Letter To Mai Mata Ji

Dear Mai Mata Ji,

I have been wanting to talk to you for a long time. The last time I saw you we were all so deeply hurt that no one knew what to say or do. I was a 13 year old girl whose life had just ended and you were a nearly dead widow whose son had also been murdered. We were not in the mood to talk.

I have never forgotten Sandeep. I still love him as I did then. We had our whole lives planned. We would get married at 18. Both of us would attend McGill University. We hadn't decided what we'd major in. We were going to have four children. We would let Waheguru choose their sexes. We were going to live in the family home in Montreal because it was a great place for kids to grow up, but we'd spend a lot of time on the farm and maybe build an addition onto your house for us and the kids to stay in. You and Papa Ji would always be delighted to have us hanging around. We were going to form a Punjabi rock band. At first, we'd just play locally, but we'd be discovered by Brian Epstein and become like the Beatles. Then we'd quit our day jobs and just be rockers.

The last part was just a pipe dream. Of course, we knew that, but at our age anything seemed possible. Anything but that he'd die.

I've read your blogs with many tears. You express what I couldn't say. Its been 22 1/2 years now. I have a good life, 4 kids and a loving husband. His parents love me and we make a happy family, so I have nothing to complain about.

The old dream has never died. Maybe it is just true that first love is the deepest. It is pure, untouched by the evil of the world. I know he never believed that such evil and cruelty really existed and I didn't either. We both learned the hard way. I'm finding some bitterness inside myself I didn't realize was there. WHAT RIGHT DID THEY HAVE TO DESTROY OUR FUTURE! WHY HAS NO ONE PAID? I am happier than I can express that you got to kill the murderer and that you have never cleaned his blood off your kirpan. Others can say whatever they want but they have no right to judge us.

I'm getting too worked up. I want to ask your permission for one thing. I know we were too young to be married, but we always intended to and I already thought of him as my husband and me as his wife when he was killed. Would you be offended that I think of myself as his widow as if we really were married?

Love,
Laura