Ten-Year Anniversary

 Ten-Year Anniversary of our Tragedy

Ten years is a long time by most standards. In the span of ten years, a newborn baby will become a fifth grader; an insubstantial sapling will grow foliage providing shade for a deck, a car parked by the side of the street, or shelter for squirrels and birds in a rainstorm; an ambitious college freshman will graduate with a PhD degree; a young US senator may become the president of the US; a small local business may go global; etc. Although the same length of time could measure differently for individuals depending on their circumstances, ten years is still a long time in the lives of human beings and animals.

It has been ten long years since the passing of our beloved daughter, Shahdi. I debated with myself for many months whether to publicly recognize the tenth anniversary of her departure from our realm.  Ultimately, I concluded that Shahdi deserves to be remembered in a public forum once more, particularly with her 30^th birthday right around the corner (Dec. 22).

Let me begin by stating how much I cherish this forum for as long as I live because it served loyally as my true savior during the first year of my grief. In addition, this forum provided my readers with a window into my heart and soul during the first twelve months after Shahdi’s untimely and unexpected death. You figuratively held my hand and helped me along my grief journey in those very difficult and painful months with your warm and supportive comments and your sympathetic recognition of my sorrow, and more importantly, by the videos and stories you shared about our dear Shahdi. Sharing my thoughts with you was the best therapy available to me. Even though I expressed my deep appreciation back then, I’d like to thank you all once more for patiently listening to the disturbing cries of anguish and suffering of a bereaved mother’s broken heart and soul. Today, I would like to give you an update on the status of the undesirable journey thrusted upon me ten years ago.

Not having seen my beautiful Shahdi in ten years has indeed been very difficult and painful. Her absence in our life is acutely felt every single day. It feels like a lifetime since I last saw her on that doomed Tuesday in November 2013.  Tuesdays have been black for me ever since. No matter where I am - at home, at work, out and about in Lincoln, or on a trip - I always wear black on Tuesdays, in memory of Shahdi and the day my life changed forever - for the worse. 

Regarding our cosmic loss, ten years have been like the blink of an eye! As if this awful tragedy only occurred recently. My tear glands have been exhausted and almost dry for many years because they were in overdrive for three and a half years after the calamity that befell our family.  I may not have literally cried a river as the expression goes, but I sobbed every day for years to the point that my vision was affected. I suppose, the extent of my sorrow required a viable outlet for releasing the sad feelings to prevent my soul from shattering into pieces.  As a result, I hardly cry anymore because I have no more tears to shed.  It took me a while, but I eventually learned to have a peaceful and calm coexistence with my grief in such a way that obscures the pain of losing my daughter from others.

The last ten years of my life have mainly been about survival.  I discovered from the very beginning that the best method of combatting grief and depression is to continuously keep the mind busy. Therefore, it is not surprising that I have read hundreds of books since 2013. Had I focused on academic books, instead of novels, I probably could have completed two PhD degrees by now!  Alas, I selected only books with happy endings, in contrast to the tragic ending of my daughter’s short life. Staying active and busy are the only ways to fight the onslaught of grief in my everyday life.  Undoubtedly, I will never forget my child. Her imprints are on my very soul. Her memories constantly swirling in my brain, waiting for an opportunity to pop up at any time and any place. 

I used to have a sunnier, more positive, cheerful, and tolerant personality. Nowadays, I feel like my temperament has undergone a partial transformation (and not necessarily for the better) in the last decade.  I have a shorter temper and a lot less tolerance for people who are materialistic, narcissistic, judgmental, intolerant, close-minded, selfish, unknowledgeable, and petty, or who take life too seriously. I have arrived at the realization that the best life is one that is lived through loving, caring and sharing. In my opinion, life should be measured by the amount of love, compassion and good deeds and not by the material wealth left behind. Shahdi could not take any of her favorite things with her when she left us. Most of her belongings were donated to Goodwill, some were given to her close friends and cousins, and a few sentimental pieces kept by us including her books. However, Shahdi’s memory has survived because of her good deeds and compassionate heart. Even though she lived for a very short period, she had lived a meaningful and impactful life because of her kindness and dedication to others, and all the hearts she had touched.

Life is neither a bed of roses, nor of thorns.  My life after Shahdi’s death has been like a bed of wilted petals with some thorns which make their sharp and painful presence known at different times, sometimes expectedly, sometimes unexpectedly.  Surviving the holiday season and her birthday every year are a couple of those expected ‘thorny’ times; a warm sunny day, a picturesque night sky or sunset, a chic pair of combat boots popping up on my Facebook page, national daughter’s day, a rerun of Harry Potter movies, and listening to a mesmerizing adagio are a few examples of the unexpected times that the thorns painfully remind me of her absence, her silence, her tragic finale.

Every day when I wake up, I am intensely aware that my beloved daughter is gone and out of my reach. It is impossible for me to live a full and meaningful life after losing Shahdi.  The heartache overshadows everything. However, I do manage to experience joy occasionally when I am with certain people or in certain locations, or listening to certain music, or watching certain movies; but, even in those moments of elation, my mind may suddenly conjure up an image of our beautiful Shahdi from the past, reminding me of her absence and immediately filling my heart with sorrow.  Recurring episodes of feeling alone in a crowd are common. I find it utterly unfair that I am able to feel joy when my child is forever deprived of feeling anything. The dilemma that every bereaved parent faces every day is: why am I alive but my child is not?

Besides immense sorrow, regret and guilt have remained my invisible companions in the last decade; nasty ones whom I wish I could ditch!  The latter two sentiments can be quite formidable, but I have successfully managed to curtail their negative interference by engaging my mind with activities such as reading and walking.

For me, the sole beneficial aftermath of our tragedy was the transformation of Death from a foe to a friend.  A few years ago, I had a medical procedure done which required general anesthesia.  It was my first surgery. I recall how calm I was prior to being put to sleep. I remember I was thinking I had a fifty/fifty chance of not waking up after the procedure and I was totally fine with either outcome. I figured if I didn't wake up, there was a slight chance of reuniting with my departed daughter, and if I did wake up, I would continue to be a part of my dear son’s life.  I can honestly say I was not necessarily thrilled when I opened my eyes after the procedure and found myself in the hospital bed. It took me a few seconds to accept the fact that I was not going to see Shahdi and instead was given more time in the land of the living.  Fate garnered my submission to continue my life journey.  I hope when my time in this realm reaches its end, Death will lead me to my beloved Shahdi. I so wish there would be a way to report back to you if my wish became a reality!

If ever I were to write an autobiography, it would be split in two distinct periods: before and after Shahdi’s death. My entire outlook on life changed with her death, along with my plans, dreams, hopes, and disposition.  Unfortunately, most of my expectations and plans for the future were buried with Shahdi. She was the apple of my eye, my only daughter. My only hope is for my love, Arman, to continue experiencing a happy life long after I have expired. Nothing else matters.

When I think of the first ten years of Shahdi’s life and everything that she accomplished and experienced, I am overwhelmed by the torrent of memories, activities, school events, parties, sleepovers, trips, gymnastic/piano/flute/chelo/voice/swimming/tennis/ice-skating/dance/Spanish classes, concerts, movies, Halloween, laughter, happiness, Philadelphia, Christmas lists, Shirley Temple drinks, pizza, chocolate chip pistachio ice-cream, and on and on and on.  When I think back on Shahdi’s first decade of life, I am filled with a sense of exuberance, elation and contentment of having been witness to her growth from a beautiful baby into a competent, happy, intelligent, dedicated and responsible child. It was a pleasure to accompany her on her journey of discovering different interests and activities and deciding on which ones to pursue further. Every parent-teacher conference throughout her life (except for her last two years in high school) was a validation of her talents, intellect and charismatic character.  Hearing her teachers’ praises was music to my ears and a reassurance that we, as her parents, were not hindering her personal growth and academic progress but providing encouragement, opportunities, and support.

At the age of ten, Shahdi was such a level-headed, competent, smart and responsible person that I honestly thought she could even survive in college at her age! Alas, how the next nine years changed her life’s trajectory and tragically altered my earlier assessment of her future. Had she had more capable parents, she might have been alive today, planning a special 30^th birthday celebration. No one knows. But I always wonder…

My grief journey will continue until the very last beat of my heart. I am so grateful I have a lot of pictures and videos of Shahdi which will continually refresh her image in my mind. Had I lived a hundred years ago, I would have had no pictures. That would have been so devastating. I am confident she is still remembered by all who loved her. Her kind and charismatic personality and her beautiful visage will be remembered by all of us who remain devoted to keeping her memory alive through our unmitigated love for her.

Happy 30^th birthday to our precious lost jewel, Shahdi M. Negahban, forever immortalized as a smart, kind, and beautiful 19-year-old ….

Childhood Memories - Mehran Assembly Hall

Thursdays, for many reasons, were always my favorite day of the week at Mehran School. Firstly, it was a half-day school day and we would get off at noon. Secondly, due to being a half day, teachers rarely scheduled an exam on Thursdays. Thirdly, sometimes, the school would show a movie in the assembly hall an hour before dismissal. The assembly hall was on the fourth floor of the building and was quite large. It had a stage too where many plays and musicals were performed by students over the years. The room also served as an examination hall on a regular basis, particularly for upperclassmen. But, its most favorite usage for me personally was during the periods when a movie was shown, as a perfect ending to a busy week of learning. If I recall correctly, the movie days were always a surprise and they would not let us know in advance. I suppose it was kind of like a pop-quiz with the difference that instead of instilling worry and fear in our hearts, it would instill joy, excitement and relief. I can still feel the exuberance and the commotion in the hall when students were competing for the best seats and the apprehension and guess-work to find out what movie was selected.

New Year's Eve Message

On the eve of a new Persian New Year and the beginning of spring, I have been reading up news on the status of COVID-19 disease around the world.  The news is certainly sobering and quite contradictory to the expected spirit of such a night. Iranians have celebrated the festival of Nowruz for thousands of years, and this is the first time, in my lifetime, I have witnessed a halt to typical Nowruz traditions, both inside and outside of Iran. All New Year events, gatherings, visits, trips, shopping, concerts, and parties are cancelled all over the world. COVID-19 has managed a feat which the hardliners in the Islamic Republic were never able to achieve in forty-one years of power! COVID-19 has brought Iran to its knees. I have this overwhelming sense of dread and despair for the innocent people of Iran who, for over four decades, have been tangled up in one devastating event after another caused by their government and the constant feud between the governments of Iran and the United States. The nation of Iran is being ravaged by COVID-19 presently, but due to the US sanctions, the Iranian people are succumbing to this virus in large numbers due to lack of medical supplies and the long suffering of medical facilities from shortage of equipment, parts, medicine, etc. Even now, as the world is in the clutches of an epidemic, the US sanctions are not yet lifted and the horrifying plight of Iranians are overlooked by the world. I am extremely worried about my homeland, but more importantly, I am worried about the fate of my parents, aunts, cousins, and friends. I feel totally helpless.

The Little Scion that could

Today I had to part with a dear companion forever. A companion who had served me most loyally for almost fifteen years and who had provided me with countless hours of entertainment, listening, and counseling. A companion who had never lost its patience with me and silently let me unburden myself over the years of my heartaches, frustrations, and despair.

The human heart’s capacity for love is immense, and most of us are capable of bestowing our love on not only our fellow humans but also on animals, and sometimes on material objects as well. We all have a favorite piece of clothing that we cherish and cannot discard, or memorabilia from different stages of our lives or travels that we have kept for ages, or the cup that someone gifted us many years ago, etc.  We humans are able to get attached to anyone or anything that we come in contact with that holds a special sentimental value for us.

I personally can get easily attached to most things, from my family, friends, coworkers, neighbors to my favorite café, grocery store, restaurant, etc., and lastly to my car.

Today was a hard day because I had to leave behind my little buddy, Scion, on a car dealership lot in Iowa and return home with Ruby, my new car. Scion was not simply a means of transportation for me. It had been my silent companion for almost fifteen years. That little car was filled with precious memories.

Reality of Dreams

Every night before I close my eyes, I say goodnight to Shahdi. I tell her how desperately I miss her. I tell her how much I love her. Sometimes I get more emotional and shed some tears in silence, not to alert Mehrdad because I do not wish to upset him by disturbing his mental equilibrium right before falling asleep. Last night, my emotions became overwhelming. Maybe because I had just heard about the sudden death of the son of a coworker, who happened to share Shahdi's birth year. While I was struggling to reign in my emotions, I begged Shahdi to comfort me by visiting me in my dreams. I told her I needed her. I needed her touch, her support, her love.  I asked her to come to  me. Shortly afterwards, I fell asleep.

Red Cardinal

Yesterday was Nowruz. The start of spring and the Iranian new year.  For hundreds of millions of people around the world, it represented a joyous event, the celebration of spring and a new year filled with possibilities. Alas, for me, it was a sad reminder of Shahdi's absence. I was not in a good mood the entire day. There was no enthusiasm for any of the Nowruz rituals. Had it not been for Mehrdad, instead of eating the traditional Nowruz dinner, we would have had leftovers. My melancholy mood continued during my commute home. When I pulled into the garage and got out of my car, I was immediately drawn to this delightful chirping coming from the top of a tree by our driveway. I stepped out, looked up, and there it was, a little red cardinal with a golden voice!  I was transfixed in place and mesmerized by its singing. I thought to myself maybe this little bird was a messenger from Shahdi, trying to cheer me up in this first hour of spring. What a nice thought! I wish thoughts alone could soothe a broken heart. 

In Good Company

Never had I felt an affinity with George and Barbara Bush until the recent passing of George H.W. Bush. I have more respect for him as a man and as a human being after learning of his service to his nation in WWII as a very young pilot, his devotion and fidelity to his wife, and his integrity, decency, and sense of duty as a US president. I only learned recently we had belonged to the same club because we were both bereaved parents. I was deeply moved by George Bush's eulogy on his father and when he mentioned his long departed sister, Robin, who had died of Leukemia at the age of three. Even though almost seven decades had passed since her death, Robin was still remembered and missed. It has been apparent in the remarks made this week by the Bush family that Robin's parents had never forgotten her, even after the passage of so many years. In his eulogy, George Bush hoped his father had joined his wife and was finally reunited with his beloved eldest daughter.

The manner in which the Bush family had revived the memory of Robin and the sorrow of Barbara and George in losing her over sixty five years ago, validated my strong belief in the fact that one never recovers from the loss of a child. Although Barbara and George were lucky to have many more children and grandchildren, but no one had ever replaced their Robin and their sorrow lived in their hearts for all these years, no matter where life took them, even at the White House.

The mention of Robin on national stage today was a testimony to the unconditional and everlasting love of parents towards their offspring and the eternal and undying sorrow at the loss of one. I felt vindicated today for always wearing black on Tuesdays in Shahdi's memory, for displaying many pictures of my departed daughter at home and at my office, for including her in my conversations, and for hoping that someday I will be able to reunite with her. Just as the Bush family hoped Robin had rushed to Barbara's arms in the other realm seven months ago, I hope when my time comes, the first soul I encounter and embrace would be Shahdi's.

If I am fortunate enough to be offered an eulogy after my passing, I hope my ardent desire to be reunited with my beloved daughter is clearly emphasized.

Five-Year Anniversary

I.            Five-Year Anniversary

On the eve of the fifth anniversary of Shahdi’s suicide, I sit at my desk at home, with a very heavy heart and teary eyes, thinking of the last five years of my life, of the five years of living without my beloved daughter. At first, I had decided against sharing my thoughts with anyone on this anniversary, but then I reconsidered because of Shahdi. I changed my mind in order to tell the truth and talk about the falsehoods and cliches on grief. Besides, Shahdi deserves to be talked about again. Shahdi deserves to be a topic of discussion once more. Shahdi deserves to be remembered and missed by all who still love her.

An Unexpected Messenger

A few days ago, while I was sitting at the airport in Chicago reading a book on my phone and awaiting my flight to Omaha, a lady sat down next to me. At first, I did not even look at her. But, once she started making calls and describing the events of the day to others (including missing her plane and having to wait for several hours for her next flight), I started losing my concentration, and unwillingly, listening to her conversation. I intentionally had selected a small table where the likelihood of someone joining me would have been low.  Had she been quiet and not distracting me from my book, I would have been totally fine with her joining me, however, she was kind of loud and hard to ignore. I was contemplating whether I should move to another location when she abruptly addressed me and asked me why I was not charging my phone since there was an outlet next to my phone (apparently, the outlet had been the main attraction for her). Once I was faced with such a question, I had to turn my head and actually establish eye contact with her. She was a middle-aged lady like myself, with a sweet and beautiful visage. I was immediately taken by her and explained to her that my phone was almost fully charged. But, she insisted on her request, and for some unknown reason I decided to oblige her and took my charger out of my bag and plugged it in. Once she was satisfied that her request had been fulfilled, she started talking to me about her trip, her children, etc. Her name was Barbara and she was on her way to Niagara Falls with some friends to celebrate her 60^th birthday.

General Toby

Toby Makinejad-Negahban

March 1, 2003 – August 2, 2018

My Beloved Toby,

In my imagination, I now see you in the loving arms of your sister, Shahdi, who fell in love with your puppy cuteness and big ears when she was nine years old. I remember vividly that glorious Sunday afternoon when she called me from Pet Doctor to ask me to come and meet you. I obliged and soon after, we walked out with the kindest, gentlest, most loyal and loving member of our family.

In my imagination, you are walking freely in a green park full of fragrant flowers with Shahdi by your side, breathing in clean air and filling your lungs with the aroma of roses and freshly–cut grass while you are being caressed and loved by her. You are fed as much milk, kabob, and dental chews as your heart desires without worrying about getting sick and making your parents upset by having to clean up after you!