Mother Rag
There is a custom that has been done since Mom married Dad. Mother always keep the clothes that have profound meaning for him.
One of them is a complete wedding kebaya with batik cloth pesisiran, he
neatly store in a small suitcase under the bed obsolete. Consent
granted after about five decades ago, white brocade kebaya was worn for
a second time when Sister Ruth, our eldest brother, side by side with
her choice man in the aisle.
Throughout weddings Ma'am Ruth, his sisters we stare in awe and envious. Imagine how sacred history kebaya who was attached to the body of Sister Ruth. Kebaya itself was sewn by her late mother in the middle of the state of the country is being ravaged.
Around the mid 1950s Indonesia in a state of martial law because of the insurgency in various parts of the country. Military holds a prominent position in regulating people's lives. Poverty was up to the outposts. Mother
and father who live on the outskirts of the small town of Magelang
married in a simple state of the economy in the midst of chaos.
Many
people were forced to eat bulgur, a kind of sticky rice and rice
mixture, which, according to information obtained from feedlot cattle
shipments Americans to help the people of Indonesia.
Having no money to buy a decent brocade, late Grandmother Daughter
forced to issue normally only fitted curtains adorn the space guests for
a special event once a year like kaulan and kendurian. Curtains made of a kind of brocade fabric that was cut and sewn into Grandmother Daughter bridal kebaya. After getting married, the father's army had to rush off to battle against the rebels.
Sejarahnyalah that makes it so feels expensive kebaya worn by Miss Ruth who became a bride. Somehow the mother store. Kebaya it still looks sekemilau first. Mending the mother very carefully sections started tenuous and adding beads to make it look more beautiful and modern.
Leaving old clothes is a sign of love mother to offspring. For we had already become a kind of tradition is eagerly awaited. Mothers just do it for the important moments for our family. Before
giving it, usually she gathered all her children in the living room, we
sat cross-legged on the floor, she sat in the chair tells the history
of the garment first. We like dragged on past memories of the blue. Then we all anxiously waiting for who is the lucky person on that day.
Ma'am Ruth When first daughter was born, which is also the first
grandchild Mother, you hand down blankets and baby clothes that used to
wrap the body of Miss Ruth tiny when first breath of air freely in
military barracks because it was the country are busy quell the
rebellion. Imagine. How Mom never miss any important event in his life.
If instead we were elected, and no luck on that day, we will go into each room with his head down, keep our weeping silently. Because it means we have not considered special by Mother.
***
That tradition continues until we, the girls mother, moved to split into other cities, get married and have children. I migrated to Jakarta, working and married with Mas Harris. Ms. Ruth moved to London to follow her husband. Ms. Suti Semarang settled in with his family. Barrel, our youngest sister, chose to live in Bogor with her husband and her children. Only the mother and father who insisted remain in Magelang, although Mr retired from the army.
every Lebaran we gathered there, after the show and eat ketupat Opor sungkem mother made, we would gather in the living room. As it used to.
Only this time with more members. Because coupled with Mother's grandchildren already number eight. Two grandchildren of Miss Ruth, three from Suti Ma'am, one of me, two of the Laras.
sense we still like the old days, pounding anxiously, waiting for Mom who is selected on Eid this year. As for our kids, Mom's story is like a fairytale amazing history. Maybe in their minds like a documentary look at the screen of life.
Anyone who was lucky to get hand-me-down clothes feel like a lottery winner billions of dollars. And throughout the year, the story will continue touted amongst our family. Become a hot topic until the next Eid.
***
The most memorable for me is Eid five years ago. Ibu Kartini kebaya handed small size with beautiful gold embroidery all. According to the mother, it is when I wear kebaya Kartini Day celebration when I was a first grade elementary school. When
I was asked by a teacher to be Kartini in a play which was staged at
the school, and then invited to tour the school districts with the
parade.
Kebaya that were then worn by my daughter at the same march thirty years later. My eyes glazed look petite daughter looks so sweet in her velvet kebaya. She shared, velvet was obtained from neighbors bridal makeup. Mother sewed his own and added gold embroidery that extends from the neck to the lower end of the kebaya. Now I understand how much she love me.
Recognizing how a piece of clothing can be recorded so many important
events in our lives, then we started to follow the trail she keep all
the clothes that we consider to have historical value. Later,
when our children grow up, we'll hand it over to them one by one with a
story that makes the price can not be measured with any currency.
***
The tradition was interrupted when one morning she called us sobbing. Just cry. There are no words that sparked his mouth full of tears. We know what happened, and immediately went to Magelang to the morning air.
Mr. We buried the bodies the next day in a common grave near the house so easily whenever she wants nyekar. Because we all work, we agreed to take turns keeping the mother during the period of mourning. I took time off to get past the grief accompanying her father left. But it seems like no real presence in the mother's eyes. Mothers who used to be so carefree and happy chatting now be quiet and often sat daydreaming on the veranda. There is usually accompanied Mr Ibu past dusk, drinking black coffee and banana fritters, while nostalgia. I understand the pain of Mother. So I just let the mother with her world. I sat with her in there. Equally silent. The important thing I could be sure that she stays healthy and not lacking anything.
Upon passing months, we saw the condition she began quietly enough. We, the girls mother, counsel to persuade the mother to sell the house and move to stay in one of our homes. Mothers may choose to stay in Bandung, Semarang, Bogor, or Jakarta. Ms. Ruth requested that we represent go to Magelang to mollify her. Of all of her daughter, Miss Ruth that most of the hand-me-down clothes Mother savings.
Ma'am Ruth home without Mom. Mother insisted on living alone in Magelang, with an aide. Living with all the memories of Mr.
***
Ma'am Suti who live closest to the mother often had to commute Semarang-Magelang for overseeing the state Capital. We feel sorry for ya Suti because apart from work, he also took care of his own children.
So she was not too late with grief, we finally compromised turns a plane ticket for her. That way she can take turns to stay at our house, visiting children and grandchildren on a regular basis. Possible to be among us, she would be a little comforted. Mother is willing, but not willing to get on a plane. We were forced to buy a train ticket, although concerned with the physical condition began frail.
Apparently she was happy to take the train. Mother can recall times courtship and honeymoon with the late Mr, met on the platform, and traveling by train.
busy as anything else, I bring her family always took time at the station. I, my husband, and my daughter. Mother hugged us tightly. Seemed happy to see us. Although I see no space on the eyes.
Something is lost in every meeting we have. She never again hand down his old clothes. We did not dare mention it. Maybe she needs time to recover. Because now recount memories mean more leverage grief. All her valuable time course closely related to the deceased father. Maternal Sister Ruth when Dad had served quell the rebellion. Menamakanku mother named Sri Sri as midwife who picked Mr. dawn bicycle ride to help the birth mother gave birth to me. And, all the things that used to feel patriotic now become so poignant. Because you have gone.
***
Apparently Mom of the year to reinvent himself. Eid that year, when we see him in Magelang, she returned to the old tradition. Mother gathered us all in the living room and began to talk. One by one the events recounted in detail by the mother. We listened earnestly. At the moment we are swept away by the story, she pulled out a large sheet, spread it in front of us. We stared at a stretch fabric features patchwork pieces are spliced and sewn into a bed cover.
All the events that had just told it suddenly turned inside-torn, into pieces that are not worth, a big pile of bed cover.
"We ndak be inedible memories, "says Mom, faltered. "We could die miserable."
***
Now every time you visit the home of her children, she always asks us put out old clothes that still we keep. With heavy hearts we gave it. In front of us as well, she cut the clothes into patchwork pieces. Our childhood used to listen to how clothing store historical value, so it feels like a cut-iris.
On subsequent visits, the pieces had been stitched patchwork mother, and turned into a variety of functions. Mom sewing proficiency apparently not with age. Mother created a sheets, pillowcases, tablecloths, charming.
Sometimes we nosy ordered Mother to sew patchwork it into a variety of
trivial things like napkins, mats, to cover gallons of mineral water. Ms.
Ruth even been suggested that she open exchange used clothes collection
in his house, and then sell the cloth stitching percanya.
now we used to laugh at history. In my house for example. We saw my husband's work shirts which was first worn when promoted to base our dinner plates. Or clothes Batikku while attending my daughter's dance performances to drink coasters. It was really funny. We laughed remembering all the events.
***
One morning the maid at home Mom with a frantic voice calling. Mother fell in the bathroom. I immediately went on a plane with the initial schedule. Arriving in Magelang, all the girls she had gathered. I saw Mom had laid in bed in the living room, where we used to gather. Mother's body covered with patchwork stitching itself.
hug Mom I burst. Kissed the back of her hand with full devotion for the last time.
***
A week after Mother's departure, we have a new power to clean up the relics mother. We do it together. Mother's fourth daughter. We walked into her bedroom with restrained tears.
Slowly we open the closet mother. Dad found a pile of clothes in the corner there. Intact. Neatly folded. Mom does not cut into patchwork pieces.
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