memories

Another Joy on Al’s Birthday, Along with the Remembrance of the Fortieth Anniversary in exile.

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Recently, I’ve been overwhelmed by memories and dreams that take me back to the past, recalling the unforgettable times when Al and I faced our ups and downs and challenging moments.

I avoid saying things like “happy heavenly birthday” because birthdays are truly earthly, not heavenly! In heaven, every day might be a birthday!
And I believe it’s simply a traditional custom to use these anniversaries as reminders. However, I remember Al daily and in everything I do, and I can’t help but think of him and his lessons.

One of these memories is our arrival in Germany after fleeing Iran, and this time, it feels somehow significant because it marked the fortieth anniversary. We arrived at Düsseldorf airport in the evening on October 19th.

Although we had a close friend in the city, we didn’t want to trouble him. We considered renting a hotel room, but it was too costly. An airport staff member overheard us and suggested, “Why not sleep on a couch at the airport for the night?” We appreciated the kind idea, and even if it wasn’t as comfortable as a hotel, it was free!

Before we carried out that experiment, we took a walk through the large airport. As I clearly remember, in the department where packages are received, two older women were trying to manoeuvre their luggage onto a trolley, although the suitcases seemed too heavy for them.
Al reacted quickly and helped them load the items onto the trolley. One of the women, thankfully, took some coins from her purse and offered them to Al, but he refused immediately and turned away. They were quite surprised, and I later learned that such acts are common in Germany, although Al felt a bit offended. Honestly, that money could have been useful to us, but Al was very proud, and it didn’t suit his class!

Anyway, that was a remarkable memory of that period, and I thought I would share it here, on his seventy-third earthly birthday. Yes, as I might repeat, every day is a birthday in heaven, as well as Christmas!

Happy Birthday, Al, my beloved brother. 💖

Changing The Level Since Eighteen Years, Yet Still Present!

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It’s been around two weeks since my brother’s anniversary, and I am late this year. Was it the recent incidents in the Middle East, or exhaustion from continuously writing about death? I’m not sure. Yet, it wasn’t the forgetfulness; I still feel his presence, and it gives me strength.

I titled this post ‘Changing the Level…’ because it reflects Al’s interpretation of death. I also agree with him that since no Persephone has returned from Hades to describe it, we have the free will to accept our assumptions about the afterlife as we imagine them.

Let’s stop discussing death and speculating about the afterlife. This time, I want to share with you a story about him and his relationship with our father, especially his actual name, which he truly disliked. It’s pretty common for fathers and sons with similar genetic material to struggle to get along.

As I mentioned in my article a few weeks ago, our father was a devout Muslim with a strong emphasis on the mystical aspects of the faith. He loved the Arabic language, which he always regarded as one of the most perfect languages in the world. As a result, he gave us Arabic names. I was fortunate to have a name associated with an enchanting fairy tale. Unfortunately, Al’s name, inherited from our grandfather, is a genuine Arabic name: Abulhasan! (I also refer to a promise I made to a respected friend of mine, Resa.)

Things deteriorated further when he tried to abbreviate our names for calling. He knew that shortening Abulhassan to Abul sounded awful, so he picked two sounds he thought suited us: ‘Ala’ for me and ‘Aali’ for Al, both meaning “the best of all.” I was still lucky in this instance, but ‘Aali’ is technically an adjective meaning excellent—more appropriate as a source or descriptor than a proper name. This mistake led to trouble for Al; at school, he was fooled, teased, and bullied.

He carried this burdensome heritage throughout his life. After we escaped to the West, he became quite desperate about how friends called him. Most called him Ali, a plain, simple Arabic name, but close and smart friends called him McAllister, after the English footballer from Liverpool, his ever-beloved team. As a result, his name was shortened to McAll, then to All, or Al!
I do believe choosing names is a crucial decision for parents, and honestly, as Persians, we were not particularly enthusiastic about Arabic names.

In any case, he could have had greater success in life, especially as an author, if circumstances had been different, and I understand this well. We were neither of us fortunate! Still, he endured for 57 years, and I, with my worn-out body and suffering soul, seek to join him.

I dedicate this song to you, Al, because you introduced me to Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost; thank you!

Thank you for reading. 🙏💖

Another Year passed, and Another Step Further to Rejoin!

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Behind the smile, there’s danger and a promise to be told
You’ll never get old
Life’s fantasy, to be locked away
And still, to think you’re free, you’re free, we’re free…
“Die Young” Ronnie James Dio; Black Sabbath

Today is once again my brother Al’s anniversary, and I am lucky this is on Wednesday, so I have the chance to write a few words about our memories.
I have often said I feel my brother Al’s presence with me all the time, but it is somehow extra emotional when the time of his farewell comes back again and again. For example, these last ten days, I could remember his last days in the hospital as I could stay with him till the end.

I spent a lot of time trying to find new pictures of him because I don’t like to repeat myself! During this search, memories of the past came rushing into my head like a raging sea from a storm, overwhelming my whole mind and soul and warming my heart by those loving times, as memories linger forever.

Time it was
And what a time it was
It was . . .
A time of innocence
A time of confidences
Long ago . . . it must be . . .
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They’re all that’s left you
Simon & Garfunkel, Old Friends from Bookends

At the peak, I selected some verses from Ronnie James Dio’s “Die Young” because Al died “young” at fifty-four, even though the lyrics encourage living for the present and dying young! Both of us (probably Al more so) adored Dio’s songs, especially his voice and lyrics. Ronnie had been battling cancer when Al and I attended one of his final concerts, and we never knew that Al would pass away before him!

Here is another Al’s loving person, Rumi, who tell the right words:

“ON THE DAY I DIE
On the day I die, when I’m being carried
toward the grave, don’t weep. Don’t say,
He’s gone! He’s gone. Death has nothing to do with going away. The sun sets and the moon sets, but they’re not gone.
Death is a coming together.
The tomb looks like a prison, but it’s really
release into the union.
The human seed goes down into the ground like a bucket into
the well where Joseph is.
It grows and comes up full of some unimagined beauty.
Your mouth closes here and immediately
opens with a shout of joy there.

Thank you for staying with me! 💖🙏