It is a bittersweet week. Yesterday, we celebrated our first anniversary. And thirty-one years ago today, my parents got married.
I envisioned that one day, we would all celebrate our anniversaries together. Us our 5th/6th/10th and their 35th/36th/40th anniversaries. We even lined up the years and dates right!
But thirty-one years later, we will be
celebrating remembering their anniversary without Mom.
My parents have a true love story. They first met when my Mom was 10-12 years old. She was friends with the upstairs neighbor to my dad since the neighbor was also Gujarati. Being six years older, dad never though anything of her then.
Fast forward to when mom was seventeen. Dad was twenty-three and the poor college student. He just finished college but was planning to moving to the US for grad school.
Somewhere during that summer they fell in love. And over the year they introduced their families (much to chagrin of both sides) of a potential love marriage.
No one was happy with their decision to get married. But they loved each other and that was all that matter.
They broke the barrier that was “arranged marriages” (still common today) and did what was best for them.
My mom wrote that her husband was “unlike anybody she had ever met… he was so full of life.” She continued and wished “her new sisters-in-laws would be sisters, and that her brother-in-law would be a best friend.”
Here’s a collection of photos we scanned over the past few months of mom. She was a babe. She always had fine clothes and perfect makeup.
Dad, I know this is the hardest day you will face in life; to not celebrate an anniversary with your true love. I miss Mom everyday, but she is always around with us. She and Bunny will celebrate in heaven with tiramisu and sangria.