Dad was rushed to the ER straight from the doctors office today. I had just headed out on my bike ride on my way to a Dawnbreakers deepening when he called me. I rode to the hospital and have been sitting here at his side since. The ER doctor can't decide if he needs to be admitted for observation. Between the private doc being quick to react out of fear of being sued, and the hospital doc being quick to release out of fear of insurance pressure, I don't know who to listen to. I really want to go to that deepening cause I know how relaxing that can be. But of course dad wants me to sit at his side. So they decided they want to keep him. They'll keep an eye on his irregular heart rate and probably release him in the morning. I'm really struggling to just sit in this place. But thank god for this iPhone. More updates to come .....

humble and lowly servant

I like the idea of writing this blog. I like to write. And putting my thoughts on paper and reflecting back upon it has enabled tremendous growth. The irony is 6 months ago I was concerned about my fathers progress. Not for an instant thinking about my own. If you would have told me 5 years ago, that “5 years from now you’ll go through a huge growth spurt,” I would have thought you’re crazy. If you go back and read my prior blogs about my understanding of the Baha’i writings on the subject of obedience and service to one’s parents, you’d see me come to the realization that in serving my father, I’ve really been serving myself. Not to mention, the blessing that my descendants and ancestors receive from MY obedience to the laws of Baha’u’llah. Without going into some mystical tirade – my children will benefit from my efforts to heal my relationships with my parents. Not just because their grandparents will play more active roles in their lives, but the wisdom and insight and compassion and understanding I’ve had to hone with my parents, will better able me to support and rear my children (and their children).

“The son... must show forth the utmost obedience towards his father, and should conduct himself as a humble and a lowly servant. Day and night he should seek diligently to ensure the comfort and welfare of his loving father and to secure his good pleasure. He must forgo his own rest and enjoyment and constantly strive to bring gladness to the hearts of his father and mother, that thereby he may attain the good pleasure of the Almighty and be graciously aided by the hosts of the unseen.” Abdul Baha

The first time I read this, I thought, “oh great.” I’ve had a few people say some REALLY nice things when they hear about me helping dad. Most of the things they say are more than what I really deserve. But rather than take away from the compliment, I’ve strived to be more worthy of the praise. Then this quote hits me. Here I am, already doing the “best” I can, thinking I have a role of a “wonderful son” to live up to. Knowing full well, that I’m not that “wonderful son.” Then I read the quote. But after reading it a few times, the last part of the sentence starts to wink at me.

When I said earlier, “that in serving my father, I’ve really been serving myself,” I meant that in a very practical sense. The truth is, I enjoy spending time with him. The last blog I wrote was written from beginning to end in laughter. And the blessings it has on my own (future) family, and my relations with my co-workers and my friends is very evident. But Abdul Baha says that serving my parents will make me “graciously aided by the hosts of the unseen.” Not Hosts, to imply God or Baha’u’llah. Lowercase hosts. Other people, who through God’s Divine Plan, sometimes unbeknownst to themselves, in a gracious manner are put into our lives to assist us.

The last few weeks, I’ve put much energy into the recognition of those hosts of the unseen. And though, in reality, I won’t be able to fully understand who, what, where and when I receive that grace, but I’ve felt compelled to put forth that effort of acknowledging those special people in my life and thank them for assisting me, graciously.

PHEW!

Dad’s started driving again. That’s been a huge liberation for him. He had a few days of freedom before getting on a plane and going to AZ. My uncle lives in Tucson. He has a nice pool, and so far everyday my dad has been taking advantage of it. Swimming is a great exercise and that dry heat is good for old people (not really sure why). He’ll be back in a week. In the meantime, I took advantage of his absence and had a crew come over and gut his place. We’re sanding and polishing the floors, painting ceiling, walls, kitchen, cabinets, bathroom… and installing some crown moldings and window frames. I look forward to making the place brighter and more vivid for him when he returns. I invite all of you come visit us in the newly remodeled place. And while you’re at it, visit your own fathers. Whether in service to the living, or prayers for the dead, ensure their comfort and welfare. Thousands of people are waiting to graciously aid you.

It's been a while, but there's good news

So Dad and I have been living with each other for (what only seems like) an eternity. When people ask how he's doing I reply "well enough to annoy the crap out of me." This guy's got PLENTY of life left in him. I took him to breakfast this Sunday. (sigh... there's so many stories I hope I remember them all; ok... here it goes...)

A few weeks ago, he couldn't get into the bath tub on his own. This Sunday he bathed on his own, but still insisted I scrub his back. Every time he has asked me to scrub his back before, I thought to myself - WHO THE HELL SCRUBS MY BACK? And I'm an able-bodied young man. This time I spoke up. "Dad, how did you use to wash your back before the stroke?"
"With the scrubber/handle."
"Then why can't you use that now?"
His answer was laced with his passive aggressive subtle ways, "I guess you're right." The truth is he wants his freedom and independence as much as he wants his son there by his side. I understand. and I scrub.

We went to Norm's for breakfast. There's something about that place and old people, but I'm too young to understand it. We had a great conversation over breakfast. I filled him in on my social life (a nice Baha'i girl I've taken a liking to), and he proceeded to tell me about how he knows her grandfather, and his family... his uncle (a fellow military man) and his mom and aunts... I learned more about her family than she knew. The idea of me settling down seemed to make him very happy. What made me happy was his first question about her was, "Is she good to you?" Not race, class, creed, or all that other garbage my generation's parents are caught up in. The conversation was a nice addition to the pancakes and syrup - just as sweet. 2 weeks ago we came to this same Norm's and I still had to cut his food for him, peel his creamers for the coffee, and he couldn't hold his coffee in the left hand. This week, he did all those things for himself.
AND held his coffee in the left hand. Not to mention, he doesn't walk with a cane anymore (but still carries it, as if he's gonna beat someone up)

After Norm's, dad asked to cruise around. He doesn't have his car (I had to confiscate that, but he asks for it everyday!) so he gets bored. So I took him for a drive up the coast. I remember a couple of feasts ago, he could bear to walk across the street to the car. Of course then I made him do it. Now (a month or so later) he got out of the car at the beach, walked along the path a little, before sitting at a bench for a rest. As he sat, I was taken aback by the majestic view and fresh ocean breeze. The flowers blowing in the wind, the wonderful smiles on peoples faces as they jog by, and even the cutest dogs in the world running along side a few. A jogger and her pup ran by. Dad pointed out that she had a fanny pack on. "In the old days, when someone had a big butt, we used to say she's carrying a load (bar-band) on her waist." I couldn't stop laughing. Here I am, thinking all nature and beautiful stuff, and dad is literally checking out girls butts. My laughing causes him to chuckle, and we both proceed into full on belly laughs, as more joggers go by. I'm sure it was a cute scene to witness father and son just laughing their asses of. Then, just as we compose ourselves, another girl goes by. "Her basket is not as full as the other one." BAHAAAAAAAAA!

After we continued our walk, and go back to the car, he asks to make a stop at the 99cent store for produce. Really? I had spoken of my dads fruggle ways, but 99cent store produce, dad? He (still full of vigor) decided to cook Celery Stew for dinner and wanted to get some celery. So if he wasn't worn out enough, I took him to the 99 cent store next to the new Whole Foods in Venice. (Kooky Venice people AND Organic produce - not my scene, but that's for another blog) Because of all the traffic at the Whole Foods, we had to park in the back of th parking lot, and walk across the lot to the 99 cent store. He mastered the walk, but by the time he got back into the car, he was REALLY pooped. When we got home, he went straight to sleep. The Karafs stew will have to wait another day.

So I'm glad to say dad is doing much better. Thank you all for your prayers and support. Those of you in Haifa, I love you all dearly. I pray for your steadfastness and strength constantly. And to my friends around the world, thank you.

Hot days in Corona

So dad’s been chillin’ in the nursing home in Corona. By chillin’ of course I mean, burning his butt off. Last weekend, as we were crying about the heat wave in LA (90 degrees) it was 107! in Corona. Old people love that heat, though. When I went to visit dad last week, his brother came with me, and the 2 of them sat outside and played backgammon as I went inside to sort my dads personal belongings. This weekend I planned on visiting dad Monday and maybe Sunday. Saturday morning, I was surprised to get a call from him, “I’m coming home.” My heart stopped. It seems he was coming home for the day, only. My sister was bringing him to just check on his house. It was his first time home since the stroke. He sifted through his stuff, started his car (he was concerned the battery would die), tended to the garden, said hello to John the neighbor (he’s been feeding Dad’s blind cat), and most importantly, took a bath in his own tub. Psychologically, it’s a huge morale booster to be able to see himself being able to live on in his own environment. I’ve started to move my stuff into his place, and it seemed comforting to him to envision us living together. After the bath and a fresh change of clothes, we headed to his favorite Persian restaurant (surprise!) Darya.

Today, I went to visit him again. The heat wave of last week yielded way to a nice cool 80 degrees today. After we hung out a bit, we went to the home of one of the Baha’is in Corona. They had a nice gathering for the whole community (20 people) to come together and study the Ridvan 2008 message of the Universal House of Justice. The opportunity to share with my father (and sister) in a Baha’i activity, and help to deepen a whole community on such an important message. Add to that experience, the participation of the youth and jr youth (including my nieces and nephew), you have a wonderful family event.

Dad’s physical health, much like his emotional health, needs exercise, several times a day. When he does his exercises, his half-smile, paralyzed toe, and limp hand start to show signs of recovery. The key is he needs to do those exercises everyday, as many times as possible. Because if he misses 1 day, the momentum of recovery halts. In regards to his emotional recovery, he remains strong. He really wants to get out of the nursing home, but knows he’s not strong enough to do without the nurses watchful eye. Though he can almost bath by himself, he’s not quite independent. Though he can remove his socks and pants, he has trouble putting the new ones on, and that fine line between independence and nursing home is nibbling away at his spirit. I can only remind him that he needs to continue his exercises, and I ask any of you who speak to him to do the same. Otherwise, for the rest of us, please continue to focus your prayers on his strength and will. And he can do the rest.

Dad just called me

After I posted the last blog, I said a prayer (the prayer I say 1000/day), then dad calls me. He likes the new place. He said he's sitting in the outdoors, fresh air, and it's warm! His spirits are high and he's still fighting. I TOLD you them prayers work!

"Is there any Remover of difficulties save God? Say: Praised be God! He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!"

14, no 10, no 7 Days at Brotman

Dad’s been moved to a rehab facility very close to me. They don’t have wireless web here, so I can’t update the blog as often. And once I leave the hospital, I stay so busy, that I don’t have much time to write. But I’m here now writing and I can upload this later (neer mind it took me a week toupload this). This last week has been phenomenal progress in dad’s recovery. He can get in/out of bed by himself, go to the bathroom, and walks almost as well as before the stroke. Of course, that’s considering he still has those mysterious prickly and tingly feelings in his legs. The bone marrow biopsy they did hasn’t yielded any results, yet (week later and nothing yet). They are still researching that. In the meantime, he will continue with physical therapy, occupational therapy (how to shave, and bath and eat) and speech therapy. His speech is a little slow, but he can articulate pretty good. Even that’s mostly due to his pain medicine.

He can’t wait to get home, but it’s still unclear how much attendance or nurse care he needs. I’ve started to make arrangements for him and me to move into an apartment together. But all that still depends on his needs. I continue to ask our friends to pray. If it’s God’s will, we hope that whatever it is that’s causing my father so much pain and discomfort will rear its dirty little head. And if it’s not God’s will, we pray for the strength to be able to endure these tests.

During this last week, dad asked me to buy him a tracksuit like the ones I wear. He asked how much it would be. Knowing how considerate my dad is when it comes to money, I told him I could get one from Ross for cheap. It seems I assumed wrong. He replied, “Get a good one, Ross might not have any good ones.” Before I finished my visit dad reminded me, “Get a good name brand, Reebok, Nike.” The next day he called me at work twice. Once to make sure I’m gonna buy that track suit. And again to request a bright green or blue color. When I took the track suit to him, I asked why he wanted it so bad. He said, “I like to look good. You know, dress nice for my visitors.”

The sexy nurse stories are arousing some controversy. People ask me, “Did he really say that?” I respond with some stories not fit for publishing. Stories so unbelievable, it would only create more questions than answers. They realize how believable the published stories are.

I have been promising the “flirting with the ER nurse” story. Here it goes.

Firstly, you need to put yourselves in the backdrop of that days events. Dad had suffered what was a stroke, and though they were pretty sure of that, they were not sure of what kind of stroke. Was there bleeding in the brain? (Which would likely mean death) Was it a beginning of a major blood clot and multiple strokes? Was it reversible or treatable? (First 3 hour window to provide clot busters was almost past) He was rushed into MRI and brought back into the ER as we waited for the doctor to review the results and make a decision that would alter his life. Of course, I hadn’t been filled in on all this just yet. I was just let in to see him just as they rolled him back from MRI. The first contact I have with him as I walk into the ER room, I can see his face is half paralyzed. The paralysis was so severe that even his eye was not moving. I approach from his right side, and on his left side is a young Persian nurse. She was part of the crew that took him to MRI and back. She was just finishing tucking him in and leaving. I asked dad how he was feeling, and told him to not worry or be scared (I was really worried he might be frightened and/or anxious) he turns his face slowly to the right and replies that he’s ok. I look at the nurse to get a gauge of how worried she might be. Before I ask a question or make a comment, she says “Your father is very cute.” Here she is, 26, 28, brunette, olive skin, well groomed eye brows, gleaming smile. I wouldn’t have noticed all this had it not been for dad. As she’s saying how adorable and nice he is, dad turns his head from the right all the way to the left (slowly and intently). Just then the nurse and I look down at him. He makes eye contact with her with the good eye, he puts forth what little energy he has into puckering up his lips with his half crooked lips, winks with his good eye, sends her a kiss. Now if you ask him, he’ll say he was trying to see how much movement he had in his face, and the wink was actually a slow motion blink. I have my opinion, you can have yours. I’ll never know what happened in the MRI room that prompted this young lady to say such wonderful things about him. But knowing my dad, he was just being his smoothe and gentle self.

*****************************************
Today dad was discharged from Brotman's rehab center. They first said 2 weeks, then 10 days, and here we are, 7 days into rehab and they want to discharge him. He does need a full time attendant, so Saghi is moving him to a place she used to work at. It's in Corona, which is kinda far. But she knows the staff, and she's close and can care for him. I never used to visit my dad when he was 5 miles away. Now he's 70 miles away, and after seeing him everyday for 2 weeks, it kills me that I can't see him tonight.

I miss him.

I pray and I ask you all to keep praying, that his discomfort and pain don't overwhelm his spirit. I wholeheartedly accept God’s Will in this journey. Every part of this test, EVERY part of it, is welcomed as part of God’s Will. I just pray for the strength to endure. For me, for dad, my sisters, brother, and all those connected to us. My friends, who have to put up with me during this time, my co-workers, who recognize my distractions, and exercise patience with me despite the extra stress it gives them, they all deserve prayers just as much as dad. So please picture the whole mess of us, at His mercy, and pray.

on the road again

Bobby sent me this picture from his iPhone. Dad's got 2 cheekfuls of Chelo Kabob and he's munching away. Apparently his physical therapist took him for a walk to the end of the hall today. That's a huge improvement from the 2 steps he was taking on day 2. Now that he’s back to being an athlete, he wants to eat like one.

To my readers… many of you have been reading from day one. If you haven’t, I would suggest you scroll all the way down and read up from there. I share my thoughts and emotions and some rather personal stories. But we seem to have a spy amongst us. SOMEONE went and told my dad “your son has been sharing with the world, your soap opera love stories.” I was in his room as a friend was visiting, and they were joking with each other. My dad loves to tell people that I am his “baby” son. (The idea of a 280 lbs baby is amusing to most people). His friend mentioned “what a great son he is.” My father responds, “If I had another one like this one, the other half of my good reputation would be smeared.”

Who told? Who tattled on me?

And to think I was almost ready to share the “flirting with the ER nurse” story. Sorry friends, not until its safe.

Just sitting here chillin' with dad.

Just sitting here chilling with dad. They have internet access here, so it’s kinda nice. Not to mention soothing for the phobia. The patient in the next bed (Jesse) likes my dad. He calls him Doc. It’s nice to be respected by your peers. One of the (sexy) nurses calls him Papa. It takes a lot of courage and humility for a grown man to have someone help him go to the bathroom, eat, or even just use the phone. I’ve been praying for God to continue to give my dad strength to endure this process, and press on through it. Unless he’s heavily sedated, he can feed himself. And with a little supervision, he can get out of bed, walk to the chair, and watch TV. He’s watching basketball (Detroit versus Orlando) now, but he says the Lakers are much better than these clowns. His motor skills in his face are pretty good, still smiling and whistling at the sexy nurses. (Dinner just arrived, let’s see how this goes). His left hand is very weak. He uses a warm towel and massages his own hand to stimulate the blood flow. His determination to get up and out is phenomenal.

They did a full body scan, and complete blood tests. They found he has very low RBC (red blood cells). They took a bone marrow sample and biopsy. That can be a VERY painful process, but older patients have softer bones. Thankfully for dad, it was not too painful. Preliminary tests show his marrow is not making enough RBC’s and he has low hemoglobin levels. They are doing lab test and the results should be in on Monday.

So many people have called and offered help, and when they ask “what can I do?” I reply “Just pray.” It’s not that I don’t want people to do anything, or that, I somehow feel weird to ask people to do something other than that. The truth is, I VERY much believe in the power of prayers. Ultimately we are all at the mercy of God’s Will. And I know, accept, and appreciate that. But to pray for God to continue to give him physical, mental, and psychological strength to continue fighting, and to pray that by God’s grace his body begins to produce those RBC’s, well… that is such a huge task for one man, or one family to do. That’s why I continue to ask for those prayers.

Checking in with the food… the mash potatoes didn’t stand a chance against him. I can’t find any sign of ‘em. The carrots were a bit under cooked, the tilapia was dry, the soup was too watered down, etc… etc… It’s not that he’s complaining, it’s that he’s such an excellent cook himself, he’s too much of a critic. He even noticed that the mash potatoes have a beef gravy, not as tasty as the turkey gravy he had yesterday.

Bobby was telling Rob about my dad’s situation. Bobby has been a rock by my side and super supportive. I know Bobby well, and I know he’s just that kind of guy. So it never dawned on me that he would have some connection with my dad. In our tender teenage years, Bobby and I spent a lot of time together. He used to come to the house, and (as he should have) made himself right at home. One thing he could ALWAYS rely on, was that there was homemade Persian food in the fridge. His favorite was my dad’s Ghemieh. But he also made Ghormeh Sabzi, Fesenjoon, you name it! Bobby’s parents were back in Iran, and he and his siblings were forced to flee long before they were able to get the parents out. So for so many years, that Bobby didn’t have his father around, he would fill that void by spending time with my father. When Rob told me this, it crushed me. Right under my very nose, my father has done such a noble thing for Bobby, without me ever noticing. I doubt dad even noticed. He’s just THAT kind of guy.

I want to give a play by play of what’s going in here right now, but it’s a bit overwhelming. One nurse came in and asked him if the food is ok. He sent her to get some salt and pepper. Another nurse walks in with a small basket of strawberries, washed. Not quite sure where they came from, yet. But dad offers her one of the strawberries. She takes the bait (what woman can resist his advances?). Jesse (old black man, with a weak heart) is talking some smack, “Doc’s got all the ladies running around for him. I have to take a back seat to this hustler.” The first nurse returns with salt and pepper packs. He didn’t offer this one strawberries (he gives them all a unique kind of love). As she leaves, Jesse reports “she’s single, not married. You got a little game yourself (he’s talking about me), I’m just giving you the scoop.”

They say the apple never falls far from the tree.

I just found out where the strawberries came from. Another one of his lady friends had brought them earlier today. Sheesh! Detroit is winning, dad’s gonna crawl back intobed, and I’m off to Crimson Spot. There’s teaching work to be done.

I saw him Wednesday night

I got a text yesterday from a friend who has never met my dad before. He said he needs size 10 slippers and socks. “How the hell does he know my dad’s shoe size?” Nevertheless it’s a good idea so I took him his slippers and a pair of socks. Turns out he was at the hospital, visiting my dad. Though it’s a wonderful thing he did, this doesn’t make this one guy so special. He’s just another person reflecting the love and grace that comes from above. So many others have been doing this, and I’m coming to understand that we can ALL do this, through very little effort. Another friend, whom I haven’t seen in years, also went to visit him while I was away. This is the guy who claims to not have a very good connection with his creator, and that his Rabbi brother is more suited to these things. The amount of courage and effort it would take for me to visit a stranger in the hospital (I’ve done it once) is so insurmountable, that I’m moved by others who so effortlessly do this. Several of the community’s silver generation, and a few of the golden generation also visited dad yesterday. Those who have seen and experienced suffering know best how to comfort. I’m sure my family and I will be better suited to comfort others after this experience.

Baha’ullah writes several passages in tablets and prayers about caring for your parents. I used to think “Baha’ullah doesn’t really know my parents.” I’ve learned that the purpose of caring for one’s parents is not to serve the needs of that parent. Through the caring process we learn compassion, and sympathy, and empathy. Who we are really serving is humanity and every other person with whom we come into contact, after our parents. My friend with “no connection to his creator” also has little connection with his father. But he took care of his mother for so many years, he’s now a champion in the field of compassion, sympathy, and empathy. Learning this has been a humbling experience for me. But I thank all you for the calls and emails and visits. If you’ve been able to do nothing, you’ve done more than I have ever been able to.

So on to the good news… dad is doing much better. He’s able to feed himself, and shows more movement in his upper lip. His hands and feet are still limp, but he can move his arms and legs. They say the brain is a majestic organ. When the part that controls hand motion (for example) dies due to the stroke, other parts of the brain step in and relearn the task and take over. It takes some rehab and physical therapy, and can be a humbling and depressing experience for many patients, but it can (and will) be done. Motor skills are much easier to readapt than cognitive skills, so I’m very grateful that he has his memory, and his faculties. One thing that dad will never be far from is his loving appreciation for God’s maidservants. I asked him to smile and show teeth so I can gauge his lip movement. He puckers and blows, trying to whistle. Of course, I worried that maybe we wasn’t understanding my question, or he was unable to comply. As I held my breath in anxiety for a second, someone else in the room (one of his ex-wives) asked “who are you whistling at?” Dad takes a deep breath and exhales (the almost whistle took a bit of effort), he turns his head towards the door gesturing at his doctor. So he’s got 2 of his ex-wives sitting in front of him, not to mention 3 of the kids and a couple of friends, and he’s still fixating on the sexy Russian rheumatologist who was with him 30 minutes ago.

When I was 17, being the carefree reckless kid that I was, I went on a 5 day road trip with my friends, and forgot to tell my dad. My dad has never hit me; rather he would sit me down and give me a heart wrenching talk about how disappointed he is with me. It would make me WISH he’d hit me. The hurt of the “kotak” would sooner wear off than the hurt I’d see in his eyes (though he didn’t cry either). But on this one instance, he cried. Thanks to my luck in timing, I think that episode was about the time his father passed away. At a time that he needed his family near him, nobody was around. Now fast forward to 2008, and his mom just passed away and he’s dealing with his own ailments. This time, not only is the family around, but the 2 sons who he couldn’t get together in one room for the life of him, are lifting him at each shoulder and situating him in his bed. Of course, he cries (it’s only the second time in my life that I see this). Ex #1 jokes, “Hooshmand, tell me the truth, is it because ex #2 is here? I’ve been here 2 full days you never shed a tear, she walks in and you’re like butter.” #2 responds, “Nah baba! He’s not crying for me. He’s realizing that the Russian doctor is not coming back and he misses her. Isn’t that right?” He wipes his tears and says “Khob degeh.” Loosely translated to “Well, you know.” I point out that he has a bit of experience with the Eastern Block ladies. Neither denying nor confirming the allegations, he laughs.

I promised one day the “flirting with the ER nurse” story. You’ll have to wait for another day. I’ll continue to try to keep you all posted by writing. Soon he’ll be able to answer the telephone himself. The stroke part of his ailment is stabilized at this point, and he’s begun rehab (more sexy nurses). The doctors are now tending to his neuropathy, and the likely benign PVC (premature ventricular complex). Today they’re doing every blood test known to man. And if he has the energy, will do a full body scan (radiograph). He could use some encouragement to continue with his rehab and be willing to fight the inevitable humility and depression (Ladies?). I’ve been passing on to him the well wishes and prayers, and he’s much encouraged by it. The hour or so of music he listens to while I visit is a proven form of therapy.

For some time now, I’ve wanted to learn an Arabic prayer. I had recorded someone saying a short one into my phone back in December. And just last week, someone else randomly shared with me the English transcription of that same prayer. Most people I know, have learned this prayer with a Persian accent. But since I heard Dr. Bushrui chant it in the Arabic accent, I’ve wanted to emulate that. So the time I have alone with my dad, while he sleeps, as well as pretty much every moment in elevators, my car, on the exercise bike, and any other time I have alone – I recite this prayer over and over again.

'Bid them recite: "Is there any Remover of difficulties save God? Say: Praised be God! He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!" Tell them to repeat it five hundred times, nay, a thousand times, by day and by night, sleeping and waking, that haply the Countenance of Glory may be unveiled to their eyes, and tiers of light descend upon them.'

- Baha’ullah

It’s this type of crisis that causes 2 siblings who haven’t spoken to each other in over a year to come together. It’s through the gift of these calamities that a mother and son can set aside their squabbles and just stand united. It’s this special kind of gift that causes those who feel like they have “no connection with God” to put into action, God’s teachings. And it’s this cherished test that finally got me to memorize that very prayer, in both the English, and now Arabic.

Dad's update

Thank you!
The responses I’ve been getting from you all are so encouraging and helpful. I get to start my day with a new wave of responses, as word gets out and others continue to hear the news. I never would have thought to ask for prayers for myself, yet so many of you offered them. That’s such a great thing to know and remember in the difficult times. As some of you know, I have a HORRIBLE phobia of hospitals. When my dad had a heart attack in 1997, it took me a week to work up the nerve to see him. I stayed strong through the visit, left, got in my car, turned a corner and had to pull over. There I was in a gang infested neighborhood of Inglewood, crying like a little girl in my car. It was a funny scene! This time, I haven’t even considered my phobia. As a matter of fact, it never came up until this morning when my coworker Kamran mentioned my sister told him some stories. I forgot to be fearful. So if there’s any sign of your prayers for me and the family is working, let it be our strength. Please keep praying, and we’ll keep being strong.
As for dad, as it is now, he has movement in his arms and legs, but his hands and feet are very weak. The paralysis in his left face is not so bad in the lower lip, a bit more in the upper lip. But it’s not easy to chew. He has had some discomfort in his extremities for a few months, and they never figured out what that was. He was actually scheduled to go into inpatient observation a day after the stroke happened. As the stroke is stabilized, he’ll continue rehab to regain his motor skills. Then we still need to address the other issue. The stroke is caused by a blockage in the brain vessel, and might or might not break apart or move on its own, that really is up to God’s will. We pray that the source of his ailments will rear its dirty little head so the doctors can actually treat him. Until then he’s under heavy sedation. He’s not strong enough to field many phone calls, but those who visit him are comforted to see his progress, and not to mention see that his spirits are high.
Last night as Bobby was surfing TV channels for him, he came across Karate Kid II. Dad said to leave it there and maybe he can learn a few karate kicks while he’s there, and kicks his way out of the hospital. That’s my dad! I’ll save the “flirting with the ER nurse” story for another day.
At the suggestion of a friend (thanks Max!), I took him my iPod and played for him JB Eckl and Eric Dozier’s Long Healing Prayer from their CD Badasht. He loved it. His heart rate IMMEDIATELY dropped from 88 to 78 at the sound of the music. (If u know Eric or JB forward my thanks!) Another friend suggested just rubbing his neck and arms. Again, a huge hit – he loved it.
Some of you I am family with, some are friends, some are work contacts (sorry to have become personal); some I see often, some never; but all of you share a special bond with me. Some of you I sent the prayer request because I’ve had to pray for you in your faily’s time of need, and I didn’t hesitate, some of you I had think twice (but I’m glad I did because you all responded positively and quickly). Some of you are in Israel at the Baha’i Holy Shrines praying, some have friends or family there. A dear friend offered to forward the request to his brother a Rabbi, claiming that he’s got a clearer line of connection. The truth is (like it or not, know it or not) you’ve all got a special bond with your creator, and with each other and me and my father. I love you all. Thanks for the prayers.