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.

I have no intention of repeating the sentiments I had already shared in my previous essays over the last five years, even though many of them remain intact. However, I wish to briefly share the status of our grief in order to offer a better understanding of the long-term effects of suicide on our family.

Despite the common expectation by others, our grief has not ended after five years. It never will. Others have naturally moved on. To them, Shahdi’s death happened several years ago. It is in the past. Dealt with. Stowed away in a compartment in the back of their minds. Left to fade away in time. 

However, our grief is as real and heartfelt as it was in 2013. Suicide has been devastatingly hurtful to our family, particularly to us as Shahdi’s parents. Suicide has forced us to live with the knowledge of our failures every single day since November 26, 2013. We continue to feel its consequences. Suicide of a child is the ultimate indicator of the failure of parents and guardians in raising and protecting their child. No matter what anyone says, we are unable to forget this reality. All parents endeavor to shield their offspring from harm to the best of their abilities, with tooth and nail if need be. Therefore, our plight can easily be understood by other parents who regrettably were also unable to protect the lives of their children.

We continue to live under the shadow of suicide. We are still in that remote island with tumultuous storms, even though we have a lifeline to safety through Arman. Unfortunately, sometimes, the thunder of sorrow becomes so strong that it temporarily hides our refuge. I honestly do not expect this storm to ever be fully lifted, and thus we have learned to accept it as our new way of life. We recognize that our hearts will remain at least half-filled with sorrow for the rest of our lives. We have felt and will feel joyful on occasion but it will not be like the unrestrained joy we used to feel when our kids were young and our house was filled with laughter and positive energy. The most joyful periods of my life since Shahdi’s departure have been the trips I have taken with Arman, away from Lincoln and its deep well of memories.

Shahdi still is a part of our lives and we think of and miss her every single day.  No matter where we are, she is with us. Last week, a bouquet of red roses was placed on Shahdi’s grave on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving per her father’s request. Even though he was in China, his thoughts were with his beloved daughter and how to fulfill a 5-year tradition of leaving roses for his beautiful rose. Where our feet take us, Shahdi accompanies us in our hearts and souls. She is always in our thoughts. Every breath I take is a reminder of the one she is not taking.

I have undergone a subtle transformation and my soul is not quite the same as before. I used to be an extrovert, but now, I am slowly turning into an introvert, one who enjoys her own solitude more than being in others’ company. I view life from a different angle now. Death broke into our house, invaded our dreams, sabotaged our goals for the future, and forever altered our life trajectory. We now are aware of its closeness, therefore, we try not to take life too seriously any more. The pursuit of happiness is futile and it is more prudent to instead search for love and friendship. After all, the abundance of love and friendships will undoubtedly bring happiness to one’s life.  We all have to take a walk with Death down the road but before we reach our expiration date, we better have no regrets. I have many regrets, most in relation to Shahdi, but I hope, for the rest of my life, I can be a good decent person, worthy of being alive. I hope I can offer kindness, love and assistance to people on my path who are in need. There are a lot of people on this planet who could use an embrace, a kiss, a kind word, a thank-you, a compliment, and a crying shoulder. These acts of kindness towards other humans are the most valuable in life, not the material objects we collect or offer each other. When Shahdi passed away, she could not take anything with her but her good words and good deeds were the precious things she left behind in the hearts and minds of many of us. She is remembered today because of her kind soul and the good deeds she had performed while she was alive.

In the last five years, Shahdi has taught me how to be less selfish, to be more understanding and accepting of other people, to be more kind towards people who are suffering, to be more tolerant, to be less judgmental and critical, to be more reachable, and above all, to be more loving. I only wish she were alive to continue teaching me to be a better human being, mother, daughter, and friend.

I miss her with every breath, every sigh and every glance. She was the apple of my eye and I wish I deserved the honor and privilege of being her mother.