A Trip Without My Daughter

Tomorrow, I will be embarking on a multi-week voyage across the ocean, where I would meet up with one of my children. The other one will not accompany me in person but only in spirit. She would be flying next to my plane and would be with me every second of every day. I so wish I would have been able to hold the hand of each of my children on this trip as we were enjoying the activities of an average tourist on vacation. I wish I could hear the echo of Shahdi’s combat boots on the cobble-stone streets, hear the noise of her hair-dryer in the mornings, and see the admiring stares of passersby on her beautiful face while walking down the streets, as I had observed it so many times in the past.

Death in a Telenovela vs. Shahdi's

I have been watching Spanish telenovelas for years and one of the big differences between them and their US counterpart is that the cast in telenovelas seem to be experts in shedding tears! It is impossible to find an episode where somebody is not crying over something! The actors and actresses who play in these telenovelas are either very talented in acting or they have discovered a way to produce fake tears on demand! Surprisingly, they always look so convincing too.

Similar Grief

I had always considered myself very privileged for having lived this long without being directly affected by any wars. My grandparents lived through both World Wars. My parents saw the effects of WWII as children, and later endured the horrors of the Iran-Iraq war in the eighties. However, they are still lucky that none of their children ​has perished in ​any ​type of​ bloodshed.  I personally have always been against wars, physical violence and destruction and preferred to resolve problems through diplomacy and discussion rather than force.  Perhaps I feel this way because I had never had to face high levels of injustice, poverty, discrimination, violence, oppression, and bondage. 

Mexican Dress

My beloved mother-in-law, Miriam Miller Negahban, was not only a very kind and intelligent lady but also a very talented quilter, knitter, and seamstress. She passed away a year before Shahdi did, at age 81. One can find examples of her artwork in every closet in our house. Actually, I still have several of the maternity dresses she made me when I was pregnant with Arman.  I have not been able to part with them in the past twenty years because of their sentimental value to me.  For as long as these dresses are hanging in the closet and the wool sweaters she made us are safely kept in tote containers near them, Miriam Joon lives on in our home and our tangible link to her is not broken.