When The House Quietens

Today was the last of the wedding ceremonies. In our tradition, the celebrations do not end with the wedding day. They close a few days later with a small prayer ceremony performed by the newly married couple, seeking blessings for their life together. That ceremony happened today, at the marriage home where our entire family has been living, cooking, laughing and celebrating this past week.

And just like that, it is over.

For days this house has been overflowing. Every room occupied, every corner alive with relatives, laughter, songs, lists, food, elders blessing. The wedding filled every inch of it.

Now the bags are being packed. One by one, the people who filled this house are leaving for their own homes and their own lives. The rooms are going quiet again.

There is a particular feeling that comes when a house quietens after a celebration. It is not quite sadness. It is not quite relief. It sits somewhere in between.

But the house is not empty. My son and his wife are still with us. So is my younger son. For a few more days, before everyone flies back to their own corners of the world, it is just us. The small circle at the centre of it all.

And I am beginning to see that this is how the biggest moments of life end. Not with a grand finish, but with a slow return to the ordinary. The crowd leaves. The noise fades. And what remains is what was always there.

Family.

The wedding is over. My son is married. A new season, for him/his wife and for us, quietly begins.