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.
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