It's the little things

It's the little things that I miss. That morning cup of coffee that I so often took up to Hamid, "spooning" when we went to bed - he always said, "closer, closer" and I would laugh because there was no possible way for me to get closer! That glass of wine, those Sunday night Persian dinners that he cooked all day. The next morning I could still smell gormeh sabzhi when i went down to make coffee. The cool nights that come after a hot day here...they remind me of Hamid. I feel the breeze on my skin and I am back to the two of us sitting in our camp chairs, drinking Sam Adams in the middle of our dirt yard, and planning the flowers and the pool. It was such an exciting time; our dreams were coming true.

Today we went to Huntington Beach - it was beautiful and we had so much fun. I thought of Hamid the entire time but it was ok. It was freeing. On the way home we drove by the exact beach there in Huntington where we came with Hamid last year after he got out of the hospital. I thought of us then, there was a lot of hurt but there was so much hope. He looked so healthy and strong. He and dad must have spent over an hour just trying to get his new kite up!

Yes, it is the little things in life that become so significant, so grounding. Those are the things that we need to be thankful for each day. That phone call in the middle of the day to say hello, holding hands and walking, playing with ariyana, listening to electric guitar, cooking dinner, going to the store...there are so many, little things. I don't think I even realized how closely our lives were woven - a beautiful, intricate quilt. Tonight I thank God for the little things that Hamid and I had, and I thank Him for the little things that I still have in my life each day.

Remembering

"A wife sits on the bed, gently holding and rocking her newborn. She looks down adoringly at the small child and then lifts her eyes to turn her gaze to her husband sleeping quietly in the next bed. His chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm for the first time today. I sit in a folding chair between the two beds and I too shift my glances between the precious sleeping baby and his father. And as I do this I’m aware that I’m in some of the most sacred space I’ve ever touched. I’m also aware that I’m immersed in terrible beauty…"

A friend of mine, Chris, who was the chaplain at Sharp, shared this with me yesterday...as I read it I remembered those days, the pain, the hope, the uncertainty...the unwaivering love of husband and wife. Many times I looked to Afshin for strength and to remind me of the gift of life that Hamid and I had been given in the midst of all of this.

I need to share the rest of Chris' writings here as they inspire me and also help me to put my guard down and feel some of the sharp pain of losing the love of my life...the one person whose warmth filled me each night, whose arms protected me, whose laugh brightened my days, whose love filled my heart.

Reflecting on his year, Chris shared, "I’ll never forget that from a 45 year old radiologist with stage 4 terminal cancer and his pregnant wife I learned how the words “for better and for worse, in sickness and in health” are lived out unfailingly amidst a terrible beauty of reality. I learned how cancer really can’t cripple love, invade the soul, or silence courage. I learned that in the midst of winter one can discover in themselves an invincible summer."

It is a time where there are no words. But I sit here and I read this over and over. I cry, I remember, I smile...I miss him so much. They say Hamid is looking down on us and that he is with us, but I want to feel him. I want that touch of his hand and warmth of his body just one more time. What I would give to just see him again, vibrant and strong and have him tell me that we're going to be ok.

Letting go of the guilt

I have had people say to me how lucky I am that I have no regrets. Hamid and I did make the most of the time we had together and we lived and we went through it together. We had so many deep talks this past year. Many were ones that you never want to have yet after talking, crying, and holding each other, we always felt better. I still remember the day when the doctor told us that he had carcimetosis. He came to work with me so I could get my bags and then we went home. We told Mara we needed to be alone for a while and we went upstairs together where we just cried, a cry of pain and fear that seemed almost unbearable. We held each other close as if together we could keep time from moving on. But it moved on. After laying there a while, Hamid told me it was time to stop crying and watch a movie. He hugged me again but this time with a smile of courage - I am sure he was just hiding his pain behind it, but he did it for me. So we went on and laughed and loved. We knew we would face this together.

We did so much this past year...quality family time, walking and biking early in the morning, the aqaurium, zoo, trick or treating, traveling to MO and NM...and then when Hamid became really sick we still lived as much as we could...Christmas and New Years at Sharp, Afshin's birth, love notes and secret admirers, dancing to our wedding song, movie nights...and then home. It was so good to be home together....watching movies, playing cards, going outside, playing with ariyana and afshin, tea parties, birthday celebrations, the wii, our convertible trip, picnics, renewing our vows, and more...I was by his side until the end.

But I do, I did..I had one regret. I hadn't told anyone until just a few weeks ago. I told Hamid that I would push his pain button and that I would keep pushing it so that he wouldn't suffer. I promised him. But those last 36 hours were so hard. I increased his pain medicine even higher than the on-call doctor told me to do and I pushed the button and when I fell alseep the nurse continued to push it...but he was so restless...should I have increased it more and earlier? I told him I wouldn't let him suffer. He didn't really talk to me after Monday night. One time on Tuesday he seemed to focus just for a moment when I showed him a picture of his father and Abdul. It was so hard to see him restless and not able to communicate with us. I keep thinking and maybe hoping that neurologically he couldn't have been "aware" at that point...I don't know. I just pray that God released his soul from that body even before he passed. I know Hamid knew I was doing all that I could but it wasn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't supposed to happen to us...we had everything.

So this guilt...I have been holding on to it but after talking to my friend about it and then opening up to a few others I am letting it go. I know if Hamid could, he would wrap his arms around me and tell me that he is alright, that he loves me, and he is waiting for me but that I need to take care of the kids and be happy. And so another day goes by and I cry, but I smile and laugh to. I will never be the same but I will be ok.

Goodnight

It's late. Hamid and I used to be in bed at 9pm, curled up together watching tv with me eating my ice cream and he sneaking a bite before falling asleep beside me . I miss those nights, especially when he pulled me in close to him as he did every night. He would always say come closer and I would scoot closer so there was nothing between us at all - just each other. It is amazing how something so simple was so powerful. I always felt safe there snuggled against him. It is something to cherish.

Goodnight my love. I miss you so much. I hate that life goes on - it should just stop so that I can just be. But the sun keeps coming up and yes, that rooster down behind the house keeps crowing and that donkey keeps hee-hawing for what ever reason each night. It is late and very quiet now. Ariyana and Afshin are sleeping. I wish I could feel you just one more time and have you remind me that we will be ok. I know we will but the world is not as bright without you here. I smile and laugh but it's as if only part of me is there in that moment. Another part of me cries out for you to be there by my side. Behind the smile there is the pain. They say it won't always be there. That is probably true but it is there now. So Hamid, I will try to go to sleep now and maybe you will visit me in my dreams. But it is ok if you don't as you are always in my heart.

Here I am

Today it has been one month since my husband died. Each day I ask myself, how can I live without him, without the love of my life. I always know the answer...it is through faith, our two beautiful children, family, friends. And Hamid wanted me to keep living. But it is so hard. I never truly understood what it meant to have a void but I do now. I have always been happy - Hamid loved that about me. He said I always brought him a sense of peace; I was his light. My light still burns strongly for my children, but some of the lights were blown out and will never be rekindled.

So I go on, grounding myself in routine and habits. Ariyana and Afshin also help to ground me. Ariyana is so full of energy and curiosity. Afshin is one big smile that melts your heart....just like his father! I have to figure out to do it all - balance the children, house and full time job. I know millions of women do it and I will do it, too, but it just wasn't supposed to be like this. We had the perfect life, we had everything we could want. That diagnosis turned our world upside down.

I remind myself of how lucky Hamid and I were to have had 13 incredible years and were more in love than ever. Some people don't find true love. I played "the dance" at Hamid's service - it seemed to speak to me - if I hadn't had this pain, I would have missed out on the beauty of loving Hamid, and his love was worth a lifetime. I miss you so much, Hamid.