Four-Year Anniversary

​The fourth anniversary of Shahdi's departure is fast approaching (11/26). Life has not been and will never be the same without her. Her memory is constantly in my mind, visiting me at all times. She carpools with me every morning and evening in the same car where she and Lauren were once my teenaged passengers on the way to the Southpointe Mall. In the mornings we listen to NPR and I fill her in on the changes since her absence, and in the evenings, we listen to the same melancholy Spanish songs that my brother had selected for me shortly after her death. I have not yet been able to replace this CD with another one. The same way that I have not been able to touch Shahdi's clothes, books, and shoes which are still in her closet. I hope I can literally force myself to give a few of the books to my cousin's little girls as a gift from Shahdi this weekend. 

Thoughts on Sexual Harassment

 What if the American women who have finally found the courage to speak up against sexual harassment, lived in openly patriarchal societies in the other parts of the world such as the Middle East, India, China, Africa, Malaysia, Indonesia, etc., where women face different forms of sexual harassment from the moment they step out of their homes, sitting in a cab, walking in a side-street during the afternoon siestas, shopping in crowded streets, hearing the vulgar commentary about their looks or outfits while minding their own business? 

It is great that women are finally speaking up in this country but it takes a lot more than simply exposing a few powerful men to censure, to stop sexual harassment and sexism towards women.

It is the culture that has to change and that won't happen overnight or by some decree from the Supreme Court. How about we start by teaching our sons good manners and respect towards the opposite sex, and self-respect and courage to our daughters?

Not only men should learn to behave more gentlemanly but women also need to elevate their self-respect and virtue above short or long-term monetary gains. It is hypocritical to play along and take advantage of the sexist system when it is to our advantage and then call foul years later when we are already over the hill! 

We have to raise our daughters in such a way that they can not be silenced and bought with money. It takes two to play this game, and if women knowingly and willingly participate in this game to advance their careers or finances, then they are just as guilty as men.

Dogs

I came across this passage on FB and it made me think of Sasha, our old family dog who left us decades ago.

“Dogs lives are short, too short, but you know that going in. You know the pain is coming, you're going to lose a dog, and there's going to be great anguish, so you live fully in the moment with her, never fail to share her joy or delight in her innocence, because you can't support the illusion that a dog can be your lifelong companion. There's such beauty in the hard honesty of that, in accepting and giving love while always aware that it comes with an unbearable price. Maybe loving dogs is a way we do penance for all the other illusions we allow ourselves and the mistakes we make because of those illusions.”

― Dean Koontz, The Darkest Evening of the Year

Crossing Paths in Grief

Two girls growing up in the same city,
Going to the same primary school,
With paths never crossing in childhood,
Both making a life in a foreign land,
Each having a child in 1993, one girl, one boy,
Both destined to lose those children, 46 months apart,
Both children taking their own lives, in the same way,
One in the comfort of her home, the other in the eerie darkness of the woods,
One grieving for her beautiful daughter, Shahdi,
The other, Shahdi, grieving for her handsome son, Dara,
Getting to know each other for the first time after decades,
Through the involuntary membership in "The Unfortunate Mothers Club",
Both asking fate about the hand they were dealt with,
Both facing unanswered questions and grief till eternity.

Total Eclipse

We had out-of-state guests this weekend and since neither Mehrdad nor our guests were that talkative, the responsibility of being an engaging hostess fell on my shoulders. Thus, I had to make a good effort to entertain our guests and make the ambiance more comfortable and friendly. I tried hard to be entertaining by sharing funny stories of our trips, recent news, etc. Had someone not known about my grief, they would have thought I was the most happy-go-lucky person around! How far I had successfully stretched my exterior façade from my reality!  As the sociologists state, we all engage in different phases of acting during our social interactions in a typical day. After over five decades of practice, my acting skills have become quite polished and convincing. I kept the ruse going until my sister-in-law picked up the scrapbook where I had collected Shahdi’s writings, drawings and other awards. Putting myself in her shoes and thinking of what she would be looking at right then across the room from me, suddenly totally destroyed my carefully constructed façade. In less than a minute, my grief took center stage and I had to take refuge in the kitchen to hide the uncontrollable tears which were flowing down my cheeks. The old Persian saying is that death is only a heartbeat away. I can also attest that grief is also only a breath away. No matter how hard one tries to keep it hidden, it sometimes shows its sad face by the most harmless and unintended provocation. The transformation of my mood happened much faster than the total eclipse which we had observed earlier this afternoon. My earlier sunny disposition was instantly covered by my dark grief and it still has not recovered from the darkness. Such is the story of long-lasting grief...

Farewell Camry!

Humans are indeed peculiar creatures! Not only do they form attachments to each other, but also to objects, places, smells, animals, etc. I am a typical human specimen. Today I have been lamenting the loss of our black Camry. One hundred and ninety weeks after Shahdi’s departure, her car finally gave up and went to its final resting place at a junkyard somewhere in Pennsylvania. Unlike Shahdi, the Camry did not seek its own demise but was forced into it by a reckless driver and the insurance company’s verdict that it was not worth to be resuscitated! Our poor black Camry.. Even though it was old but it still was serving us loyally and without much problems.
Shahdi was eight or nine years old when the Camry was purchased. Arman, Shahdi, and I claimed ownership of this car at different periods in the last fifteen years. However, the one who used it the most was Shahdi, and thus, the reason we all refer to it as Shahdi’s car, even though Arman had been using it for the last few months. Shahdi, clad in her black outfits, fit perfectly in the black Camry. Many of Shahdi’s friends also have fond memories of this car. She treated it well and never in the four years of driving it, did she have an accident.With the Camry now gone, detached from our life,
I feel like another link between us and Shahdi was lost. Similar to when her trampoline was taken away. I understand we could not hang on to either one of those objects forever, but being a sentimental human with emotional flaws, I am distressed. Shahdi’s Camry was a loyal servant who did not give us much trouble for as long as it was a part of our family of humans, animals, and material objects. We will miss it and will remember it fondly whenever we talk about Shahdi’s driving and life.

Unrealistic Expectations

​Against my better judgement, I shared my thoughts about a CD, which my older brother had given me three years ago, on FB. I thought I would be relatively safe from any reproach because the text was in Spanish and most of my FB friends do not speak Spanish. But, I had underestimated the power of FB's translation on the spot. Therefore, as a result, I received many comments chiding me for my melancholy sentiments. I left the post there for half a day but then deleted it because the comments were starting to make me upset. This incident proved to me once again that the people who have not lost a child, have no clue as how to deal with such a loss. I know everybody meant well and was simply trying to help me in their own way, however, the suggestions were mostly cliche and superficial.​ Not that it was their fault - how could they possibly know how to alleviate the grief of a bereaved parent? How can happy songs make me happy? Would someone who has a missing limb ever forget about their missing limb when listening to a cheerful tune? Can one ever ignore the fact that one is in a wheelchair and not walking like other people? I have no doubt that everybody who has had a severe misfortune in life will find fleeting moments in which they may feel happy, but to expect them to be happy like someone who has never experienced similar hardships is unrealistic.

In every corner of our world, in every culture, the worst misery and misfortune which can befall a parent is the loss of his/her child. That is a universally accepted torment. We have all heard about it, read about it, seen it in movies, even cartoons, but still, most of us do not understand the depth of this misery unless we are faced with it. If it were easy to recover from such an affliction, it would not have been considered such a monumental heartbreak.

Un CD Para Siempre

​Unas semanas después de la muerte de mi querida hija, mi hermano mayor me dio un CD de canciones en español. Ahora es casi tres años y medio después, y casi he escuchado este CD cientos de veces cuando estoy en mi coche durante mi viaje diario entre Lincoln y Omaha. No he escuchado a cualquier otro CD durante todo este tiempo porque me gustan estas tristes canciones que mi hermano había elegido para mí. Estas canciones hablan de amor perdido, corazones sangrantes y las almas angustiadas. Todos los sentimientos que he sentido desde hace más de tres años.​ Escucho este disco con bastante frecuencia como estoy conduciendo, pero sin duda los martes, porque Shahdi murió un martes y ellos son días oscuros para mí.

Revivir mi peor pesadilla

Hace unos días, estaba viendo el final de una telenovela española que era muy emocional.  Yo estaba llorando mientras lo vi porque la historia era sobre de la muerte de una joven de veinte años, la hija de los personajes principales que falleció de la sobredosis de drogas. Cuando sus padres la encontraron, yo reviví las emociones oscuras que sentí cuando encontré el cuerpo de mi hija muerta, hace cuarenta meses. Los actores interpretaban sus papeles muy bien, pero afortunadamente, yo sabía las emociones verdaderas de los padres que pierden sus hijos. Viendo esta película era como una tortura para mí pero no pude apagar el televisor. Fue como revivir mi peor pesadilla. Una pesadilla de la que nunca se despierta. 

30-Year Grief

Yesterday, I called my friend's mother in California to offer her the Nowruz greetings. She is visiting from Iran and I had met her years ago when my friend lived in Lincoln. She is a sweet and chatty old lady, pushing towards ninety. I never forget her statement when she called me from Iran to offer her condolences on the passing of my daughter. She told me, "delet amad pahlooye dele man." which means, "your heart is now next to my heart". That simple statement beautifully summed up the emotinal state of two bereaved mothers with a 30+ year age difference. In a way, her short sentence revealed to me her continuing grief for the loss of her two young sons who were executed in prison almost thirty years ago due to their political viewpoints . She knew I understood her pain. She knew that with me, she did not have to pretend to have forgotten about her lost sons. With me, she could be her true self, with no mask. In a way, her statement acted as a revelation to me that the road of grief for a bereaved parent has no end indeed.