Sometimes in life we are forced into situations which we wish we could avoid, for instance, if one is an introvert by nature but has to attend many social events due to one's job or family obligations, or if one is shy and not very articulate, but is expected to deliver an important speech in front of a big crowd, etc.
This type of feeling has happened to me numerous times since Shahdi's passing. Apart from the fact that I, like others, was forced to face and accept her death; however, I did not attempt to erase her from our world. Quite the contrary, I would have gladly given up my life in order to prevent her premature removal from our realm. Sadly, in the past nine months, I have been forced to undertake the hard task of having Shahdi's name removed from different lists. Today, I had to remove Shahdi from our AAA account, a while back I had to do the same with her car insurance, followed by our health insurance and magazine subscriptions,... Such simple tasks which are normally quite trivial for the average person become very hard for a bereaved parent because they represent a closure, a definite ending, a finale to a long-running act. Worst of all, it is the parent who has to put an end to them, which is like erasing the last traces of the deceased child from the world of the living, and wiping out his/her presence in the material world. Due to my action today, the next bill I receive from AAA in 2015 will not have Shahdi's name listed as a beneficiary. How sad is that?! Very. I will preserve the current AAA statement in my treasure box because I am sure in ten or twenty years (if I am still alive), I would like to verify that Shahdi did have a presence in our world at some point in time.
There are a lot of insignificant things we do not pay real attention to and take for granted every day, which suddenly become important when one is faced with a tragedy like ours: a signature in the back of a book, an old purse hanging from a hook in the mudroom, a child umbrella patiently waiting in the garage for its little owner who grew up years ago but no longer exists, an old pair of soccer shoes in the coat closet ready to expend its energy again on the field, a makeup tray in the closet hoping to be used again by their beautiful master, and of course, the tall mirror on the closet's wall which has saved thousands of Shahdi's images and had declared her beautiful over and over again in reply to Shahdi's inquisitive glances through the years.
This type of feeling has happened to me numerous times since Shahdi's passing. Apart from the fact that I, like others, was forced to face and accept her death; however, I did not attempt to erase her from our world. Quite the contrary, I would have gladly given up my life in order to prevent her premature removal from our realm. Sadly, in the past nine months, I have been forced to undertake the hard task of having Shahdi's name removed from different lists. Today, I had to remove Shahdi from our AAA account, a while back I had to do the same with her car insurance, followed by our health insurance and magazine subscriptions,... Such simple tasks which are normally quite trivial for the average person become very hard for a bereaved parent because they represent a closure, a definite ending, a finale to a long-running act. Worst of all, it is the parent who has to put an end to them, which is like erasing the last traces of the deceased child from the world of the living, and wiping out his/her presence in the material world. Due to my action today, the next bill I receive from AAA in 2015 will not have Shahdi's name listed as a beneficiary. How sad is that?! Very. I will preserve the current AAA statement in my treasure box because I am sure in ten or twenty years (if I am still alive), I would like to verify that Shahdi did have a presence in our world at some point in time.
There are a lot of insignificant things we do not pay real attention to and take for granted every day, which suddenly become important when one is faced with a tragedy like ours: a signature in the back of a book, an old purse hanging from a hook in the mudroom, a child umbrella patiently waiting in the garage for its little owner who grew up years ago but no longer exists, an old pair of soccer shoes in the coat closet ready to expend its energy again on the field, a makeup tray in the closet hoping to be used again by their beautiful master, and of course, the tall mirror on the closet's wall which has saved thousands of Shahdi's images and had declared her beautiful over and over again in reply to Shahdi's inquisitive glances through the years.
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