Inspiring...

I was talking with a woman I had recently met. As we were parting she looked at me with warm eyes and said, “I’ve read your blog. I couldn’t stop reading - your story is so inspiring.” Her words went straight to my heart. That is what I want our story to be – inspiring.

Oddly enough, I actually saw my last post a few weeks ago and had made a mental note to blog again. I had been extra vulnerable with that post sharing my pain and my feelings of insecurity; my need to run. Everyone thinks I am so strong and together but there are these moments, thank God they are just moments, where I am overwhelmed with loss; with the pain of Hamid’s death, what he went through, and how hard his death was in the end. It can literally bring me to my knees. It is scary to let others see that side of me, yet at the same time I find it empowering to acknowledge the tragedy of losing my husband so early. My blogging has been a source of healing as I embraced the grief as well as celebrated God’s surprising gifts amidst my pain.

My life is good. I am happy. I am blessed to see Ariyana and Afshin bounding with energy and excitement each day. They know their Baba and we often laugh at stories of him. But they also feel safe and love their new Daddy. There are moments when Afshin clings to Wayne snuggling up against him or vying for his attention in sword fighting where I feel a twinge of pain to know that was supposed to be Hamid. My heart breaks a little but I take a breath and remember the greater things in this life and beyond. I am blessed that my children have such a loving father. We are living here and now, and that is what God wants us to do; to live, to love, to give to others. God and Hamid gave me the gift to keep on living. Our children are living, too, and Hamid’s story lives on in them. I know that one day they will read our story and they will be proud, they will be inspired.

Just run

Just run.
There are moments, just moments when I want to run. Run.

I feel the anxiety growing inside of me, wanting to take over. A voice pleas in desperation, “just run.” I want to grab Ariyana and Afshin and run away to escape from the pain. I just want to be with them, to be safe, to be free of this pain.

As I write this I feel a little guilt. I am happy and I am so blessed in my life – in what I had and in what I have now. But the truth is, this isn’t the life that I had imagined. I miss Hamid and it hurts that he is not here to watch his children grow up. I remember the day it all began. I see him smiling in the ER. Fear suddenly flashes across his face as he tells me that something is terribly wrong. A few hours later I watch the ventilator mechanically raise his chest up and down. I hear myself telling the surgeon, “Yes, you have my permission to do emergency surgery.” Numbly, I hear “stage iv…3-6 months.” I am pregnant. Just run. I need to run.

Yes, every once in while this feeling of running hits me. It is like a fight or flight reaction and to survive I feel that I just need to protect Ariyana and Afshin and go. But I know that no matter how far I go, I cannot escape it. I guess it is normal, a part of grieving but I guess I feel that there is an expectation to be strong, to be happy. I am both. I found love again; I have two amazing children. I have someone who walks beside me on this journey, someone who loves my children, someone who knows what it means to lose a loved one. But even still, there are moments when I need to fall down and acknowledge the pain and then wipe my wounds and choose to stand again.

The curious faith of children

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. “Mommy, what does ‘soul to keep’ mean?” asked Ariyana.

I opened my eyes and looked at her. She is so curious. Just two weeks ago when I was helping her tie her sneakers she asked me, “Mommy, how did Baba die?” I told her that he had cancer and died and went to heaven. She said, “No, I mean, how did he die?” Taking a deep breath and smiling at her I told her about that morning. I told her how we were there in our home and that when Baba was getting ready, she and Afshin came in and kissed him goodbye. I told her that he knew she loved him. Then she went downstairs with Tia Desy and Tia Alma and played in the pool. “No, how did he die?” She asked again persistently. Looking into those blue eyes of hers; those eyes shaped just like Hamid’s, I told her that Baba's heart stopped. I had my hand on Baba’s chest feeling it go up and down. And then he took his last breath like this, and I took a breath. His heart stopped and God took his spirit up to heaven. She hopped off of the wooden chest and we hugged each other tightly, and then she said, “Ok” and ran off to play. Oh the curious faith of children.

The other morning we were snuggling and talking. She told me that my eye looked a little red and that “When you go to heaven you should talk to God about that.” I laughed and told her I would but I thought God wanted me to stay and take care of her and Afshin for a while. She looked at me so matter of factly and said, “Well, when God calls you have to go right then.” She is wise beyond her years. Why do we sometimes resist that? "Yes, my dear, when God calls us we go but I will always be in your heart no matter where I am."

And so the three of us were lying there in bed and she asked me about our souls. That was a hard one. I told her and Afshin about our souls and how they go up to be with God. She sat up quickly and said, “Yeah, I know, I know, your body stays here but your soul goes up to God so that He knows your name? Right? Yes, that way He knows your name."

Tonight I am thankful for my amazing children and for their curious faith. I know Hamid would be so proud of them. May God Bless them.

Remembering

Two years ago Hamid died as I lay nestled beside him dreading the moment, yet somehow anxious for it to come so that Hamid could finally be at peace like he wanted. Two years seems like an eternity.

As a mother now, I sit here remembering him, and I think about how much his mother must have loved him. Forty eight years ago he was born in Tehran, Iran. I wonder if his mother knew how much she would love that little boy that she held in her arms. Did she know as she looked into his big brown eyes with those eyelashes that she would later go out of her way to make him special meals while the others ate the dish she had originally prepared for their dinner, and give in to his requests for a motorcycle? Hamid always told me that he was her favorite. I was not surprised; he had that way about him, yes, he did.

Hamid’s mother and father must have realized that he was strong; that he was a survivor. They sent him along with his younger sister to the United States on their own. I can’t imagine the feelings that must have coursed through their hearts as they waved good-bye. Excitement and relief knowing they were giving their children a chance for a better life in the US, yet fear, anxiety and sadness to know they would not see their children for a long time. As I write this, it reminds me of some of the feelings I felt that morning two years ago.

A lot has happened this past year. I am grateful to have found peace in what God has given me. There are still hard days and precious moments with Ariyana and Afshin where I find my heart breaking as I wish Hamid was here to see them. He would be so proud of them. Both of them have many of his characteristics; that worries me as I think of their teenage years. Oh, he was such a charmer. Their sensitivity and maturity always amazes me. I know they are still understanding his death in their own way and it will continue to evolve as they get older and want to know more. Bless his heart, but even Afshin picks up on moments when I miss Hamid. Father’s day morning when the kids and I had a little time alone while Wayne was running I was thinking of Hamid. I made a comment to Afshin as he strummed Hamid’s guitar that “Your Baba loved to play guitar.” He finished his “song” and came over to me nodding as he said, “You’re sad Baba’s not here, yes? Yes? Don’t worry, I love you.” And then he wrapped his little arms around me. I call Afshin my “angel boy.” He truly is. I think God gave him, a little boy, as a gift to me knowing that we would have a special bond for what we went through together from the moment he was in my womb to the moment he joined us and renewed our hope.

So, today I toast to a great man, to a man who opened his heart to love, to a man who was incredibly brave. I toast our memories of laughter and fun. I toast the gifts he gave me during his life. I toast our children who will carry on his legacy. You are always in our hearts, Hamid.

Open your eyes and open your heart for the miracles are all around you.

We all want that miracle or that sign from God, from a loved one. We pray, we ask; but do we just listen and watch? Do we sometimes look too hard or look for something too big? Maybe we keep ourselves so busy that we miss our chance. Or are miracles found in the simplest of gifts that drift into our day? Either way, I believe, you must keep an open heart and give yourself time to just be, to just experience.

Last Sunday evening I wasn’t feeling well so I took a vitamin C and when I talked to Wayne that night asked him if there was anything else he would recommend for a sore throat. He said drink lots of water and get extra sleep. I told him I was heading to bed with my glass of water. The next morning my alarm went off at 5:15 am. I had been up with Afshin a few times and felt so tired. I remembered what Wayne had said and hit snooze. I slept until 6:30 am. It was during that time, when I listened to my body rather than worrying about all that I needed to do for work that I had a dream…

I came home to mine and Wayne’s house. As I walked into the living room Wayne was there with 4 of his residents. They had just finished some discussions or a lecture. There was a pool table behind Wayne, when I asked where it was from he said he found it in the other room and thought the residents and medical students would enjoy playing it. I smiled and started walking around to check on the students. More and more medical students came into the house. They were having a great time. As I walked into another room, Hamid was standing there. He was wearing his khakis and that orange flannel shirt. He had a goatee and was smiling that smile of his that filled the room. I remember feeling so happy to see him. As I walked toward him, he said, “Heather, I never had this when I was in medical school. It’s great.” I came over to him and hugged him tightly saying, “Hamid, I miss you. But I am really happy.” Hugging me back, he said, “I know, it’s ok,” and was gone.

When I woke up I felt so refreshed – I had needed that sleep. And then suddenly I remembered the dream. Hamid had come to me! I felt a rush of excitement and peace; he had come. He knows; they are watching over us. As I drove to work that morning, I felt re-energized and thanked God for that gift.

It was Thursday morning. I was at work and Desy was putting Afshin down for his nap. She sent me the following text:

Afshin just made me cry. I put him in bed and went to the laundry room and he started saying loudly, “Bye, Baba. Bye, Baba. Are you ok? Do you want my binky?” She said Afshin seemed to settle down and then quietly said, “Bye, Baba. Bye, Baba. You are ok.” And then a few minutes later he drifted to sleep.

It hit me as I drove to Loma Linda. What a beautiful gift. Afshin is just 2 years old and was only 6 months old when Hamid died; yet, here he was clearly talking to Hamid. He knows who is Baba is and somehow they were connecting. I cried hard, grateful for the gift, yet feeling the pain of how unfair it is to Ariyana and Afshin to have lost their dad. That is the hardest part for me – I can’t protect them from this. I can’t stop their questions and their pain as they grow older and understand more. I called my mom – I needed to just be her daughter who was hurting, whose heart had been broken. I cried as soon as she answered and I could her behind the strength in her voice the pain of what it must be like to have to watch your child go through this. She listened and then helped me to focus on the gifts. That it is amazing that Afshin knows his Baba and talked to him. We talked about how blessed we were to have Wayne in our lives. He loves me and the kids with his entire heart and understands loss. He will be the one they know as their Dad. But Wayne will also tell them about their Baba and about their other brother who are out there watching from above. I told mom that I knew I would be calling her many more times having a similar conversation as the Ariyana and Afshin grow older. Yet, in my heart, I don’t think it will be that hard for them. They are going to grow up knowing their Baba and knowing that he loved them.

I felt better after talking to mom though I was surprised out how tired I felt from the shear emotion of it all. I finished my work day and then on the way home I called Christine to tell her about the dream and about Afshin. After I finished the story she was amazed and started talking about how I felt and how amazing it was. I was sitting at the red light on the top of Barton Road looking out at the blue sky as I listened to her. Suddenly, a single red balloon lifted up into the sky in front of me. It must have come from one of the shops in the plaza. I felt a smile stretch across my face as I shook my head in somewhat disbelief. I interrupted Christine to tell her, “You’ll never believe this, but a balloon is floating up to the sky right here!” I think we both kind of laughed and were in awe of the miracles around us. I thought back to that bouquet of balloons that landed in the back yard in front of the picture window. As I started driving and took one last glance at the balloon rising towards the heavens, I thanked God. I know God was trying to speak to me and I was listening.

I watched a woman say good-bye...

I watched a woman say good-bye to her husband. It was quiet as the music played and they walked down the aisle. I wonder if she felt all of our eyes on her? She looked so elegant yet there was a sense of fragility surrounding her as she walked toward the casket and took her seat in the pew with her two children. As the service started I couldn't help but watch her. She was dressed in black, dark sunglasses hid her eyes that had cried many tears; she was stoic yet heartbroken. It all came back so clearly.

I was standing next to Hamid where he lay in the casket at the front of the chapel. I had felt alone. I shouldn't have been alone. He was leaving much too soon. I could imagine me there with white hair, Ariyana and Afshin beside me, giving me strength as they looked at their own loved ones. But to be there alone, knowing that Ariyana and Afshin didn't understand all that had happened...it wasn't supposed to be like that.

My heart ached for her and what she has to go through. No one can really help her; she has to do it herself. She has to find her own way. I remember being there will all of those feelings and questions, and then letting the numbness wash over me, protecting me from that unbearable pain. I remember facing that pain and crying at the realization of life and that I had to go on without him. I hope and pray that she finds strength in her children as I did in Ariyana and Afshin.

There was music and speakers. Someone shared an email from a friend who talked about this as being a time that another woman would wake in the night and reach for her husband only to find an empty space. That moment is an opportunity to call to God. In the midnight hours when she cries filled with pain and fear, it too, is an opportunity to reach out to God. It is so hard to understand why things happen and how we will ever be complete again. Days without your loved one feel like years. There are so many ups and downs on the journey and there is no one way to get through it.

Just the other day I talked to another friend whose huband died one year ago. She said she is doing alright and as she looks back on the year she doesn't know how she made it. I told her it was God. She misses her husband but has found a way to start lving again; to have hope. It reminded me of something I read tonight about how hard life is when we lose someone too soon.

It is life that surrounds me. Life. Life that is meant to be lived, its riches to be extracted. No the Lord's promise is not for those who give up, but for those who forge ahead...

-Leonora Wood

I send a prayer out tonight for those who have lost loved ones much too soon. May they find peace and the gift to love and live again.

A few months ago at church, Desiree took my hand and told me that she wanted to get baptized again and wanted me to join her. I was touched but I wasn't sure. It had been such a hard two years. It stuck in my mind and then a few weeks ago, she brought it up again and taking my hand, she said it was a new year, a new start for us, a new commitment to God. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about her words. I learned so much these past two years and I have grown in my faith. Every experience became part of this unshakable belief that God is there watching over us and that He has a plan that is so much bigger than we can understand. So, this is my testimony that I want to share with you as I re-commit my life to God this Sunday.

My parents gave me a strong Christian foundation. As kids, I remember we sat around the kitchen table taking turns reading the Upper Room during breakfast. It gave us a few quiet minutes in the busy rush of school mornings. There was youth group, church camp, and memories of my mom tucking us into bed and saying our prayers. These experiences were a foundation for me as I grew up, went off to college, traveled and experienced life. The strength of my faith ebbed and flowed during the years, but it was always there; a constant glow in my life. But I had no understanding of how important my faith would be one day.

That day was June 15, 2007 when my husband, Hamid, was lying in the hospital on a ventilator, swollen from extensive emergency surgery, and receiving multiple blood transfusions. They told me that it might be cancer and that they had removed 2/3s of his stomach. I had waited 10 years to marry Hamid, and our 2 years of marriage had been wonderful. And there I was, wondering if he was going to live. I was 8 weeks pregnant with Afshin, and Ariyana was just 14 months old.

I turned to God and was blessed with the people He surrounded us with. Hamid did come home, and we had a new perspective on life. We enjoyed every moment, and our relationship grew even stronger as we faced the realization that he was going to die within months. We had many beautiful moments that year, but many heartbreaking ones as well. On December 6, 2007 Hamid had surgery in San Diego to try to alleviate a bowel obstruction. Due to complications he was in the hospital for 3 ½ months. During that time he had several close calls with death but he somehow always pulled through. I think God was giving Hamid time to finish things and come home to Him.

From December through April, I left my children with my parents and stayed by his side. As I look back on that time I don’t know how I survived. It broke my heart to watch mom and dad drive away with the kids as I waved good bye and slowly walked back into the hospital trying to keep up a strong front for Hamid. I was so torn. I was supposed to be home caring for Afshin and watching Ariyana hold her little brother, but I also knew I belonged by Hamid’s side. He needed me there. At times I could feel the Hamid I knew and loved slipping away with the pain, the tubes, and the gray walls of the hospital room. Eating dinner in the cafeteria for nearly 3 months, I saw many families come and go. I envied them. I often cried myself to sleep listening to the buzz of the IVs, the ding of Hamid’s pain pump, and the soft chatter from the nurses station. Somehow, I always found a way to smile the next morning as I walked over to Hamid’s bed, ready to face the day. I think about the poem, Footprints in the Sand by Carolyn Joyce Carty. My mom loved this poem and I even memorized it for school when I was young. I know these words are true…"My precious, precious child. I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering when you saw only one set of footprints...That was when I carried you.” I know that God carried me during that time; I could not have endured that alone.

In April, Hamid came home on hospice. He believed in God and recognized Jesus as a great man. He actually liked to talk about religion and beliefs but he wasn’t a Christian. Hamid came to church with me occasionally and we prayed during meals. After his diagnosis he tried to come to church more, but it was hard as the cancer progressed. I struggled with where he was in his beliefs. Would he go to meet God? One day my friend Mara asked Hamid if she could read the Bible to him as she prayed and anointed him with oil. He let her do it and the experience really touched him. Later I told Hamid about the stories I had read about the tree of life in Heaven. I asked him if he would meet me there. Crying, he promised to meet me there. Hamid died on July 9, 2008. I lay beside him, with my hand on his chest, and felt his heart beat for the last time. My entire being ached for him and for our children who didn’t get the chance to really know what an incredible man he was. But I also knew Hamid had moved on to a much better place, a place where I will meet him one day. I miss Hamid everyday but have been blessed with signs and gifts that reaffirm God’s presence and plan for my life. So, with this baptism I start a new day, and I recommit my life to God and will continue to trust in Him.

A moment

It was one of those beautiful Sunday evenings in California. The park was filled with people. I heard laughing and kids yelling as they played in the water and others slid down the slide. We were off to the side where it was a little quieter. I sat in the grass enjoying its coolness against the heat of the day. I looked out over the park and smiled as I watched Ariyana run with our friend. I could hear her shrieks of laughter as they raced. Afshin was further behind them trying to catch up. I could hear him yelling to them. They were both so happy. You could see it in their faces and hear it in their laughter. I looked to the sky as a wave of sorrow washed over me. Hamid, you were supposed to be here, you were supposed to be the one playing with the kids. You would have loved this day. I think in some way maybe you were there with us and could feel the love, the joy, the freedom from my pain. But that is all that we will have; the memories those special moments when there is a magical connection to that world that is beyond our understanding.

I looked back at them, watching them all run towards me. I felt myself smile and the sorrow slipped away and was replaced with feelings of blessings. Life is different now. It will always be different but God continues to watch over us and I am grateful for these gifts that He brings to me.

One year ago

One year ago today was my husband’s funeral. My friends and family were there to support me through this day and join me in celebrating Hamid’s life. My girlfriends all slept in my bedroom. It felt so good to walk into my room and see it full of sleeping bags and pillows. But no amount of support could really settle me that morning. For some reason I wanted to look my best and be beautiful for Hamid, but of course, that meant a bad hair day and my make-up just didn’t seem right. I should have gotten up earlier to get ready…it wouldn’t have mattered. No amount of time would have made me really feel ready to say good-bye to him.

I don’t remember a lot of that morning…I remember Cheryl coming in and telling me that I looked beautiful and giving me a big hug. And the family picture. I really didn’t want to be in a family picture. The rationale was that all of the kids were finally together but I just didn’t want to be in a family picture without Hamid who had become my family. But somehow I stood there and smiled while inside my heart ached.

I can’t remember who took the kids to the church…I just know that they were alright and that I didn’t have to worry – they would be having fun and feeling loved while I said good-bye to their father again. Mom, Dad, and Brian drove me to the church – Brian was so protective. We walked in and Hamid’s family was there to meet us. Mr. Walker were so kind and supportive as they escorted me to the casket. I remember Greg gently preparing me for what I would see – Hamid was so thin and the cancer had ravaged him so much that it was hard for them to position him. When I looked at down at Hamid my heart seemed to stop. It was so hard to see him like this. I felt an anger rise within me – why couldn’t they make him look better. He was so handsome and full of life. But it wasn’t their fault, it was the cancer. I closed my eyes and said a prayer as I tightly held the letter I had written to Hamid. I can’t remember when I read it to him. Was it before the service or was it at the end, just before they closed the casket? I think that’s when I read it. I put it beside him and we took off his glasses so that I could keep them. And the casket was closed.

This morning after about an hour of feeling tired and grumpy I was wondering why I was feeling like this – I actually slept about 7 hours so I should feel good. And then I remembered what day it was. I thought about the funeral on and off throughout the day. I made a Persian dish as Hamid always cooked a Persian dinner for us on Sundays. Then tonight when I was picking up downstairs, I saw that Ariyana and Afshin had mixed a few books into their toy bins. I turned one of the books over and there it was, “I miss you: A book about death.” I thought about the coincidence and gave a half-hearted smile as I carried the books upstairs and put them with the other books in the basket in my room. I helped Ariyana and Afshin brush their teeth and then we climbed into bed. As usual, Ariyana picked out two books. She picked out the I Miss You book. And so we read it together, all lying in bed, snuggled against each other. I read and talked about Hamid. But when I came to the part about it being hard to say goodbye to someone you love I started crying. Ariyana looked at me with her big eyes and asked, “Maman, are you sad? Are you sad just a little or a lot?” Smiling, I told her that sometimes I am sad a lot. She quickly replied, “Don’t worry, I’m here.” Then she asked me if I wanted a tissue so that I could wipe my eyes. She quickly climbed out of bed and came back with a tissue. She touched my face and held my hand while Afshin layed there on my arm. I am so thankful for them – they are my two angels who give me strength every day. We talked a little and at one point Ariyana told me that I can’t go to heaven because it’s not my turn yet; I can’t leave her alone. I had told her this before when we talked about Hamid being gone. I told her that God wants me to stay here to take care of her and Afshin. It broke my heart. I kissed them both and told them that I loved them.

Seeing the Small Signs

Tonight, I am thankful for the small signs that we find. My friend, Mindy ran into a woman who drove a green jeep at the Springstein concert last weekend. As she tried to scalp a ticket, the woman passed by and told her not to worry, that a man in a blue shirt was going to sell her a great ticket. A little bit later it happened, and it was a good seat. I called Mindy just a little bit later as she tailgated alone at the back of her Mini Cooper in the parking lot. We talked for a few minutes, both never imaging ourselves facing what life had given us; struggling to figure out how to live without our loves. After Mindy hung up, a woman, the same woman who had told her about the tickets, yelled from another aisle of cars where more people were tailgating, "You will both be happy again."

I felt that sense of peace wash over me as I was reminded that there are angels among us and that we are not alone. How did she know? After that happended, Mindy walked over and talked to the woman. The woman told her that she was psychic. She shared a few more things with Mindy all of which were quite amazing...I guess time will tell. But it was a sign for me, too. This week I prayed, asking God to send me another sign. Maybe this was it. Mindy carried that first sign about nine months ago...and now another one. Yesterday, Mindy was going through boxes, trying to pack things up when she came across a card that Hamid and I had sent her when her cat, Artichoke died. I had forgotten all about that, but she shared how I had just signed the card (she gave me credit for buying it and paying for the stamp!), but Hamid had taken a minute to write that he understood as his cat was seven years old. He had been talking about Chewey. He loved Chewey so much. And she found a Christmas card that we had both signed. These may seem like such small things, but it fills my heart to know that we, Hamid and I, brought Mindy a smile years ago, and then again, yesterday when she really needed one. And it brought me a smile, too... it is that bittersweet smile accompanied by that dull ache, but I will be happy again.

A special surprise

On Friday, Desiree was telling met that she had to go and buy some things for Mynor for his senior pictures and prom. I told her to come and look at Hamid's things to see if there was anything he would like. We were going through some clothes and found Hamid's black suit. I told her that Mynor could borrow it but Desy was unsure as she thought it was the one Hamid wore for our wedding. I told her that it was fine. As we looked at different ties and talked about Mynor I remember seeing a piece of paper on the bed. I thought it was Desiree's so I didn't say anything.

Later that day the kids and I were getting ready to go out and I saw the piece of paper still lying there on the bed. I went over and picked it up. It was the vows that Hamid wrote for our wedding. My heart seemed to stop for a moment and then a rush of love followed by that burning pain filled me. Three and a half years ago he said these words to me:

Heather, with you by me on my side, I feel confident that i have cherished every moment that we have shared and I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I promise to be faithful and trustworthy every day of the rest of our lives. I promise to love you with all that I am for all that you are. I promise to stand by you no matter what the circumstances may be or what life may bring us. I will forever hold you in my arms.

Was this another sign that I was meant to find? Do a lot of people find their wedding vows years later? I don't know, but regardless, I am grateful. Reading Hamid's last words...neither of us had any idea what life had in store for us; that we would have only a short time as husband and wife. But Hamid did stand by me so bravely. I remember the day that we found out that there was nothing else that we could do except to try this experimental surgery. We clung to each other as our hearts broke in the doctor's office. We drove home and then spent the afternoon curled up in bed together. I cried and I wasn't sure if I would ever stop, but then Hamid pulled me in, and told me it was time to stop crying, that we needed to be strong for Ariyana and the baby on the way. Before I knew it he had me laughing and somehow for a short time, we returned to our ordinary life where we smiled, laughed, and loved. Hamid promised to forever hold me in his arms...I wonder if he is in some sense; reaching across worlds and time to give me these little signs, renewing my strength and bringing me peace even if it is only for a short moment.

My birthday

I was driving home two days ago and a friend called me to invite me to dinner for my birthday. I thought how sweet it was and we made plans. But as we talked, I realized that she was watching out for me, anticipating that it may be a hard day without Hamid. I guess I hadn’t allowed myself to really think about it. When we hung up, I thought about Hamid and how much I missed his smile, his laughter. I could feel the ache rising up as I began to cry. I remembered last year. Hamid was finally home for good on hospice. We all were downstairs in the living room, mom, dad, the kids, friends from back home. Hamid had a beautiful card for me. And I thought about how this year there would be no card from him; there would only be the silence and that dull ache. I miss those carefree days of getting together to have dinner and celebrate my birthday with friends and family. It was always simple, but perfect for us.

I kept driving and I thought about life. Thirteen years I had known him and shared my joys, sorrows, fears, and dreams. I felt so safe with him and I could be myself whether it be serious or me singing or doing my special dance for him as he laughed and pulled me close. Hamid made me feel safe. I remember lying in bed here in our new home next to Hamid. I was pregnant with Ariyana, and I knew that everything was going to be alright; I knew Hamid would take care of us and that we would always be safe. And I thought to myself, how do you ever find that again? I don’t think you do. Maybe what we had was a special gift one of those “once in a lifetime” moments which I was lucky to have for so long.

I did have a nice birthday and made it through yet another “first” without Hamid. And I am ok. Friends and family made it a special day and I realized how many people are watching out for me and thinking of me. It really touches my heart as sometimes I wonder if everyone else gets caught back up in life and forgets that Hamid isn’t here; that everyday I have to face life without him. And then I listen to the phone calls, read the messages, hear the singing, and feel the hugs from my family and I know that they haven’t forgotten and that I am not alone. Thank you.

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.

I am not sure where to begin tonight. I realize that I have been keeping a lot of feelings inside. I keep busy, my days filled with the kids and work. I go until I finally fall asleep. A sleep with no dreams. I guess it is a safe place as my heart and mind are free of the ache for those hours. But I realize that going like this may make me miss signs.

This past week has been hard. I miss Hamid so much and at times am surprised that it still feels so surreal. It is hard to imagine that I won't feel his arms around me again. I had told Hamid that I felt so safe and secure with him - I always knew he would take care of me. But here I am, without him. Maybe that's why it is so hard for me to be away from home and the kids. If I am gone for too long I feel almost homesick. I have this incessant urge to get home as fast as I can. Yes, to go home where I am safe, where I can see the kids, hear their laughter, and sense Hamid around me.

I have been trying to take more time to just "be." To feel, to listen, and to look for signs that God may be sending to me. Just the other day, I laughed as I listened to Hamid's Rush cd. I could see him jamming with his electric guitar, lost in the music. I knew he was smiling down on me. I skipped ahead through the rest of the songs and then I came across a ballad that talked about letting this moment lasting forever; holding on...I remember our vow renewal and how that day we wanted to hold on to the love in the room as our friends and family, listening to our wedding song, danced with us. That was the last time that Hamid and I danced together.

I know there are more signs for me, to give me strength to go on without Hamid here in this physical world. I just need to make time to open myself to them. Hamid, I love you and I hope that you can sense my love in that beautiful place where you are waiting for me.

Gifts from Ariyana and Afshin

I have really been feeling the heaviness lately. I am still doing ok, but Hamid's loss weighs on my spirit. I still laugh and love each day but I miss those days when I did it with my entire heart; my spirit feeling full and free. But there are still gifts that come - not always the ones that I would really like to have, but they are there and I am grateful for the strength and hope that they give to me. This week, it was in the love and innocence of Ariyana and Afshin.

The past few days Ariyana has mentioned Hamid quite often. It is those random moments when she fleetingly comments, "Chewey is in Heaven with God. Lexy is with Chewey. They're in Heaven with Baba and God." After I confirm it, she is off and on to a new adventure. (sigh) If it only were so easy.

Hamid always told me how loving and caring Ariyana was - and she was barely two! He was right. The other night, I was home alone with the kids. Ariyana was sitting at the table eating her ice cream with sprinkles and I was over in the living room with Afshin. Out of the blue, she said, "Maman, are you sad?" I was surprised and quickly answered no. A few minutes went by and she asked me again, so this time I went over and told her that sometimes I get sad when I miss Baba. She looked at me and said so matter of factly, "Don't worry, I'm here." And of course, I felt the heaviness momentarily ease as Ariyana gave me the beautiful gift of pure and innocent love. I then asked her if she missed Baba. Looking down intently at her ice cream she nodded and said yes. I asked her is she was sad, she quickly responded, "No, because you're here." My heart swelled and I blinked back tears. So young, yet so wise.

On Sunday, Afshin and I stayed home alone since we both had colds. That evening we sat at the table eating dinner. Afshin was enjoying his Pop-pops guacomole when he looked at the ceiling and smiled. He started saying "Baba, Baba, Baba" and waved his hand. I looked around the kitchen. It was just the two of us. I didn't feel like Hamid was there, but I thought, who knows. I smiled and told Afshin how much his Baba loved him and that he was in Heaven watching over him.

I hope one day that Ariyana and Afshin will read this and will feel a connection to their father and know how much strength they gave me each day.

The Man in the Moon by Dana Hernandez

This poem was written by a special friend. It touched my heart and gave me that sense of peace that I had been asking for. I do believe in angels and I know Hamid is watching over all of us.

Heather, Kristin & family,I wrote a poem about Hamid based on a dream that Robert had last night.I was going to post it on my blog, but I wanted Heather to read itfirst. I know this will never be easy, Heather, but it felt so rightand I had to share the dream with you. Rob had such a smile on his facewhen he was talking about it and just said, "It makes so much sense."He has always called our new baby the "Hamid baby," as you know. So, I hope this doesn't leave you feeling worse today, but shines a light on his memory. Your friend, XOXO, dana

The Man in the Moon

My husband woke from a dream last night,he said he saw our friend,Hamid,holding our baby tight.

It was Hamid in a sky of blue,holding our daughter,Riviera,standing there with you. (Heather)You were both together,and he was healthy and free.

He was showing her off in his arms,for the world to see.

He had such a smile,so true and so bright,he had met Riviera,and kept her safe throughout the night.

My husband knew it was Hamid,he was her angel in a way.

Because he made us realize how important our family would be every day.

So, Riviera is waiting in heaven, her birthday will be soon.

But until the miracle happens,they'll be shining together in the Moon.

The Holidays

There is so much to write yet it is hard to know where to begin. Well, I made it through my first Christmas without Hamid here. For some reason, the 24th was actually the hardest day. It may have been the anticipation of the Christmas Eve service, setting out gifts, and then the next day. I felt a heavy weight on me all day. I think of Hamid all of the time from when I wake up until I go to sleep, but this day it was the aching and sense of emptiness that I had to get through.

And I did. I got through it. Actually, church was quite amusing with the band that had singers that make my mom look like a star! And then Ariyana went up to the alter and stuck some of the fake grapes in her mouth so I had to run up and get her. Now, that I think about it, when I was at church was the first time that day that I actually felt better. Funny how that works.

It was so different that morning being there opening gifts with the kids. I sat there thinking, there isn't a gift under the tree for me from Hamid. I know it's not about the gifts - I know that more than ever now, but it was that harsh reality that there will never be one again. Once again, I have the guilt battle. It is a reminder of how we take things for granted when we are with our with our loved one. I think back over our Christmas' together, the fun, the gifts. Some people don't ever have that. The other day as I went through the checkout at the grocery store I really looked at the older woman who was scanning my groceries. She is always so friendly. I noticed that she wasn't wearing a wedding ring. I wonder if she was ever married? Is she a widow like me? Is she lonely? Is she happy? As I pushed my cart out, even with a heavy heart I thanked God that I was going home to my family.

Last night I started putting Hamid's things together for Afshin's Faith Chest. I read the tributes from Chris, Parham, and Mohammad. They were beautiful. As I read each one, I cried knowing the great love that I lost. Yet, I was also proud and felt a sense of hope wash over me. I know that Ariyana and Afshin will be deeply touched by their words and I am so thankful that Hamid followed me out of that hospital 13 years ago and that he chose me to walk beside him. I know he is watching over us and that "knowing" gives me strength...but it is still hard. The New Year is next. Last year, I remember lying across from Hamid in his hospital room. I cried knowing that the incoming year was going to bring me joy and sorrow with the birth of our son and the death of my husband. What will this year bring? I don't know, but what ever it is, I know that God will be there and will guide me and carry me when I need Him.

5 Months

It is 5 months today that Hamid passed. It isn't any easier. Each day is hard and I wish I could wake up and he would be here beside me pulling me close. I try to hang on to the beautiful gifts that I have been given to know that he is alright and that we are still connected, but the pain of him not being here physically is always there.

I have been wanting to write for several days now as it was a year ago on the 6th that Hamid had his surgery, but with me and the kids being sick I find that I am too tired by the time everyone is settled. So, today as I drove to work I was thinking about this and prayed that God would continue to give me strength and send me something to lift me up and help me to get through the day without a heavy heart. It was just 1 1/2 hrs later when I was in a meeting with Liane and Liz (a current student). I thought we were meeting because she was struggling in a class, but then suddenly she gave me a large gift wrapped with a bright red bow. I tore the paper and there we were, me and Hamid smiling brightly - you could almost feel the energy coming from the canvas. It was beautiful. I smiled as I remembered that night. Hamid had cooked a huge Persian dinner for our friends from Cincinnati and had even specially prepared a fish that their nephew had caught. It was a great night full of love, laughter, good food, and friendship. It was just what I had prayed for.

So, I will continue praying and remembering all of the great times we had together.