Ten-Year Anniversary of our Tragedy
Ten years is a long time by most standards. In the span of
ten years, a newborn baby will become a fifth grader; an insubstantial sapling will
grow foliage providing shade for a deck, a car parked by the side of the street,
or shelter for squirrels and birds in a rainstorm; an ambitious college
freshman will graduate with a PhD degree; a young US senator may become the
president of the US; a small local business may go global; etc. Although the
same length of time could measure differently for individuals depending on
their circumstances, ten years is still a long time in the lives of human
beings and animals.
It has been ten long years since the passing of our beloved
daughter, Shahdi. I debated with myself for many months whether to publicly
recognize the tenth anniversary of her departure from our realm. Ultimately, I concluded that Shahdi deserves
to be remembered in a public forum once more, particularly with her 30th
birthday right around the corner (Dec. 22).
Let me begin by stating how much I cherish this forum for as
long as I live because it served loyally as my true savior during the first
year of my grief. In addition, this forum provided my readers with a window
into my heart and soul during the first twelve months after Shahdi’s untimely
and unexpected death. You figuratively held my hand and helped me along my
grief journey in those very difficult and painful months with your warm and
supportive comments and your sympathetic recognition of my sorrow, and more
importantly, by the videos and stories you shared about our dear Shahdi.
Sharing my thoughts with you was the best therapy available to me. Even though
I expressed my deep appreciation back then, I’d like to thank you all once more
for patiently listening to the disturbing cries of anguish and suffering of a bereaved
mother’s broken heart and soul. Today, I would like to give you an update on the
status of the undesirable journey thrusted upon me ten years ago.
Not having seen my beautiful Shahdi in ten years has indeed been
very difficult and painful. Her absence in our life is acutely felt every
single day. It feels like a lifetime since I last saw her on that doomed
Tuesday in November 2013. Tuesdays have
been black for me ever since. No matter where I am - at home, at work, out and
about in Lincoln, or on a trip - I always wear black on Tuesdays, in memory of Shahdi
and the day my life changed forever - for the worse.
Regarding our cosmic loss, ten years have been like the
blink of an eye! As if this awful tragedy only occurred recently. My tear
glands have been exhausted and almost dry for many years because they were in
overdrive for three and a half years after the calamity that befell our
family. I may not have literally cried a
river as the expression goes, but I sobbed every day for years to the point
that my vision was affected. I suppose, the extent of my sorrow required a
viable outlet for releasing the sad feelings to prevent my soul from shattering
into pieces. As a result, I hardly cry
anymore because I have no more tears to shed. It took me a while, but I eventually learned
to have a peaceful and calm coexistence with my grief in such a way that
obscures the pain of losing my daughter from others.
The last ten years of my life have mainly been about survival. I discovered from the very beginning that the
best method of combatting grief and depression is to continuously keep the mind
busy. Therefore, it is not surprising that I have read hundreds of books since
2013. Had I focused on academic books, instead of novels, I probably could have
completed two PhD degrees by now! Alas,
I selected only books with happy endings, in contrast to the tragic ending of my
daughter’s short life. Staying active and busy are the only ways to fight the
onslaught of grief in my everyday life. Undoubtedly, I will never forget my child. Her
imprints are on my very soul. Her memories constantly swirling in my brain,
waiting for an opportunity to pop up at any time and any place.
I used to have a sunnier, more positive, cheerful, and
tolerant personality. Nowadays, I feel like my temperament has undergone a partial
transformation (and not necessarily for the better) in the last decade. I have a shorter temper and a lot less
tolerance for people who are materialistic, narcissistic, judgmental,
intolerant, close-minded, selfish, unknowledgeable, and petty, or who take life
too seriously. I have arrived at the realization that the best life is one that
is lived through loving, caring and sharing. In my opinion, life should be
measured by the amount of love, compassion and good deeds and not by the
material wealth left behind. Shahdi could not take any of her favorite things
with her when she left us. Most of her belongings were donated to Goodwill,
some were given to her close friends and cousins, and a few sentimental pieces
kept by us including her books. However, Shahdi’s memory has survived because
of her good deeds and compassionate heart. Even though she lived for a very
short period, she had lived a meaningful and impactful life because of her kindness
and dedication to others, and all the hearts she had touched.
Life is neither a bed of roses, nor of thorns. My life after Shahdi’s death has been like a
bed of wilted petals with some thorns which make their sharp and painful
presence known at different times, sometimes expectedly, sometimes unexpectedly.
Surviving the holiday season and her
birthday every year are a couple of those expected ‘thorny’ times; a warm
sunny day, a picturesque night sky or sunset, a chic pair of combat boots popping
up on my Facebook page, national daughter’s day, a rerun of Harry Potter movies,
and listening to a mesmerizing adagio are a few examples of the unexpected
times that the thorns painfully remind me of her absence, her silence, her tragic
finale.
Every day when I wake up, I am intensely aware that my beloved
daughter is gone and out of my reach. It is impossible for me to live a full
and meaningful life after losing Shahdi.
The heartache overshadows everything. However, I do manage to experience
joy occasionally when I am with certain people or in certain locations, or
listening to certain music, or watching certain movies; but, even in those
moments of elation, my mind may suddenly conjure up an image of our beautiful
Shahdi from the past, reminding me of her absence and immediately filling my
heart with sorrow. Recurring episodes of
feeling alone in a crowd are common. I find it utterly unfair that I am able to
feel joy when my child is forever deprived of feeling anything. The dilemma
that every bereaved parent faces every day is: why am I alive but my child is
not?
Besides immense sorrow, regret and guilt have remained my
invisible companions in the last decade; nasty ones whom I wish I could
ditch! The latter two sentiments can be
quite formidable, but I have successfully managed to curtail their negative interference
by engaging my mind with activities such as reading and walking.
For me, the sole beneficial aftermath
of our tragedy was the transformation of Death from a foe to a friend. A
few years ago, I had a medical procedure done which required general
anesthesia. It was my first surgery. I recall how calm I was prior to
being put to sleep. I remember I was thinking I had a fifty/fifty chance of not
waking up after the procedure and I was totally fine with either outcome. I
figured if I didn't wake up, there was a slight chance of reuniting with my
departed daughter, and if I did wake up, I would continue to be a part of my dear
son’s life. I can honestly say I was not necessarily thrilled when I
opened my eyes after the procedure and found myself in the hospital bed. It
took me a few seconds to accept the fact that I was not going to see
Shahdi and instead was given more time in the land of the living. Fate
garnered my submission to continue my life journey. I hope when my time in this realm reaches its
end, Death will lead me to my beloved Shahdi. I so wish there would be a way to
report back to you if my wish became a reality!
If ever I were to write an autobiography, it would be split
in two distinct periods: before and after Shahdi’s death. My
entire outlook on life changed with her death, along with my plans, dreams,
hopes, and disposition. Unfortunately, most
of my expectations and plans for the future were buried with Shahdi. She was
the apple of my eye, my only daughter. My only hope is for my love,
Arman, to continue experiencing a happy life long after I have expired. Nothing
else matters.
When I think of the first ten years of Shahdi’s life and
everything that she accomplished and experienced, I am overwhelmed by the
torrent of memories, activities, school events, parties, sleepovers, trips,
gymnastic/piano/flute/chelo/voice/swimming/tennis/ice-skating/dance/Spanish
classes, concerts, movies, Halloween, laughter, happiness, Philadelphia,
Christmas lists, Shirley Temple drinks, pizza, chocolate chip pistachio
ice-cream, and on and on and on. When I
think back on Shahdi’s first decade of life, I am filled with a sense of
exuberance, elation and contentment of having been witness to her growth from a
beautiful baby into a competent, happy, intelligent, dedicated and responsible
child. It was a pleasure to accompany her on her journey of discovering
different interests and activities and deciding on which ones to pursue
further. Every parent-teacher conference throughout her life (except for her
last two years in high school) was a validation of her talents, intellect and
charismatic character. Hearing her
teachers’ praises was music to my ears and a reassurance that we, as her
parents, were not hindering her personal growth and academic progress but
providing encouragement, opportunities, and support.
At the age of ten, Shahdi was such a level-headed,
competent, smart and responsible person that I honestly thought she could even
survive in college at her age! Alas, how the next nine years changed her life’s
trajectory and tragically altered my earlier assessment of her future. Had she
had more capable parents, she might have been alive today, planning a special
30th birthday celebration. No one knows. But I always wonder…
My grief journey will continue until the very last beat of
my heart. I am so grateful I have a lot of pictures and videos of Shahdi which
will continually refresh her image in my mind. Had I lived a hundred years ago,
I would have had no pictures. That would have been so devastating. I am
confident she is still remembered by all who loved her. Her kind and
charismatic personality and her beautiful visage will be remembered by all of
us who remain devoted to keeping her memory alive through our unmitigated love
for her.
Happy 30th birthday to our precious lost jewel,
Shahdi M. Negahban, forever immortalized as a smart, kind, and beautiful
19-year-old ….
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