Searching for the Silver Lining

What it Means to be a Pach

[28  Months earlier - Connecticut]

When a loved one dies, there are certain customs you should follow, according to our culture. 

1. Wear black

2. Cover all mirrors in the household

3. Long hair is to be pulled back. 

3. Open the windows.

4. Light a candle

5. To honor their memories you must wear something that was their favorite color

6. Minors must wear a black mourning ribbon 

7. The body must be displayed in an open casket for three days in the home of the deceased to allow loved ones to pray. 

8. At burial frankincense must be burned as a servant of the lord sends them to the father 

9. After burial there is to a feast that contains only round foods such as rolls, grapes, and hard-boiled eggs. 

10. If the deceased has passed on outside of the Mother Country, a relative is to present soil from their original home. This is to allow the departed to rest in the earth of their home. 

11. The hardest on of all... you should not cry. Because death is a part of life. 

I had broken the two rules by removing the sheet over the mirror to adjust my attire. I wore a black cardigan with a black circle skirt that was embroidered with red and beige flowers. I pulled at the pale red color of my blouse I wore underneath my cardigan and clipped my heart shaped locket around my neck. I then bulled back my long light hair and tied it back with a red ribbon. 

She loved red 

Then I did the hardest part. I reached into my top drawer of my vanity and pulled out the small black bow tie pin that bore a tarnished bronze white eagle button on it. With a shaking breath, I pinned it above my heart. I grasped my locket that- just like the morning pin- once belonged to her. 

The tears started up and I rasped out "I need you" as I closed my eyes. I sunk down to the floor and cried into my wool skirt. You should not cry. She would not want you to. You are stronger than this. 

I brought the locket to my lips, as I thought of her. I could see her curly bark hair, her warm eyes. I could still hear her laugh, and remembered every freckle. I remember idolizing her as a child, and striving to be just like her. I hurt to breath, as ever breath I took seamed soul crushing. When I looked at her, I saw home. I saw Poland. I saw the good in this life. 

But she had left us. 

"You are not going to cry- you promised her." as said as I whipped my tears. The point of tying your hair back as a sign of mourning was simple, although no one in my family wished to admit it. It was to bare your emotions. You could no longer hide your tears- your pain. You had to face you loss. However, at that moment all I wanted was her back. 

I clasped my hands together and pressed them against my forehead. 

"Mira. I need you. Why did you-" I was cut off by a sob. As I clasped my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. I was too old to cry, but the tears would not stop.The word 'dlaczego'- meaning 'why' in polish echoed through my mind. I didn't understand why she was taken from us- why she had left us. Yet the reality was she was gone, and I needed to be stong.  I did not want the family to hear. They could not know I was crying. I took a shaking breath and composed myself I cannot cry any more. I stood up and brushed my skirt off and frowned at the tear stains in my skirt. I then covered my mirror and opened the door. To walk down the hall.