A dream

So, I had a dream. As I shared before, I don't dream very often anymore. But Tuesday morning I woke up in a cold sweat and could feel my heart racing. I quickly turned off my alarm and laid back down thinking about the dream I had just awakened from. I was with Hamid and I think my family was there, too, but they were always in the background. Suddenly, someone said that we had to take him to the hospital and then we were there. I saw him lying in a hospital bed. People came into the room and then they told me that they were sorry but he had died.

I just stood there in disbelief feeling overwhelmed. Someone told me I had to start planning the funeral and suddenly I was following a person who was showing my the rooms for the funeral. As we walked into the second room I saw a casket with flowers on it. I remember seeing purple flowers, not the red that I had for Hamid. A Catholic priest in full dress approached me saying that he was going to start the funeral. I couldn't believe it. I started yelling at him, saying that Hamid had only died a few hours earlier. I still needed to call friends and family to tell them; I remember I told him that I needed to call Parham and Christine. I kept yelling at the priest and put my arms protectively over Hamid's casket. And then the alarm went off.

So what did it mean? I told my therapist about it on Tuesday and I thought she had a great analysis. She said that the speed of the events in my dream suggest a feeling of lack of control; that I had no control over what was happening. As I think about it, it is true. It is also interesting that though at times it was a very long year, everything did happen fast. Our life was perfect - we had everything and then suddenly Hamid is in ICU, intubated, receiving 12 units of blood and the doctors are telling me that he has 3-6 months to live. Five months later we realize that it is bad...4 months in the hospital and then hospice and then on July 1st Hamid knows it is time and decides to stop is fluids and nutrition. Some days felt like years, but the good days, the convertible ride, picnics, tea parties, fishing, renewing our vows; they slipped by so quickly.

The therapist also felt that the priest obviously represented a religious component. We talked about my faith and beliefs and how that has been my continuous strength and source of hope. I haven't felt the anger yet - maybe I won't, but maybe the yelling at the priest represented my anger at what had happened. Maybe subconsciously I am expressing how unfair it is, how it happened much too soon. Why did it happen to us?

The pain of Hamid's loss is with me everyday, nearly every moment. I still don't feel anger because of my faith and the signs that I have received. Yet, there are many times that I feel it is unfair and that this wasn't supposed to be my life. Sometimes I think back and it is hard to believe I am here now alone with the kids...it seems that Hamid was just hear, bigger than life, laughing, eating sunflower seeds, playing guitar, drinking wine, and playing with Ariyana. And dreaming of our future.

And so I sit here now, not sure how to finish this. I guess it is part of the journey, all which makes us stronger.

A hard week

It has been a hard week. Not as hard as I thought but still hard. Hamid fills my mind nearly every moment. Everything reminds me of him, of his laughter, of his body, of his love for me. I see the ocean and its immensity and wish I could just feel him or see him one more time.

I just finished the book, “Embraced by the Light.” It had some interesting concepts, some new, but many I had heard before. It talked about how in this life we are supposed to experience things that help us to grow spirituality. That is our purpose here on this earth. We make our own choices yet there are some things that are set in place by God. I believe I was chosen to be with Hamid, to love him, to learn from him as he accepted his diagnosis of cancer and so bravely loved me, ariyana, and afshin. When I think about how he faced the last year of his life, I am filled with admiration. I don’t know that I could do it so bravely, so selflessly. He loved me more that past year than ever before. Even when he had pain he would tell me how much he loved me and would find a way to smile and laugh at ariyana and afshin.

I remember Hamid was so excited to cook a dinner for me…he hadn’t been able to eat in over 5 months, yet he wanted to make a dish he had seen on the Food Channel. So while I was at work, he had my dad drive him across the street to the grocery store. He even got to ride one of the carts around but it ran out of gas in the middle of the parking lot so they quickly drove off and left it! For those of us who knew him, it was always an adventure with Hamid. That night we cooked dinner together. He would get weak so I had a chair for him to sit at and then he would tell me what to chop and mix and then he put the final piece together. We all sat around our dining room table with him at the head and we ate a wonderful dinner that he had prepared for us. Hamid watched and even though he couldn’t enjoy the food you could see that he was basking in our love for him.

I think God wanted me to stand by his side and help him through this experience. We talked a lot about our life together, and mine and the kid’s life without him. Those are hard conversations. Conversations that we were too young to have. But together, we faced what was ahead of us. We talked about the Tree. I believe that night Hamid made his commitment to God. And then on July 1st, 2008 when he decided to stop his treatment he was scared yet relieved to have the power to move on from this world of pain. I know it was hard for him to leave us…maybe that is why those last 36 hours were so difficult. I wonder if he saw us there, gathered around him and heard me telling him that it was alright for him to leave. Did he want to reach out for me just one last time? Did he want to comfort me and tell me that the light was so warm and loving? Did he want to tell me that we would all be alright?

God is there waiting to help us when we ask, but only when we ask. I think about the past months and when I have asked God from my heart He has answered. The message from Hamid, the balloon, the way Ariyana’s one butterfly sways above us when the others aren’t, the peace that suddenly descend on me, the touching and sometimes profound words of Ariyana, and then the song “It’s a wonderful world” playing after I prayed. I truly believe that all of these are His way of letting me know that Hamid is there giving me strength. It does help me but yet I have this hollowness inside that was never there before. It is a place that was only for Hamid. I am going to be alright and I will try to think about what I was supposed to learn from this experience and how it will make me, Ariyana, and Afshin stronger.

It's still big

It's still big. The grief, the loss, the ache of living life without Hamid; it is still so big. Just now as I was opening my blog, sitting here in the living room with the candles lit while everyone sleeps, listening to classical music; the song that I walked down the aisle came on. It is playing right now. I remember how Hamid would laugh as after we were engaged and I heard this song I would start pretending to walk down the aisle. As I watched his face we would both break out in laughter anxious for that day to arrive. I guess that is all that I have to hang on to; those memories, those stories of a great love.

This is my first day of my "morning me time." I am going to try to do it each Friday morning so that I have time to write and reflect on this journey. It has been a hard few weeks. Of course, they are always filled with laughter and love with my friends, family, and most importantly, Ariyana and Afshin, but the pain is still there, and it is big. I have been pushing it aside focusing on work, home, and taking care of the kids. But it is there; an almost unbearable pain.

Somehow I find myself running into widows where ever I go. I went to get my haircut a few weeks ago and was told that my hairdresser was no longer there. Disappointed, I had a new person cut my hair. We started talking and she asked about my family. I breezed over a question about my husband, and then it came up again. I told her he died 7 months ago. She stopped cutting my hair and shared that her husband had died when she was 21 and had a 3 y.o son. I started crying as I listened to her story. I told her a little about mine, but mostly just listened and was thankful for the time that Hamid and I had to prepare and to say good-bye. As I left the salon that evening we hugged and each of us felt that we had met for a reason.

Then I had to go to Mailboxes to have a mortgage paper notarized. I took Hamid's death certificate since he is still listed on the paperwork. As the woman was taking down the information I said that I was the only one signing the papers. She said, "He has to be here for me to notarize his signature." I slid the death certificate towards her and told her that he was dead. At that point she stopped and looked at me and said she was sorry. She asked if we had children so I told her about Ariyana and Afshin. She then shared that her husband was killed by a drunk driver when her son was 3 y.o. I asked her how her son was doing. She said that he was very good and that he loved hearing the stories about his dad since he had been too little to remember him. That sentencecut through me like a knife. I quickly put on my sunglasses, thanked her, and left.

I think that is one of the hardest and most painful things for me to accept. Ariyana likely will not remember all of the love that Hamid had for her. She won't remember how he called her Joujay and how he loved to pick her up and kiss her all over. How she had him wrapped around her finger from the moment she arrived. I know I will give her those memories through the stories and the pictures, but it just hurts so much. And Afshin. That is all that he will have is just the stories I can tell him. It just doesn't seem fair that they didn't have a chance to know Hamid. Just writing about it now is painful and I can't even express all of my emotions. I will do my best though to help them to remember their father and to really know him. He was an amazing man.