It has been seven Thursdays since you passed away in my arms. In the last seven weeks, I’ve thought of you, dreamed of you and relived that fateful night countless times in my mind. I don’t know if you can see me or hear me but there are so many things I want to tell you everyday. I hope writing them down here will help me and my belief that you will be able to read them wherever you are, Nanna.
It is December 27th, Nanna. I was supposed to get married today. It has been on my mind for the last two days. All the ceremonies you planned, the outfits you were going to help me pick out, the expensive jewellery you planned to get for me. All of it. I imagine every minute as you must have lovingly planned it in your mind. I found the folder with all the schedules and addresses of the florists, the photographers, the venues, the caterers, the hotels, the guests; in short, just everything you thought of. Every minute detail. And I play it like a movie in my mind. All the details coming together into a beautiful wedding at a grand venue. ‘A wedding to remember’ was what you wanted for your baby girl.
Sometimes I imagine you giving me away, Nanna. I imagine how hard it would have been for you. You always said you saw me as your five year old even when I was five times that and almost as tall as you. I remember smiling when you said you and Ammi would travel together with me to my in-laws’ right after the wedding. I was always your little girl and you couldn’t imagine letting me go all alone.
I imagine the happy times that were supposed to happen Nanna. I imagine the excitement and wedding jitters I was supposed to feel tonight, knowing that I would be getting married tomorrow evening. We went over all the minute details, Nanna. We made sure everyone would be there. We booked everything months in advance and talked about themes and colors and lights and music. Your happiness was infectious and everyone who knew you, knew the reason for your excited smile.
We overlooked one tiny detail, Nanna. We never made sure that you were going to be there. Your little girl lost her wedding planner, her superhero and the man who would reluctantly give her away.
I couldn’t get married without you Nanna. I want you there. I want to see your excited smile when your daughter looks like the ‘prettiest bride ever’ in the sarees you help pick out. I want to see your confused expression at all the latest music I pick out for the playlist. I want to see you laugh at my little panic attacks about my hair, my nails, my makeup, and everything else. I want to see your grim reluctance to let me go away. I want to share every laugh, every fear, every complaint with you. And I want you to be there to hear them all and pat me on the back with that loving expression I know was reserved only for me. Like it always was.
I wish you were here.