About My Dad

Let me just start by saying that I know my father loves me. He cares about me. He wants the best for me. As a child, he was a perfect parent. He thought everything that I accomplished was interesting and fun and he played games with me; he paid attention to me. I've heard that realists are attracted to dreamers and vice versa. My mom is definitely a realist. My father is the dreamer. I remember when they were getting a divorce, it was a very scary time for my younger sister and me. I think it's because we didn't really understand what was going on. We couldn't really even comprehend what was happening. There was so much more fighting towards the end. Sarah and I used to hold each other and cry in bed while we listened to them yell in the next room. My father says that women are very emotional; I have seen my father has cried more than any woman I know. It was natural for us to think that my mother was this bad person, because we could hear her yell while we heard my dad cry.

My years of dislike for my mother were brought forth because of my dad. I know that there would be hard times if he had not have intervened, but he made our relationship with our mom very difficult. He would take us away from the house even though my mother did not want him to. He would lock us into rooms. He told us that our mother was very sick and twisted, that she needed God's help. We would pray for her to get better while she was banging on the door. We would pray in the car while she didn't know where we were.

Let me tell you how my mom was finally able to get this divorce. She had told bishops about how my father treated her. More verbal abuse than physical from what I understand. They never really believed her, because my father can be your best friend when he wants to be. That's what he was most of my childhood. She recorded him screaming and swearing at her. She presented this to our last bishop and he finally believed her. He spoke to my father about it, and later my father said that the bishop was having an affair with my mom. I don't think my dad will ever admit that he treated my mother badly. Even with evidence of a tape, he refuses to acknowledge what he had done.

I don't think any child should be involved in their parent's issues. No child should be put in the middle like we were. No child should have the weight of responsibility for divorce on their shoulders. No child should be told to hate one of their parents. No child should be told to steal from or lie to a parent. If my mother or my father makes a mistake, they will be judged by God. They will answer to Him, and I won't answer to Him for my parent's mistakes.

I was horrible to my mom. For some years, I treated her the worst I have ever treated anyone. I stole money from her, because my dad applauded it. I yelled at her all the time for taking me away from a harmful and sick situation. I lied just because I could. I made her life so miserable. Looking back, I regret the way things were. I regret how much I had damaged our relationship by listening to my father over her. Just recently I have realized how breakable my mom is. I rarely saw her cry during the divorce. I saw her angry, but never sad. I thought that meant that she didn't care. She planned this; she wanted me to suffer. She did this on purpose to hurt me. And now, I've seen her joke. My mom doesn't have humor, well, good humor that is. She's quirky. Sometimes, she finds naughty jokes funny. I was so annoyed when she joked. I was embarrassed. And now I realize: when had she become funny? When did she get personality? She started to dress differently and care more about her hair and make-up. Again I think about this situation: she's changing to be the way she wants to be. She's smiling a lot.

I won't ever know how trapped and caged my mother must have felt. Living with my father for a short time was the worst experience I have had living with someone. I have had first-hand experience talking with my father, having him say something, and then saying moments later that he never said that. I have competed against my dad in sports and it was a blast. I have heard him lie on many occasions. I have had many talks about how God is love with my dad. I have witnessed his verbal abuse. I have had cherished experiences with my dad. I have seen his physical abuse. I know that he is sick.

Esther and Keyvan's Wedding

My sister's wedding! It was an amazing event! There were two receptions held, one in California and the other in Utah. Both were so fun. The California reception was held right on the beach. We also got to know some Iranian traditions while we were there. This was over 4 years ago. My, how time flies!

This is me taking pictures a couple of years ago :)

My Thoughts

It seems weird that I was watching Grey’s Anatomy, because I dislike the show with a passion; but, I was watching it. The most recent show that premiered on the 5th (of January) made me think of her. On their way to a birthday celebration, a family that consisted of a grandfather, father, mother, son, and two daughters were in a car crash, a fatal crash for most of them. The eldest daughter watched her grandfather die on sight and her mother die in the hospital while gasping for air, blood dripping from her body. The daughter, both the other siblings safe and secure in a nearby room, went to see her father; he was not doing well. Hours passed as she watched his heartbeat move from irregular back to regular, back to irregular. He could not breathe on his own, and was constantly revived by the doctors as he began to lose the battle between life and death. She watched as he received defibrillation on two occasions after they had tried to move the breathing tube from his body. Finally, on the third defibrillation, she asked what they could do, what extraordinary measures they could take to fix him, to heal him from this near-death life. His doctor replied that they have taken all of those measures already; he will not live without the breathing tube. She repeated the doctor’s words aloud and paused.
“We will take off his breathing tube,” was her reply. The doctor looked taken back, not sure what this child was thinking. The doctor started to say that as a child to her father, the girl could not make that kind of a decision only to be interrupted by, “I am not a child anymore. I am an adult. I am 18 and have been for the last 4 hours; for the last 6 hours, I have seen my father suffer. I have seen him on the edge of death and I will not let him live like this. You will take the breathing tube off and if he lives, he lives. If he dies, at least he isn’t suffering anymore.” The doctor nods.
The next scene consists of a signing of papers, movement of the body to a more private area, and a silent interaction where the sister hugs her siblings while crying. Then, it flashes to the doctor, standing over the father’s body, unplugging chords, the daughter behind, her arms crossed. She asks what will happen next.
“His heart rate will slow as will his breathing. At some point, an alarm will start to beep, but I will turn it off, and then his breathing will completely stop and his heart rate will flatten on the screen here.” The girl glances quickly at the doctor and then back down to her father. She is left alone in the room with her father, waiting. In the background, Skin by Zola Jesus plays as the soundtrack. The song starts with pure instrumental; a piano, pounding chords. It is raw sounding as if it has been recorded by amateurs. A woman’s voice begins to sing with an ethereal background of singers harmonize.
“Safety net, don’t hold me now. In this love, I’ve fallen down. Secret home, I made and found. And you wait to breathe.” The daughter begins to shake with sobs as the song continues. “I’ve had enough. And in the sickness, you have faith. And in the thickness, you find me. Finally.” This is my new favorite song.
The girl stares at her father. You can see the heart rate going down in number. I found myself counting down. I thought of my grandmother. Unfortunately, I was not present for her last moments. I still wish I had been there. On that day, I had listened to an unexpected voicemail after my volleyball practice. I missed saying goodbye by 2 hours. I missed saying goodbye to this enchanting woman who is now remembered so dearly in my heart.
As the beeping gets louder for a dramatic ending, my attention reverts back to the screen. Part of me wants him to wake up, to look at her, to breathe. I want some miracle to occur. But, his eyes remain closed, his breath still numbered. I have heard that when the breathing tube was first removed from grandma’s mouth, that she had a disappointed and surprised look for a moment. No miracle of sudden breath was happening. This was the end of her earthly journey.
I am so thankful that my grandma was surrounded by friends and family at the end. She was surrounded by singing and smiles and tears and laughter. I miss laughing with her. I miss her tight hugs. I miss her organization. I miss her disorganization. I miss her muddled words passed 8 o’clock. I miss her quoting the scriptures. I miss her crackly, morning soprano. I miss her scolding. I miss her forgiveness. I feel such a closeness to her while the scene darkens.
Sending kisses up to you. I hope you get them soon. Maybe you got them now. I am surrounded in your love.