Besmehi Taala
Dear all, specially miniature, passion and baharnarenj, salamalykom va rahmatollahIt all started from a short phone call at around 9:00 pm on Saturday. My friend’s 13 year old son called me and said, while laughing!, Amo Mohammad’s father died this morning. A day before I heard my friend’s father was severely ill and was hospitalized on Friday night and I meant to call my friend and ask about his father’s condition, but I forgot! Forgetting things have become part of my life now! Any way we went to his father’s house that night and later on Sunday morning we went to Behesht e Zahra for his burial. I got a chance to go and pay respect to my mother (who died 28 years ago at 58, the same age as I am now) and my father (who passed away 15 years ago at age 76 or something like that). May God bless their soul. Now I am watching TV, which is showing Imam’s final days. I can hardly keep myself from crying, and I do cry. I get a very special feeling when I go to Behesht e Zahra or when I attend the ceremonies. I have even attended one of these new style ceremonies, where you don’t hear or hardly hear God’s name or a verse of Quran! I have given my views about, as miniature has rightfully called it cliché !, on some of the things happening in these ceremonies as cliché, but I am not at all trying to argue about how much comforting to the families and friends are when you hear “Alrahman”. I was saying my mother died about 28 years ago. I still remember her sitting by samovar, smoking “homa” cigarette and drinking tea, and me asking her “why do you smoke mom with your terrible lungs”. She would say hummmm while pouring tea for me and murmuring. It seemed she was singing a self made poem. I can’t ever forget a deep sadness in her eyes on her beautiful motherly round face. She was an extremely strong woman, kept all her pains within herself. She finally died young of a lot of complications caused partly by that little cigarette, and eating herself up. You are right miniature the memories stay and I can clearly picture that moment after 28 years. When I went to Behesht e Zahra it took me and my two sons about 10 minutes to find my mother’s grave!. There was only a cold stone with some cliché type of writing on it. My mother, father, grandmother, grandfather, …. Have all passed away and soon I will join them too. Now I ask myself what did I gain after all. I ran a lot in my life, as my father, mother and … did. What would my sons and grand sons and grand daughters remember when they think about me? They may say oh God we missed our father’s jokes and sense of humor. I ask myself do I want to be remembered only as someone with good sense of humor, or something more? I don’t like to RUN with my head down, but I am so used to it! Tears are running over my face while writing these. Am I the only person crying for his soon to come death?
