It was a week to our wedding. Not even a week, just five days to our wedding. Monday morning, while getting ready to step out to see a vendor, a call came through. My fiancée, Helena, picked up the call. And then she let out a loud scream, “Huh!” and sat on the floor.

My heart skipped a beat. I asked what happened. “Who called? What did the person say?” The person was still on the call, but Helena was no longer holding the phone to her ears. She broke down and started wailing. At first, it was without tears, and then later the tears followed. “Mom. My mom,” she kept repeating. “My mom is gone.”

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Another loud wail, and then she threw herself on the floor. She was inconsolable, and I could understand. She’s the last born and her mom had been her everything. She had been sick, but the week before our wedding, she showed signs of recovery, something that looked like she was getting better.

The last time we were there, a day before she died, Helena told her, “You’re looking good. It looks like you really want to dance at the wedding.” She responded, “If I get there, everyone will know it’s my happy day, but if I’m not able to attend, don’t worry. Continue without me.”

These words kept playing in my head. “She knew she was going to die,” I told myself while I tried fruitlessly to keep Helena calm. The family convened, and while they received condolences, the topic on the table was whether or not we were going to continue with the wedding. Her elder siblings, especially her elder sister, told her right there that she should postpone the wedding. The abusua panyin also suggested the same.

Helena couldn’t say a word. She kept sobbing. Mute. Her heart breaking into pieces. I watched her and I was drawn to tears too. I whispered to her, “Please say something. You’re scaring me.” They sat there, contemplated our wedding, and concluded we should postpone it. I sided with them. We had come very far and spent a lot of money we might not recover, but it was alright. Death takes everything away, including a wedding.

Early the next morning, I was drafting the message to send to friends and family, telling them we had postponed the wedding, when Helena said, “We are not postponing. We’ll go ahead with it. She said we should continue without her, and we’ll do just that.”

Pain makes you say painful things even without thinking about them. I asked if she was sure she wanted to do this. She nodded. I waited until noon and asked again, thinking she would change her mind. She said the same thing, that we were going to do it and do it the same way we had planned it.

I heard her talking on the phone with her elder sister. It started small and then degenerated into an argument. I could see the tension on her face. Her sister was against the idea and was forcing her to change her mind. Helena said, “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen. The only thing that will happen is the wedding.”

From that moment, her phone rang every two minutes. Her other siblings called. They told her it was going to be an embarrassment if that happened. Some elders also called. After explaining herself to them, some understood. Some suggested she should postpone it until after the funeral. Her dad died when she was a child, but she recounted moments with her dad and said, “Dad would support me if he were here. We’ve come too far. Let’s take it off the table and have a whole heart to mourn my mom.”

So on Saturday, we had the wedding. The church understood the situation we were in and announced that the wedding was going to be reflective instead of full-blown happiness. Her siblings didn’t come. A lot of the family members who asked her to change the date also didn’t turn up. But the abusua panyin did. He walked her down the aisle. We didn’t do the reception. Right after the pastor’s ending blessing, we all left the church.

She cried. I cried with her. “Did we die?” she asked. “Can’t we mourn from here?” My parents were shocked at her resilience. My dad called her brave. My mom folded her into her embrace and didn’t want to let her go. They both cried. Maybe happy that we had been able to do it after all.

My wife’s siblings descended on her, calling her heartless and a disgrace of a daughter to their mom. Her elder sister was the loudest. She called our marriage a shame and cursed us. She said her mother had appeared in her dream crying because of what happened. My wife has two sisters and a brother. Her brother wasn’t that bothered. He always said what had happened had happened, but the sisters kept fighting my wife.

They didn’t involve her in anything. They didn’t even collect her funeral contribution. They cast her aside and did the funeral themselves. My wife did all she could to bring peace, but they kept fighting her. So after the funeral, she also washed her hands of the family and told her siblings no one should ever count her as a sister again.

I was in the middle, not saying anything, but even then I got my share of the venom. Her elder sister blamed me for forcing her younger sister to have a wedding days after her mom’s death.

It’s been months now. My wife still wears black and doesn’t talk to anyone in her family. I’m disturbed on her behalf. We all need our family. God placed us in a family for a reason, so I’ve tried to convince her to make peace with them. She said, “Even if you go and join them, I’m not scared. I’ll stand alone.”

She behaves wild and strong but somehow, I know she misses them sometimes. When we are having a conversation and they come up, her mood changes and she hums and then goes quiet for a while. It hurts me the way things are going. I want to maybe contact her family and talk to them. Maybe if the peace-building starts from there, it would be easier.

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My wife would hate me if she found out I had gone to talk to any of them. That’s my problem now. That’s also my confusion. Whether to rebel against her and initiate the peace talks or let things remain the way they are. What would you do if you were in my shoes? My wife is not happy, and I don’t think it’s only about the death of her mom. Everything that’s happening is contributing to her unhappiness. I want her to smile again and be herself. I deserve that kind of wife.

—Charles

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