I recently attended the wedding of a fellow survivor of the 1994 Rwanda genocide against the Tutsi. As I watched the bride walk down the aisle, I was reminded how even the happiest days can bring back memories of unimaginable loss.
When she reached the altar, the bride suddenly burst into tears. I understood her pain immediately. The room was filled with smiling guests, but not a single member of her immediate family was present. They had all been murdered during the 100 days when more than one million Tutsi were massacred.
On what should have been a purely happy day, the emptiness left by her family came crashing down on her.
I knew that pain all too well. I’ve felt that same emptiness at milestones in my own life: the birth of my daughters, my college graduation, reaching the age my parents were when they were killed. Even simple, everyday moments can reopen the wound.
In the early years after the genocide, I would chase after strangers on the street who vaguely resembled my father or mother, only to be heartbroken when I caught up to them. I would see a bald, middle-aged man on the street and, for a split second, think it was my father. Or a woman would walk by wearing an Igitenge outfit just like one my mother loved. Each time, my heart sank when I realized it wasn’t them.
I thought I was alone in this experience, but I’ve since learned that many fellow survivors went through the same thing.
With no graves to visit and no bodies to bury, we clung to any glimpse of our deceased relatives among the living. When you lose someone in such a violent, senseless way, the loss haunts you in unexpected moments for the rest of your life.
Nearly 30 years on, the genocide still casts a shadow over every occasion. At weddings, our lost loved ones should be there to join the celebration. When children are born, grandparents and aunts and uncles should be there to welcome them into the world. No matter how much time passes, we still feel the empty spaces where our families once stood.
The genocide stole our chance to properly mourn and bury our dead. So we are left with these ghosts, who show up in our darkest moments and in our happiest ones.
Still, at that wedding I also felt something new. Life goes on, even after the worst cruelty. Watching this young bride, orphaned but not defeated, start a new life gave me hope. Ends.
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