Remember the island I
wrote about where the bereaved parents reside?
And its neighborhood with permanent cloudy sky and intermittent
rainfall? I believe I am currently there. The non-stop storms have settled
down, although jolts of lightening still occur every day at random times. One
never knows when to expect it, because it can be triggered by anything: a
smell, a memory, a sound, a tune, a picture, etc. The tears still flow
every day but not at the ferocity of the past, and rarely in public any more.
Now, the floodgate of tears is mainly opened only in total solitude, at home or
in my car, where the cries of pain and sorrow cannot be heard by anyone, where
my voice fluctuates in intensity as my eyes fall on Shahdi's pictures and her
artwork, or as my mind imagines her in different stages of growing up around
our home.
After a year, everyone
expects me to have moved on. There exists less tolerance for my grief and
sadness. Most wish to put this catastrophe behind them and move on. It may be
easy for others to store Shahdi's memory in a corner of their mind which is not
frequently visited, but for me, as her mother, it is impossible even if I had
the least inclination to do so, which of course I do not. For me, Shahdi lives
in my every breath and thought. I am
never unaware of her absence. The only dream left for me is to see Arman
happily settled with a job which would ensure his financial independence for
the rest of his life, and with a person who truly loves him. Beyond that, I
have no major desires or dreams left. Life has dealt bitterly with me and has crushed
all my hopes and dreams. My only goal in life now is to focus on spending as
much time as possible with my family and friends, those who truly care about me
and have proven their love and loyalty to me over the past year when I needed their
support the most.
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