1972-2004

There is only one place that I drive to the moment I start losing it: Newport Beach, CA, where Babaee is buried. Sometimes I think out of all the reasons why it was good for me to move to OC, Babaee was the most important one. I mean, how could I drive to him in 15 minutes when insanity hits if I was still lived in LA? I would never make it, they'd find me going postal on the 405.

Today something different happened though. I got there around 6:30 p.m. and there were no other visitors. You could only hear birds and the sound of wind chimes. The place looked more peaceful than ever while the sun was setting, a nice breeze from the Pacific Ocean came through. Flowers from Sunday visits were all over. As I was driving towards Babaee's plot, I slowed down and suddenly a name caught my eye: P. Vakili. It was written in big Farsi letters on a bench and said: Our Beloved Daughter. I am not sure what it was that made me stop my car and get out, it may have been as insignificant as the last name "Vakili" or some unseen force. I got out and went over her tomb stone which said 1972-2004. Quickly I counted: she died at age 32. Then as if a volcano erupted inside me without any prior signs or warnings, my tears came nonstop. I sat on the bench and cried for a good half hour over the death of this young soul whom I never met.

I wept and wondered what killed her and whether she got to live her dreams? Was it cancer? did she die a painful death? or just a car accident and a quick death? Did she leave children behind? How do people remember her?

Too many questions went through my mind about her, yet I had a very strong connection to her. Maybe it was the closeness in age at the time of her death. Maybe I wondered what if this is me? What if I die without having forgiven many people in my life? What if I die before they forgive me?

Then I got up, wiped my face and drove to Babaee's where I stayed only for five minutes. I think this time it was this young soul who had called for a visitor, not Babaee.

It was surreal.