him the way my mother did. He was not ready for another disappointment.
He did everything in his power to forget her. He put away anything reminded him of my mother away in the attic. He forbids anyone to speak about her. He didn't want any memories of her lingering around. He treated her as if she never existed in his life.
But no matter what he did, he never really forgets her. The fact that he remembered her name in the last moments of his life simply testified this fact.
Truly, my father had loved my mother with all his heart. I remembered my mother once told me in one of our intimate moments, "Simran, I am the luckiest woman alive. I hope that when you grow up, you will be as lucky as me to have a husband to love you as much as your dad loves me."
Still my mother left him. I learned the hard way that love is not enough to sustain a relationship. But to be totally honest, I can't fully blame my mother.
If she had her way, she would not have left my dad. It was fate that had the last say and I must add that fate was cruel to us. My mother was involved in a car crash and the best doctors failed to save her. She was barely 40....really too young to die.
For the doctors, she was just another patient that they lost... another casualty. But for us, she was an important part of our lives. We loved her with all our hearts and emotions. Our world come tumbling down. Indeed our lives were never the same again.
All the love in our house and our heart was buried together with her. Looking back now, I think my mother, my father and I, should take some blame as well. We should learn to love each other a little less. Perhaps then her death won't have a drastic consequence on my father and me. Truly, we should learn to love each other a little less.