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Monday, August 07, 2006  
A Tribute to My Tantie
I never thought that my next posting on this website would be about the most devastating loss of my life. No one can prepare you to lose a loved one. No one. But this isn't about me. This is about a person who touched my life, her sister's life, her husband's life, her nephew's life and countless others. This is an ode to my aunt Soheila. Tantie.

My aunt was an incredibly beautiful woman. She would never leave the house without wearing nice clothes, styling her hair and putting on her makeup, even when we told her that she looked beautiful no matter what she did. I think that's why she hated the disease the most. She was also a beautiful woman on the inside. I remember when I was little, everyday in the mailbox there would be something from Tantie. A card, a little toy, a something from Tantie. Love was never a chore for her. It was always natural.

Something that I did every single night since I could speak was talk to Tantie on the phone. When I was younger and a little shy to talk on the phone, she would just talk to me and I would listen. Listening to her voice was enough for me. The past couple of years it was harder to talk to her everyday. She would tell me to call her when she was at the hospital when I was at school. I could hear the change in her voice from before but I could tell that she was trying to sound normal, to make me think that everything was fine. And I liked to believe everything was fine. It was since I was talking to her. Nothing else mattered.

Something about her that I would take advantage of when I was younger was her incredible generosity. Whenever I would visit her in Atlanta, I would always come back with tons of toys that she had bought me. Sometimes she would try to reason with me.

"Pasha jan, think about it. Do you really want it?"
"I thought about it I want it."
"No, azizam. Really think about it. Do you really really want it?"
"...I thought about it. I want it."

Anything that she could do to make her loved ones happy. Calling me during finals or midterms and just quickly telling me, "Pashi jan, I know you're busy but there's an interesting story on Dateline tonight. Watch it and tell your mom to watch it too."
"I'm never too busy for you Tantie. Stop saying that."
"Don't be silly. I know you have your things to do."

Sometimes I tried to match her generosity in any miniscule way I could. When I was 11 or 12 I would spend fifty dollars on a giftcard for Ann Taylor or somewhere for her. Somewhere I knew she liked. More recently, I would tape shows or movies and burn them onto dvds for her. Or find articles and websites that I thought she'd enjoy and send them to her. I don't know if she ever got to watch or read those shows and articles. It doesn't really matter anyway.


My mom told me that when my aunt was about 20 years old, she had a secret boyfriend. That secret boyfriend published a book about my aunt and about her beauty using the same names as her family members. My grandmother found out about this and gathered all the maids and sent them off to buy every copy of the book in Tehran. The story sounds made up, but I can believe it because my aunt was that stunningly beautiful.
I cherished my aunt's love so much that when I was little I would compete with my uncle for her attention. I didn't actually dislike my uncle, of course, but he was my rival for Tantie's love and attention. I would write stories where my uncle blows up somehow at the end of every story and give them to my aunt as gifts. She kept those stories in boxes and showed them to me everytime I visited. It wasn't until later that I realized that it wasn't a competition. She had more than enough love to go around. To her husband, her sister, me, everyone.

My mom said to me that this world was too cruel for her. And I believe her. Her suffering was undeserved. Some people tell me to turn to god at a time like this. I don't need to look to the heavens for guidance. I just need to look to my aunt for divinity and purity. In her final letter to me she told me to always be a warrior. Courageous and good. With no regrets. I need only to look to my Tantie to see what a true warrior is made of. These past seven years have been a gift. Sometimes I didn't appreciate that most generous gift as much as I should have. But I hope she knew that I loved her like no one else. She was a mother to me. A mother to her sister. A saint to all she knew. I wouldn't be the same person I am today if it wasn't for her. And I intend to make myself better just so I could be a fraction as decent, a fraction as loving as she was. My Tantie will always be with me, her voice, her actions, her mannerisms, her face, her love, her everything. Right now she would probably be telling me, "Pashi jan, why are you crying? You're not losing me. I will always love you no matter what. Don't worry, be happy." I am happy, because you are a part of me, forever.

Man torah doostaram raely raely. Delam barat raely tank shodam. I love you, Tantie.

Love,
Pinky
3:33 PM
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