Everything Was Beautiful And Nothing Hurt

I had the honor to say a few words at my cousin Nima’s memorial this weekend. The service hallmarked the first anniversary of his untimely passing. Nima passed away on February, 1st 2007 after a fifteen month battle with leukemia. He was only nineteen years old. So it goes.

The entire experience – the diagnosis, the hospital, the funeral, and everything in between – left me hollow and deeply conflicted on the subject of nature, justice and mortality. They say that everything happens for a reason but that’s no reason not to ask myself why. I’ve thought about this for quite sometime – why do bad things happen to good people – and I, unfortunately, am no closer to a satisfactory answer than before I began my search. I truly wish I did have a good answer. I wish I could present all of you my findings and assure you that not Nima – and not anyone else for that matter – has passed away in vain. I regretfully cannot bring you that kind of closure. I can, however, share some personal anecdotes and thoughts about this passing year. I can share how Nima’s life, and death, has helped shape my own.

It’s been a year, they tell me. Exactly one year. It doesn’t feel like a year. It feels like mere moments. Yet it feels like centuries. I am not sure how long it takes to make everything “feel alright” but I can officially report, “a year is not enough.” How long does it take? Two? Five? Maybe ten years? Maybe it will never “feel alright.” But that doesn’t mean people cannot, should not and will not move on. Each and every single one of us has to move on. But what exactly does moving on entail?

I distinctly recall the first time I laughed – and I mean really laughed – after Nima’s passing. It caught me by surprise. It caught me by surprise partly because I hadn’t laughed out loud in quite some time. But it also caught me by surprise because I felt that the memories of the funeral were still too fresh in my mind. I felt guilty. I felt ashamed. I felt, and strongly believed, that my great sorrow could never again be overshadowed through the dullness created by the routine of my daily life. After all, who was I to be laughing?

But the truth is: we’ve all laughed, we’ve all cried, we’ve all loved and we’ve all lived. And we will continue to laugh, cry, love and live. If the untimely, the unjust and the incomprehensible tragedies could not be overcome by mankind – then laughing would have disappeared, gone by the wayside, and been extinct millions and millions of years ago. But it hasn’t.

You see, I was wrong. To laugh, to celebrate, and to simply live even after the losing of loved ones is not shameful. It is necessary. By continuing to live we are not diluting, nor devaluing, nor forgetting our departed loved ones. It is, in fact, quite the contrary. It is imperative, at least for our own sake and sanity, to show the world that we can endure and we can continue; even in the face, of what we may believe to be, our strongest hardships, saddest moments and most difficult of times. It is life’s great sorrows, untimely tragedies and series of unfortunate events which help forge everlasting moments and our most cherished of memories. For that, I am eternally grateful to Nima.

I realize, having said and thought about all this now, it doesn’t make the pain any easier to swallow or accept. It doesn’t mean I miss Nima any less. But it’s all about perspective in the end. And Nima has helped put a lot of things into perspective for me – both directly (be it through his attitude and personal philosophy) and indirectly (through his untimely passing). The most insurmountable problems seem like no problem at all. The most arduous tasks seem effortless. For that, I am eternally grateful to Nima. But most importantly, I’ve learned that life’s always too short.

I strongly urge everyone who has yet to join the bone marrow registry to sign up and encourage your friends and family to do the same. There are hundred, if not thousands, of other people that could be saved. It’s simple to get tested, and if you’re someone’s match – you could potentially not only save their life but their family’s too. Please, I can’t stress this enough: don’t make my mistake, don’t wait until your own personal tragedy to help.

Navid