delara, interrupted

(Here's something I never posted... From June 21, just after having attended a funeral for a dear family friend who died much too soon.)

Funerals have always been such an odd experience for me. I never really know if I feel sad because of the death or for the sense of loss, particularly felt by the family of the deceased. I have been through my share of funerals by this point of my life - friends, family and people I didn't know very well. Still, funerals just seem odd.

I vividly remember the first funeral I ever attended - or, I have vivid memories of the first funeral I remember attending. In any case, it was winter here, November I think, and my best friend's grandfather had passed away. He was a very special individual, not only because he was a Hand of the Cause in the Baha'i Faith but he was a dear, loving and unconditionally encouraging presence in my life from the time I was a very small child. I have wonderful memories of Mr. Khadem gently pinching my cheek and saying "jon jon!" which is a very endearing phrase in Persian conveying one's love. ("Jon" or "joon" (depending on dialect) literally means life.) He always had a smile. And he was always full of love.

So, his passing, at an elderly age but still too soon, stirred something deep within for me, even at that young age. I was in middle school. I even remember what I wore to the funeral - black pants and a fuzzy cream and pastel-colored sweater. Strange that I'd remember that. And I remember the moment I completely broke down and cried. It was after the funeral service, held indoors in a room filled with flowers - particularly red roses. It was also after we recited a specific prayer for the dead which in the Baha'i Faith is a special prayer - that was my first time experiencing the prayer. Through all that, I was able to stay composed. But the moment I saw Arya, who was beyond grief, I just lost it. We embraced, and in that embrace all of my sadness just came pouring out. As did my love for Mr. Khadem and for her.

So it is even today. I am always the "calm and composed" one at funerals until I absorb the sadness my dear ones feel. When my Uncle Said passed away recently, I had exactly the same experience. Except what really moved me on that occasion was the beautiful photo montage that my cousin Soheil put to music and played via video at the memorial service. Photos of my uncle and aunt on their wedding day, photos with one of my cousins as a baby, and many more shown with Nat King Cole's "Unforgettable" playing - these glimpses into joyful moments in his life evoked my sense of loss and sadness.

I think the reason I feel "immune" to the sadness usually felt when one passes (even my precious grandmother "Maman joon") is that fundamentally - like on a cellular level in my being - I "get" that the human spirit lives beyond the physical body's end. Baha'u'llah wrote, "I have made death a messenger of joy to thee - wherefore dost thou grieve?" and I think I really get that somehow - it's hardwired in me. I don't know why, but I just do. And so, when loved ones pass on I wholeheartedly feel joy for them but sadness for the ones who miss them.

And so it was with Nahid Hormozi's passing. She was such a special woman - very accomplished yet absolutely humble and gently loving to all. A very sad occasion when juxtaposed with her only daughter's marriage. The funeral ended up being the day before the scheduled date for the wedding - Shirin and her husband married earlier, though, in the hospital room where Nahid was being treated. Knowing that she was able to be there for Shirin's union was comforting - probably more for Shirin's sake. And the service was a celebration of Nahid's life - standing room only, evidence of all those whose lives she touched. And again - I am happy for her spirit.