Letter VIII

My  dear Jahnan,

The day you stepped into this world was the best day of our lives.

For your mother and me, you became the center point of the compass of our existence. And our entire new world, all our hopes, and our lives began to lovingly take shape around your beautiful being. You became the most beautiful reason to experience an unparalleled feeling: unconditional love.

My Jahnan, the memory of that day we walked together by the Hudson River will remain with me forever, as crystal clear as the day itself.

You were a little down. I said, "Let's go for a walk." Along our usual path by the river, I asked you, "Are you upset about something in particular?"

You quietly started to speak. You said, "Baba, I'm not very happy." I asked, "Why?" You said, "I don't know. I have everything I thought would make me happy, but it's as if they don't. They make me happy for a moment, and then it's over. It's as if the happiness isn't real."

I said, "My Jahnan, good for you! You came to this realization at 14, whereas it took me 48 years of life, and the heavy burden of the COVID experience, to reach this truth... Let's think about it and see in which moments of your life you felt deep happiness with all your being?"

You were a great swimmer, with a lot of medals, you said: "My first swimming medal." I asked: "Why?" You said: "Because I had worked hard for it and earned it."

I said: "Tell me more." You said: "The times when we go on long father-son bike rides and ski trips."

I said: "Tell me more." You said: "The times when I'm with the people I love, with family and my friends. Like the times we go to Iran and spend time with grand parents and cusins and freinds. Like the times we go to California... Those moments are the happy moments."

I asked: "Jahnan, what is the common thread between all these experiences?" You thought a bit said, "I don't know." I said: "The common thread connecting all these experiences is the time we spend with those we love. The times we get the chance to tell and show each other how much we care." Spontaneously, to you, who from childhood always expressed your love so boldly and vividly, I said: "My Jahnan, my son, none of us knows how much time we have left, but it is best, while we still have the chance, to cherish love and express it to those who are precious to us."

It was an unforgettable moment; the beautiful sparkle in your eyes and a peace—the kind that belongs to eternity—began to well up within you, as if pouring water over the restless fire of your soul. After that conversation, in silence and tranquility, we sat on a bench, embraced each other for beautiful minutes, and gazed out at the river. Then, shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand, we walked back home.

I do not know how the fate orchestrated that profound love, peace, and pure conversation exactly ten days before your journey. I do not know where those words came from that day, but still, every time I remember it, my heart trembles. It was like the eerie calm before the storm.

I will never forget the image a few days later at the airport, when you were leaving for Iran with Mom. That depp final look of yours, your calm and resolute face, your tall stature, and that warm embrace, until I hold you again, it will stay in my memory forever. How grown and dignified you had become.

It was less than a day after my arrival in Tehran when they gave me the news that you had been in an accident. The hour-long drive from Mirdamad to Karaj felt like centuries. At the hospital gate, when I saw people averting their eyes, I knew what had happened, yet in my heart, I still hoped I was wrong. When Mom said, "My dear Reza, Jahnan went to my mom, to Fereshteh" the earth opened up beneath my feet. I melted away piece by piece. I ceased to exist. I was shattered, lost in a void without space or trace... From that moment until today, every second is a lifetime, and every moment is a century spent waiting to see you again. With an ache that is never meant to fade.

I always wonder about the profound wisdom behind your brief, yet extraordinarily deep, life experience. I realized how much more important the width of a life is than its length. I realized that sometimes, fourteen years of life can be far richer and more blessed than hundreds of long years. How many hearts you polished with your love, how many eyes you awakened, and how much beauty continues to be shaped in your name and by your love. For me, your departure was like a calling to a new path; a path that perhaps fate laid out so that, given a second chance, I might look at the world and the meaning of life through an entirely different lens.

The eternal journey of a child is perhaps the most bitter of all human experiences; something no one can comprehend until they live through it. But sometimes, it is the beginning of another journey. This journey did not begin for me until I reached the point of absolute surrender. Believing that you did not end when you left. Your departure became an opportunity for awakening and an awareness of your love, of loving itself. In these two years, I have come to the conclusion that perhaps this was the wisdom behind it all: that with your passing, using that "center point" of your existence, we would draw a vast circle embracing all of creation. A reason to be, to see, and to pour love into every dimension of the world and others. And you, your , my eternal love, were and are the reason to experience unconditional love, a god-like love, and to reach for the divine, which is perhaps the ultimate purpose of our stepping into this earthly realm.

My Jahnan, my son,

In the small, storm-tossed ship of our family after your departure, your love, instead of being an "anchor" dragging us into the depths of this sea of pain and tempest, became the "sail" of our ship, carrying us safely through the storm.

Forever bound to your love, my Jahnan, the sail of my soul and my world.