Ten-Year Anniversary

 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 30^th 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 30^th 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 30^th birthday to our precious lost jewel, Shahdi M. Negahban, forever immortalized as a smart, kind, and beautiful 19-year-old ….

Childhood Memories - Mehran Assembly Hall

Thursdays, for many reasons, were always my favorite day of the week at Mehran School. Firstly, it was a half-day school day and we would get off at noon. Secondly, due to being a half day, teachers rarely scheduled an exam on Thursdays. Thirdly, sometimes, the school would show a movie in the assembly hall an hour before dismissal. The assembly hall was on the fourth floor of the building and was quite large. It had a stage too where many plays and musicals were performed by students over the years. The room also served as an examination hall on a regular basis, particularly for upperclassmen. But, its most favorite usage for me personally was during the periods when a movie was shown, as a perfect ending to a busy week of learning. If I recall correctly, the movie days were always a surprise and they would not let us know in advance. I suppose it was kind of like a pop-quiz with the difference that instead of instilling worry and fear in our hearts, it would instill joy, excitement and relief. I can still feel the exuberance and the commotion in the hall when students were competing for the best seats and the apprehension and guess-work to find out what movie was selected.

New Year's Eve Message

On the eve of a new Persian New Year and the beginning of spring, I have been reading up news on the status of COVID-19 disease around the world.  The news is certainly sobering and quite contradictory to the expected spirit of such a night. Iranians have celebrated the festival of Nowruz for thousands of years, and this is the first time, in my lifetime, I have witnessed a halt to typical Nowruz traditions, both inside and outside of Iran. All New Year events, gatherings, visits, trips, shopping, concerts, and parties are cancelled all over the world. COVID-19 has managed a feat which the hardliners in the Islamic Republic were never able to achieve in forty-one years of power! COVID-19 has brought Iran to its knees. I have this overwhelming sense of dread and despair for the innocent people of Iran who, for over four decades, have been tangled up in one devastating event after another caused by their government and the constant feud between the governments of Iran and the United States. The nation of Iran is being ravaged by COVID-19 presently, but due to the US sanctions, the Iranian people are succumbing to this virus in large numbers due to lack of medical supplies and the long suffering of medical facilities from shortage of equipment, parts, medicine, etc. Even now, as the world is in the clutches of an epidemic, the US sanctions are not yet lifted and the horrifying plight of Iranians are overlooked by the world. I am extremely worried about my homeland, but more importantly, I am worried about the fate of my parents, aunts, cousins, and friends. I feel totally helpless.

The Little Scion that could

Today I had to part with a dear companion forever. A companion who had served me most loyally for almost fifteen years and who had provided me with countless hours of entertainment, listening, and counseling. A companion who had never lost its patience with me and silently let me unburden myself over the years of my heartaches, frustrations, and despair.

The human heart’s capacity for love is immense, and most of us are capable of bestowing our love on not only our fellow humans but also on animals, and sometimes on material objects as well. We all have a favorite piece of clothing that we cherish and cannot discard, or memorabilia from different stages of our lives or travels that we have kept for ages, or the cup that someone gifted us many years ago, etc.  We humans are able to get attached to anyone or anything that we come in contact with that holds a special sentimental value for us.

I personally can get easily attached to most things, from my family, friends, coworkers, neighbors to my favorite café, grocery store, restaurant, etc., and lastly to my car.

Today was a hard day because I had to leave behind my little buddy, Scion, on a car dealership lot in Iowa and return home with Ruby, my new car. Scion was not simply a means of transportation for me. It had been my silent companion for almost fifteen years. That little car was filled with precious memories.

Reality of Dreams

Every night before I close my eyes, I say goodnight to Shahdi. I tell her how desperately I miss her. I tell her how much I love her. Sometimes I get more emotional and shed some tears in silence, not to alert Mehrdad because I do not wish to upset him by disturbing his mental equilibrium right before falling asleep. Last night, my emotions became overwhelming. Maybe because I had just heard about the sudden death of the son of a coworker, who happened to share Shahdi's birth year. While I was struggling to reign in my emotions, I begged Shahdi to comfort me by visiting me in my dreams. I told her I needed her. I needed her touch, her support, her love.  I asked her to come to  me. Shortly afterwards, I fell asleep.

Red Cardinal

Yesterday was Nowruz. The start of spring and the Iranian new year.  For hundreds of millions of people around the world, it represented a joyous event, the celebration of spring and a new year filled with possibilities. Alas, for me, it was a sad reminder of Shahdi's absence. I was not in a good mood the entire day. There was no enthusiasm for any of the Nowruz rituals. Had it not been for Mehrdad, instead of eating the traditional Nowruz dinner, we would have had leftovers. My melancholy mood continued during my commute home. When I pulled into the garage and got out of my car, I was immediately drawn to this delightful chirping coming from the top of a tree by our driveway. I stepped out, looked up, and there it was, a little red cardinal with a golden voice!  I was transfixed in place and mesmerized by its singing. I thought to myself maybe this little bird was a messenger from Shahdi, trying to cheer me up in this first hour of spring. What a nice thought! I wish thoughts alone could soothe a broken heart. 

In Good Company

Never had I felt an affinity with George and Barbara Bush until the recent passing of George H.W. Bush. I have more respect for him as a man and as a human being after learning of his service to his nation in WWII as a very young pilot, his devotion and fidelity to his wife, and his integrity, decency, and sense of duty as a US president. I only learned recently we had belonged to the same club because we were both bereaved parents. I was deeply moved by George Bush's eulogy on his father and when he mentioned his long departed sister, Robin, who had died of Leukemia at the age of three. Even though almost seven decades had passed since her death, Robin was still remembered and missed. It has been apparent in the remarks made this week by the Bush family that Robin's parents had never forgotten her, even after the passage of so many years. In his eulogy, George Bush hoped his father had joined his wife and was finally reunited with his beloved eldest daughter.

The manner in which the Bush family had revived the memory of Robin and the sorrow of Barbara and George in losing her over sixty five years ago, validated my strong belief in the fact that one never recovers from the loss of a child. Although Barbara and George were lucky to have many more children and grandchildren, but no one had ever replaced their Robin and their sorrow lived in their hearts for all these years, no matter where life took them, even at the White House.

The mention of Robin on national stage today was a testimony to the unconditional and everlasting love of parents towards their offspring and the eternal and undying sorrow at the loss of one. I felt vindicated today for always wearing black on Tuesdays in Shahdi's memory, for displaying many pictures of my departed daughter at home and at my office, for including her in my conversations, and for hoping that someday I will be able to reunite with her. Just as the Bush family hoped Robin had rushed to Barbara's arms in the other realm seven months ago, I hope when my time comes, the first soul I encounter and embrace would be Shahdi's.

If I am fortunate enough to be offered an eulogy after my passing, I hope my ardent desire to be reunited with my beloved daughter is clearly emphasized.

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.

An Unexpected Messenger

A few days ago, while I was sitting at the airport in Chicago reading a book on my phone and awaiting my flight to Omaha, a lady sat down next to me. At first, I did not even look at her. But, once she started making calls and describing the events of the day to others (including missing her plane and having to wait for several hours for her next flight), I started losing my concentration, and unwillingly, listening to her conversation. I intentionally had selected a small table where the likelihood of someone joining me would have been low.  Had she been quiet and not distracting me from my book, I would have been totally fine with her joining me, however, she was kind of loud and hard to ignore. I was contemplating whether I should move to another location when she abruptly addressed me and asked me why I was not charging my phone since there was an outlet next to my phone (apparently, the outlet had been the main attraction for her). Once I was faced with such a question, I had to turn my head and actually establish eye contact with her. She was a middle-aged lady like myself, with a sweet and beautiful visage. I was immediately taken by her and explained to her that my phone was almost fully charged. But, she insisted on her request, and for some unknown reason I decided to oblige her and took my charger out of my bag and plugged it in. Once she was satisfied that her request had been fulfilled, she started talking to me about her trip, her children, etc. Her name was Barbara and she was on her way to Niagara Falls with some friends to celebrate her 60^th birthday.

General Toby

Toby Makinejad-Negahban

March 1, 2003 – August 2, 2018

My Beloved Toby,

In my imagination, I now see you in the loving arms of your sister, Shahdi, who fell in love with your puppy cuteness and big ears when she was nine years old. I remember vividly that glorious Sunday afternoon when she called me from Pet Doctor to ask me to come and meet you. I obliged and soon after, we walked out with the kindest, gentlest, most loyal and loving member of our family.

In my imagination, you are walking freely in a green park full of fragrant flowers with Shahdi by your side, breathing in clean air and filling your lungs with the aroma of roses and freshly–cut grass while you are being caressed and loved by her. You are fed as much milk, kabob, and dental chews as your heart desires without worrying about getting sick and making your parents upset by having to clean up after you!

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.