Today is 22 of January 2008. Twenty two is a strong reminder to those who know Ramy. He was a good looking young man, whose great wisdom with the beauty of his dreamy eyes could capture people’s hearts and penetrate into their souls. His presence brought comfort to others to let them talk about their innermost feelings to him. Ramy was only 22 when he said good- bye to this life.

Ramy is my son. Taking always the best care of him and unable to sleep if it was late and he was out, I lost him at dawn of a night when I believed he was in good hands and I would be crazy not to combat my anxiety, fear, and physical pain, which had occurred in me by a horrible vision. Then, in my comfortable bed, in a private villa, on a beautiful, vast, green farm, I was trying to sleep well!

How long it is passed from that dark night and its hellish early morning? I am not counting the days. I know that there is no full stop that I can put in my mind and in my injured soul to say that it is the end of the pain. I know that the only way as I strongly believe is to follow him, to leave this world of material, to die, in order, to take my Ramy into my arms and feel his warm and cuddly presence once again. At the same time, I know that my wish cannot be granted: I have duties and promises to fulfil in this life, in this dimension of being.

I lost Ramy in July, 15, 2006. And still I am angry to myself, to the nature and to an unseen force around. If I dare, I would like to say that I am still angry to God, questioning why I, old enough, was not taken instead of Ramy, who was so beautiful and young. Or that if I always trusted God for keeping Ramy safe and sound, because I prayed for him from morning till night, why God took him away in the blink of an eye.

Who am I? How I dare to be angry to the creator of the existence? I know that I am nothing, not only a dot in the time, yet I am angry and resentful. Taking Ramy to a trip during his uni-holiday, I felt happy providing an opportunity to my son and let him enjoy his time amongst the family whom he had been deprived of them after we migrated to a new Home.

It was unimaginable that the trip was Ramy’s last journey on the Earth. I lost him on a land that fascinated my son with my childhood memories. Like Ramy, then I loved the surroundings deeply. Now, I avoid thinking to the place that stole my son. Without Ramy, that area is not anymore magical to me; it only evokes horror, despair, sorrow, grief, and unbearable pain in the depth of my bleeding heart and soul.

During these passed days and months, around a year and a half, I fought with my sorrow. I tried to do my best, to be strong, to hold my family together, to comfort Ramy’s friends, who are still seeking solace in Ramy’s family. Living on the edge of unbearable emotional pain, whenever I found myself too shaky to plunge in the abyss of complete despair, I tried to remind me of the people who love me and need me. These people are my family, Ramy’s friends, or even those who have lost a loved one, or are at least struggling with every day’s problems in life. Yes, as Ramy says in his poem, ‘Life’s not always going to be pretty / As much as you’re happy, you must be sad.’ What can I do? I know that I have to live, to move on, to take the scattered bits of my being, which was shattered after Ramy’s death.

I have sometimes an inner mystical conversation with Ramy. I know that he wanted me to be strong. He asked me to write. Many times I told him that I would. Last night before sleeping, I promised him, so I am now trying to keep my words. I don’t know, however, what is the subject matter that I want to confide in with others. I am not even sure if this expression of feelings, which could sometimes look quite odd, is for Ramy’s sake or mine to ease my pain. I am, however, sure that the main aspect is to be helpful to others, if it could be so. It was Ramy’s main trait: to be helpful to others; to have compassion, to have empathy.

I am calling this ‘The Diary’, because months later after Ramy’s flight I began to sometimes take some notes about the frozen days, about my frenzy emotions, or my frantic thoughts and crazy behaviours. Without any plot, perhaps, I have to use my memory to write what happened to my beautiful Ramy, while I will use my diary which is inclusively based on Ramy’s journey and its impact on me.

Page One:

Words frantically echoed in my mind. And I was non-stopping repeating them in the silence of the room.

I caressed his cheeks. They were pink, like roses at dawn. I told him, ‘To wake up.’ I asked him, ‘Do you remember the time when you would whisper into my ears: “to wake up!” Then we lived in Japan and you were a little boy.’

I kissed his eyes. I kissed his half-parted lips. I kissed the faded smile on corners of his mouth.

I watched him. There was a small purple spot on his white and smooth forehead. I kissed it. ‘My darling! My dear son! How did you hurt your forehead? Wake up! Open your eyes. Look at me!’ He was silent.

The words echoed in my mind once again: ‘Beautiful baby, wake up!’ On those days, in Japan, I pretended that I was still sleeping to hear more my little son’s sweet words. I loved the game of being his baby. He was my mother, then, whose loving words would nourish my soul. Ramy was then hardly four.

With a pain as vast as the world, then, those words were escaping from my mouth and fell down, as gentle as a breeze, on Ramy’s motionless body. Suddenly, hands grabbed my arms and interrupted my conversation with my baby. ‘Let’s go. You are hurting yourself. That’s enough,’ I was told.

I knew it was not time to get angry, it would neither work to beg or cry. I felt so alienated as if I was in another world or a strange planet, miserable and alone, far from my Home and family, far from the Earth. I stood up firmly on my shaking legs. As if nothing had happened, I asked them that what was wrong if I wanted to say Goodbye to my son. I asked them to leave the room and let me farewell him alone.

The harshness of fear of death in the voices around me turned sympathetically into a soft whisper, ‘We think it hurts you.’

‘Don’t you see that I don’t cry? I am not screaming. I am not pulling my hair out from their roots, nor am I scratching my face. What else do you want from me? Should I dance?’

The small group of my family that had accompanied me to the morgue of the cemetery of my home town looked down and became silent. They left the room. I turned back to Ramy. He was only twenty two. The attractiveness of that young man’s face had merged with the charming innocence of his childhood. Just by looking, I caressed him from head to toes. It made me register the details in my mind, with the deepest love, forever.

His beautiful face was turned slightly towards the left side of a white, small bed. The bed looked just his size. Over there, his lovely hands were laid on his sides; down the bed, his legs sleeping peacefully, with feet slightly apart to opposite sides. It seemed to me his dear feet were seeking warmth in their snowy-white socks which turned to light grey over the toes. The faded blue jeans had covered his tall legs. A light green Jacket had covered his arms and wide shoulders. The zipper was open. It let me stare at his stripped T-shirt. I felt the shirt was kissing lovingly my dear son’s chest. I wished I was the shirt.

I bent over. Into my arms, I took his beautiful body. It was like a piece of ice. I placed my face over his right cheek: ‘Ramy! Ramy! My dear little baby! Now I understand why you would sleep with a heater at your bed side during the last summer’s hot nights! My darling, you knew that soon you were going to freeze! Baby! Was it the reason that you felt so cold!?

I began kissing him. I kissed his head and his chest. I kissed his hands. I kissed his legs and reached to his feet. I felt crazy, dying to kiss his soles, as if only I could express the depth of my love under his feet. But I could not reach the bottom of the bed. It was in the box, where a chilly air hoovered out. I thought to crawl there, into the freezer. ‘They think you’ve become mad,’ I thought and decided to keep my dignity. It was important to me: not to embarrass Ramy. I sighed and said, ‘I love you, Ramy! Forgive me! Please forgive me! Please forgive me!’

Just then, the door of the room was opened again. My agitated companions asked me to leave the room. I felt frustrated. Yet I knew that I should be very calm, controlling myself. I had a female cousin amongst the group of men. Eshrat helped me. My childhood’s friend took the hands off from my arms and screamed to others to let me spend time with my son. Her wisdom and courage saved me from men’s care and lack of understanding. Eshrat swept them out. Time was so precious; I asked Ramy for his permission and cut a lock of his hair from back of his head. We both called it the tail. The door was firmly shut. I took Ramy’s body into my arms.

I knew he was the only guest in that bright room. The young female janitor, who first let me see Ramy, pulled the boxes of the freezer one by one. With widened eyes, I saw they were all empty. My beautiful Ramy was laid in the fourth right hand side of the box. I saw him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. His slim, tall body with an elegant appearance reminded me of the tales. I felt time had stopped and that I was in a dream world of my childhood with a sleeping prince, whose beauty dazzled the eyes, when I walked to my Little Prince.

I touched and kissed his short hair. They had tiny drops of ice. I thought they were the last drops of his sweat. It pierced my heart. I breathed deeply. My soul was filled with the pleasant scent of Ramy’s body. It was mixed with the aroma of peach in his gel, and the scent of his exquisite perfume. The essence of Ramy was light, fragrance, and love. I sensed.

Through his parted lips, I saw the beautiful row of his sparkling teeth. There was a diluted, pink drop of blood between his two upper teeth. There was no other trace of blood anywhere. I didn’t know what to think. I placed my head at his side. I saw a little blood at the back of his head: ‘Ah! Ramy! Did you survive your brain surgery to finally die by brain injury?’ I asked. There was no reply.

The room’s door was opened again. The janitor appeared there. We stared at each other. ‘For the dead person it is not good to stay so long out. It affects the ice,’ she said. ‘Dead?’ I thought to the word. It looked strange; but the word was about Ramy. I watched the quiet young woman; she had covered her body in a grey chador. She was a mother herself. Humble, probably illiterate, yet she talked to me reasonably and softly. I let her push back the bed into the box. The room was clear, clean, and full of light: it was a sunny day. I sighed and looked at the box that swallowed my son.

I walked out to the opposite side. A man in his uniform approached me. He asked me if I was the mother. I nodded. He sighed and said that he brought my son to that place. Scared and curious, I asked: ‘From where?’ He told from the scene of the accident. I was shocked. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. He said, ‘Twenty minutes after the accident we were there. The truck’s driver had called the hospital.’ I thought with his victims’ mobiles, and felt shattered more, as a bottomless well of despair, horror, and pain opened its mouth under my feet, swallowing me. Yet, I knew that my strength was always Ramy’s pride about me. I stared at the ambulance man: ‘What do you mean? Wasn’t he taken to the hospital for any examination? Was he really dead? Perhaps he was in a coma. Perhaps he was alive.’

The man saw my soul’s horror through my eyes. Trying to make up, he said, ‘Yes, of course, he was dead; otherwise they wouldn’t send him here.’ I was speechless; this shock was even worse than the pain of my son’s loss. I sat down on the ground and again I got on my feet. ‘Don’t worry. It wasn’t me who decided to bring that young man here. There was a doctor with us, the parish doctor.

‘The parish doctor!? How caring he was! To be called in the middle of the night! Sleepy!’ I thought.

The ambulance man continued, ‘He examined him; even injected him something in order to be sure of his death. Dead people wouldn’t respond to that injection.’ The ambulance man looked uneasy. I let him go. What was anyway its use? Dead or alive? After a few days being frozen in a box? My mind was scattering around; I felt getting mad.

I thought perhaps my son was placed in the box alive. I felt everything was wrong. The police report said that he had died because of heavy bleeding from his mouth, nose, and ears; while I saw him without a trace of blood on his clothes, body, or face. What a big lie! What a cruel life! I felt nature had cheated me. I had been lied to. I felt nauseous, feeling I was going to fall down. Eshrat grabbed my arm and put her other arm around me and helped me sit on a blue, wooden bench in the cemetery of my home town.

‘Blue is the colour of sky, where my Ramy is there now!’ I thought and looked up. The sky was dark blue, beautiful, serene. I was dying to see my baby up there, down there, near me, somewhere, anywhere! But he was nowhere. I wished to die. But I was alive. What a shame for a mother to be alive and see her dead child.

I wished to throw myself over the asphalt street and howl like the wolves in wintery nights. I felt I was an injured wolf, dying; but my body was a cage. I was trapped in it. I looked at the sky and thought of Ramy. ‘He is there, flying like a bird.’ Trees empathised with me. The wind crept amongst their leaves, moving around restlessly. The uproar of the wind and sound of the leaves filled the quiet space of the garden of graves. I was embraced by the wind. Wind had always been my friend; I wished I could be gone with the wind.

‘I love you, Ramy!’ I whispered and walked to the woman. ‘Lady, I beg you. Let me see him again.’ She walked with me to the room. She pulled the box out and left me alone with my frozen son. I looked at his pink cheeks and said, ‘My doll, my pink barbie!’ He didn’t answer. I whispered, ‘Darling, azizam, Mummy is here. Do not be frightened. Do you know how beautiful you are? I always told you; I tell it again.’ Whatever I said was useless. He was silent. I said, ‘I love you. Darling! My love! Don’t be scared: you have got a new life, a new birth. It’s just that. My darling, don’t be scared. I love you! I love you, Ramy!’

Watching him in disbelief, I was trying to comfort my dead child; but a thunderstorm with blazing flames was burning my being to ashes. My soul was shattering more and more into pieces. I wished whatever I heard and saw was an illusion; but it was the reality, and I couldn’t escape that unbearable pain! ‘What a cruel world,’ I said.

Knowing that I was even going to lose that beautiful precious body, I began to kiss him again from head downward and whispered, ‘Baby, my little bird, don’t be scared: be careful not to get lost in your new life. Wait there for me to take one day my hand and let me fly with you!’

Once again, I took his hands in mine. As it was his habit, his fingers were bent inside his palms. I kissed his icy fists. ‘Do you remember how much Mona and I love your hands? I asked and thought to the times when both his sister and I would each tenderly take one of his hands in ours. I remembered how charming he was then, sitting smilingly and content at his lap top, writing his uni essays. ‘Persian Prince,’ we would call him, as we caressed and kissed his soft hands with those beautiful long fingers. He knew he was dearly loved.

‘I love you,’ I told him again. ‘You were not just my son, you were my parents too. You were my best friend: my nearest and dearest friend! Do you remember how sincerely we would talk every night? I felt so honoured when you talked to me about everything. You would reveal every secret to me and seek my opinion to solve your friends’ problems.’ I stared at him and asked, ‘How could you leave your friends? They were so precious to you,’ and I returned to myself, ‘What did I do? Why did you go?’

He was silent, so innocent as if he was a new born baby! I told, ‘What can I do without you? I don’t know how to live anymore. I don’t know who I am without you!’ Shattered, I suddenly remembered that I was the mother. I whispered into his ears: ‘You are brave. You always were. Don’t be scared of anything. You have now a body made of light. It’s just a transformation. You turned into light. You are going to join God!’ I said and wished I was laid there, that I was dead instead of him; but I was painfully alive. ‘What a cruel life!’ I thought and my mind took me back to the past.

It was three days ago. I was in a crowded hospital. Miserable and horrified, I asked everyone about Ramy. I knew that the casualties were in the operation room; but nobody would give direct information about my son.

It was after a few hours of unbearable pain and horror that I found out Ramy was not even in that city. He was gone after the accident. Crazy, I sat on the floor; I felt darkness was swallowing me; but then an orb of bright light appeared in front of me. Seconds later, that sphere of the dense, golden white light moved up and up, going to the skies: I knew it was my Ramy! There were moments of complete unawareness in my mind till I felt arms around me. With others’ help, I got up and tried to walk.

‘Mummy, I am proud of you! You have such a strong personality. I talk about you to my friends. They all know you.’ It was the first time that in that hellish morning after hearing about the accident, I had a vision of Ramy as I could hear his words with a sweet voice in my mind. I asked others to let me walk by myself. ‘Ramy, my darling, my heart, I am strong. I won’t fall down. I won’t make you embarrassed with my weakness.’ I answered him in my mind and started to walk on my shaking legs.

Outside the hospital, I vaguely saw a group of my relatives. In tears, hopeless, without a word, they kept their distance with me, as if I was the object of fear. I told, ‘He is dead,’ and passed them, without weeping, and found myself later in my sister’s house. In the garden bed, I saw a peach tree, young, yet laden with fruits. ‘Like Ramy, so young, but knowledgeable and wise,’ I remembered that Ramy had called that garden magical.

Walking under the vine tree, I looked up. The vine leaves sheltered me from the sun. I saw the clusters of green young grapes, hanging down. ‘Mum, how amazing these are.’ I heard Ramy’s remark. Three days ago he had told me that. ‘Pick some for yourself, and eat,’ I had answered him. ‘They are still a little sour, but yummy. Have some, Mum.’ I passed the tree, as flashbacks like a thunder storm gave light to my darkened mind. Silent and apart, my dear son and I were talking so lovingly. I could feel Ramy’s warm presence in my heart and all surrounding.

I reached the steps and walked up. On the balcony, I stayed. I returned, and looked at the small garden. Just a fortnight ago, Ramy arrived in Iran, and looked into that yard, and walked to the garden, and sat on its furthest corner under the shadow of a young walnut tree. Watching the emerald-like grass, he told, ‘What a magical garden! It’s a paradise!’ I reminded him that we had a bigger and nice one in Sydney. He smiled and said, ‘But it is magical, Mum. Can’t you see!?’

I saw Ramy’s smile. It faded in the sunlight. The sun was too bright. The light seemed too harsh, hurting my soul. I walked to the building and stepped into a big hall. The furniture there seemed to me out of place. I wished for the Stone Age: for a cave. I needed some space close to the ground, to dirt, to the Earth. I dragged myself to an empty corner and sat there on the floor. Like a stray dog, I sought shelter at the side of a wall and burst in a loud cry.

‘Ramy? Ramy! Wicked! Mean! What did I do to you? Why did you go?’ I screamed and accused him of cruelty, as my being burned deeply. ‘My dear, azizam! My darling, my beautiful baby! My angel, my love, my innocent bird! Why did you go? How could you leave me alone? I love you, Ramy! I need you! You know that without hesitation I would give my life for you. How could you do this to me?’ I shouted as my whole being was burning in the blaze of pain.

Behind the flood of my tears, I saw a semi-circle of people around me. Like me, it seemed, they were miserable, not knowing what to do. They knew themselves that whatever they say was in vain. I wouldn’t hear: no voice could reach me in the depth of that hell. What could they say?

I saw arms stretching to me with a glass of water and some pills. I screamed, ‘My son is dead. And you want to make me sleep! Shame on you! Leave me alone! Silent!’ Then my anger turned again to Ramy, ‘You didn’t love me; otherwise you wouldn’t go!’ Then I painfully expressed my love to him and again blamed him for his loss. I felt crazy with an indescribable pain, which was obviously worse than death itself.

My anger then turned to the dead people in my family: damming and accusing them of stealing my son. Pary, my late sister, was the first one. ‘Damn you! Are you now happy? Tell me, tell me, Pary! Are you now happy to robe me of my son?’ Somebody dared to say that it was not her fault because thirteen years ago she passed away in an accident. Nothing, however, could change my thoughts. Since a sinister nightmare which had repeated itself three times during the last previous months had then popped into my mind.

On my dreams, not only Pary and I were not two loving sisters, but we were callous, wild beasts, human beings in appearance.

Senseless, cruel, and furious, from a few metres away, each time my sister would jump on me - like an enraged tiger - knocking me down on the hard floor of the kitchen in my parents’ house in Tehran. Sitting on my chest, as if she intended to break it under a massive weight, she would tell that she wanted to get me for herself.

On the dream, my response was the hardest punch to her face – like an angry lion - to mercilessly throw her a few metres away in the air with such a force that I could never imagine it was mine or that a human being is capable of having that power. Watching her fall on hard floor of the backyard, I would then stand up firmly on my legs and yelled with my whole strength: ‘You dare not to take me for yourself; I won’t allow you!’

In the exactly the same dreams with the same details, I was completely indifferent to the blood which was splashing out of my sister’s mouth, covering her defeated, miserable, and disappointed face and the ground around her. Each time I woke up at that moment, in a panic, shivering, gasping for air.

Now sitting on the floor, weeping painfully, with the horrible dream on my mind, I deeply believed that my dead sister deprived me of my son. Thinking to the time that I was an English teacher in Tehran, I angrily addressed myself, ‘You! Slut! Why you let her take care of your baby?’

Ramy was only two months, when I had to go back to work to my high school. I couldn’t find a good babysitter to come home. So I accepted my sister’s generous offer to take care of my little boy, and she did her best for Ramy from the bottom of her heart.

‘Yes, she did. Pary took him for herself; she loved Ramy; she had no children of her own. I let her feel the joy of mothering in her heart, and then I deprived her of my son. I took him out of Iran.’ I said loudly. ‘Pary has her vengeance now. She finally got me. It is a payback for what I did to her. It’s entirely my fault.’ I wept painfully and screamed: ‘Damn you, Pary!’

I saw then Ramy. He was two years old, when we left Iran. I saw Ramy again. We were in a small city in Japan. With his light-brown, smooth hair, Ramy was jumping and bouncing on the grass in front of our house to chase butterflies. In his blue shirt and white pants, he was to me a rare blue butterfly, a precious one, ‘a Blue Wanderer.’ He loved running over there with the wind in his hair; I loved to watch him and listen to the sound of his giggles and happy cries. ‘Let’s go in; it’s lunch time.’ I would tell him when the sun was high.

He was obedient, a rare child, with the meaning of his Persian name: Raam, Ramtin, which couple of its meaning are tranquillity, peace, obedience. He loved music and songs from an early age, by which I would later mention him ‘Ramtin’ was, in old time, the great conductor of music in the court of Sassanid dynasty in the Persian Empire. That would make him smile: an enigmatic smile.

So docile, when he walked to me, I would lift and place him on my heart. He always rounded his arms tightly around my neck, as I pressed his soft, warm body against my chest. I could then feel the beatings of his heart and hear his fast breathing next to my ear, and told him that I loved him with all my being. He would kiss me and my heart absorbed his love: he was a Fountain of Love.

Sitting miserable in my sister’s home, suddenly, an overwhelming craving snatched my heart. I badly wanted to take Ramy in my arms; but the pain of his loss hit me destructively like the worst thunderstorm. I cried out, ‘How can I live without you?’ The echo of my words struck me back, ‘Slut! Slut! You killed him,’ I addressed myself with hatred, before starting to talk lovingly to Ramy, ‘How are you now! Is your face still beautiful? Do you have a face, a head? Do you have a body at all!?’

I felt terribly responsible for what had happened to my beautiful son. I screamed, ‘You killed him! Damn you, slut! You are responsible for his death. You killed him. You took that beautiful scented bloom to this dangerous country, you slut!’ Somebody said, ‘You didn’t kill him. You were a devoted mother.’ I moaned and shouted louder, ‘Yes! I killed him. I should not have brought him here!’

My hatred and anger then turned to my dead parents. ‘I took him to my parents’ graves at mid-night. It was wrong. I let them take him for themselves.’ I screamed and questioned my parents, ‘How could you do this to me? How you could be so cruel to me?’

I was told again that it was not my parents’ fault, because it was many years that they were gone themselves. But I had no control over my emotion. I damned my parents and remembered the glitter of tears in Ramy’s big eyes when he was kneeling down on the spots that I told him my father and mother were buried there. Seeing him, to pray with so much affection for his unseen grandparents had deeply touched my heart. We were then at the illuminated courtyard of the shrine of Imam Reza at Mashhad. I had taken my son on a pilgrimage over there.

At the shrine?! My anger turned to the holy place: I saw Ramy with tears of joy in his dreamy eyes. I saw how thrilled he was when he told me that through the dense wall of the crowd he could reach the bars of the tomb and kept them within his fingers for a couple of minutes. He knew that I had taken him there so late at night to give him a better chance to reach the sacred tomb, when there were a less crowd. ‘My wish is granted,’ he had told me, gratefully. Astonished - with that deep faith for his age - I had just looked at him. Speechless, I had grabbed his arm and felt a connection of divine love between us. I had prayed then in my heart and asked the Imam to keep him safe and sound, always.

And violently I questioned Imam Reza. ‘Well, well, was it your favour? From the other side of the world, from far away, I brought my son on a pilgrimage to you. He loved you so deeply. What did you do to him? How you let him die? Why you didn’t keep him alive?’

And, then, I questioned God. ‘Why you didn’t take me? Why him? How you could be so cruel? How I can ever trust you?’

‘How can I ever trust anybody? Those people! My own family! Ramy’s cousins! They promised me to take care of him; but they didn’t. They promised me not to take him on the mountains; but they did.’

The semi-circle wall of my closest family had kept their distance to me, as like a wounded, dying wolf I was howling there. Nobody could help me, and everyone knew it. Crazy with rage and grief, I wished to die, to perish, to disappear. I had a craving not to exist. I was dying to go to God just to ask, ‘Why Ramy is taken away? What was my fault? What did I do to deserve that unbearable pain?’

Then I saw somebody stepped out of the circle of terrified people. She sat in front of me. I looked at her. A little girl, around nine or ten! We stared in the eyes. I opened my arms. She jumped into my bosom and put her head on my chest. I caressed her hair; I kissed her head. Embracing her, I whispered, ‘Who are you? What is your name?’ With an accent she said, ‘My name is Darya,’ and I knew she was my elder sister’s granddaughter. Last night she had arrived from Germany to Iran for her school holiday, and it was the first time we were seeing each other. I whispered, ‘Darya Jun, if you had seen my baby boy you would love him because he was such a beautiful young man.’ The little girl replied, ‘Yes! I would! I know it. I am sure. I have heard about him; I have seen his photos. He is beautiful!’

Talking with adoration about my beloved son to that loving little girl, whose heart like a sea- as the meaning of her name - was pure and deep, touched my soul. I stopped crying and got up from the floor. I heard Ramy’s words, ‘Mum! You have a strong personality. I am proud of you!’ I walked to the staircase. I grasped the bars and went upstairs. I entered the room, where Ramy and I had left it three days ago.

Our beds in the small room were next to each other. Our suitcases were still there on the floor. I looked around. On top bars of his bed, I saw Ramy’s dark blue towel. It poured pain into my heart. I saw his shirts and his nearly torn, faded blue jeans on the bottom bars of the bed. Gently, I gathered, kissed, and folded those precious clothes. I knew that he had put on each of them only for a few hours.

I breathed deeply through his clothes and felt a sweet scent captured my soul. I made a bundle of the clothes and placed them on my heart. My Ramy was no more than a memory. The sweet smell of his body, together with the scents of his perfume and deodorant, diffused from his clothes. I stopped weeping and sank into silence. I tried to behave like a human. A civilised one!

So soon there were visitors coming to see me. Relatives, neighbours, friends! The news had so fast spread. There were phone calls. There were fear, pain, and distress in others’ voices. There was helplessness in people’s faces. I was a mother; I had to be thoughtful. My three sisters in Mashhad had heart problems. I had to be considerate of them. My own family, on the other side of the world, needed me. Above all, it was me who had to decide what should be done with that gone precious part of my existence.

I was left with my dead Little Prince. Ramy had left his precious body to me to decide what to be done. The loss had, however, made me mentally and physically paralysed. I couldn’t talk properly; words would escape from my mind. I couldn’t walk firmly; my legs were shaking all the time. Like clouds, my mind was scattering around: I couldn’t think. I was scared of light. I needed others’ help to survive. And people were already there, starting to help: to Ramy’s family, in Iran and in Sydney. People’s presence and help was like raindrops falling on dry land burnt down to its roots.

‘What an unbearable pain. We don’t know what to say,’ people often said softly. I wouldn’t answer anybody. I was engaged with an inner conversation with Ramy, as my mind was swinging from moments to the moments that I spent with him in his short life.

‘Ramy Jun, I love you, I want you live happily even though something happen to me and separate us, please take it easy; because I have lived enough and it’s the right time for me to go.’ My own words were echoing in my mind. I had told them to Ramy a few weeks before leaving Sydney for Iran. It was night and as usual we were sincerely talking about everything, sitting in the living room.

In reply, first the sound of Ramy’s sweet laughter had filled the room; then he had turned his head to one side, slightly upward, and smiled. I had got the gesture, a sign of his passion, then his resentment. ‘What if I die earlier?’ He had asked. I felt horrified, ‘No! No! This is against the law of nature. Never again say such words. You have absolutely no right to talk like this to your mum!’

‘You see how it hurts you, if I die. You, too, have no right to die,’ Ramy had told and made me say: ‘I take my words back.’ He did so, too; but only after me. The memory suddenly stabbed my being with disgust, hatred, and anger: ‘I killed you, Ramy. I was the first one who took my words back! I let you die first!’

I looked up at the people around and asked them, ‘Why I didn’t die instead of Ramy?’ And I crept into a dark dungeon of silence, without hearing any suggestion. I didn’t know what time of day it was when I heard a familiar voice. ‘My dear Shahin, what happened to you? Your beautiful son has gone and you won’t see him ever again!’ My cousin, Eshrat, was there. She put her arms around me. We both cried bitterly. My cousin’s presence brought strongly my son’s image on a special night into my mind.

We were in a party. Ramy was going around and sitting next to the people, who were stranger to him. The guests were seated in white chairs around a huge pool. The azure bed of the pristine water was reflecting a faded blue light around. Some small waves were joyfully surging on the surface. I felt the pool was alive, dancing with the live music which was soaring into sky. A vast wooden bed, covered with red Persian rugs, was installed over a corner of the pool. On it, a group of men in suits and ties were dancing Kurdish. The fruit trees at the back of the garden and around the pool were quivering with summer night breeze. Young beautiful girls were dancing at the tiled floor next to top part of the pool.

I looked for Ramy. I saw him. Seated, in a chair, at far end of the garden, he was caressing a little boy and talking to an old man. His affection to eldest, children, and especially the suppressed and erased people, always poured joy into my heart. I waited till he glanced at me. Gesturing, I asked him to come to me.

‘Do you dance with me, Ramy?’ I asked.’ He laughed and said, ‘But I don’t know these dances.’ I smiled and said, ‘You mean that you have accepted to dance with your mummy. Let’s go, I don’t know either. We can imitate others. It’s easy.’ Ramy smiled. ‘This is the same dance that I used to watch during my childhood in the villages, when I was living with my parents in Ghochan and we were invited to a village wedding.’ I told and we approached the circle of dancers.

The sound of music was pleasant and high. The garden was secure and far from the city. It was a happy night. Ramy and I started to dance amongst the beautiful, young girls, boys, and older men and women. Inconsiderate of their ages, dancers were whirling joyously, jumping up and down, and raising their hands over their heads to clap or snapping the fingers at once. Singer’s voice was strong, and love songs were magical. ‘What a beautiful night,’ I thought, ‘I won’t ever forget this night,’ I said to myself, and looked at the dancing men on the far, wooden bed. They were drawing waves of joy in different circles in the air.

Everything seemed exquisite, divine, and alive. ‘It’s like One Thousand and One Night,’ I thought and wanted to say to Ramy. Loud sound of the music forced me to shout into Ramy’s ears: ‘You are the Prince of the Night!’ We both smiled. In my heart, I admired Ramy’s beauty and charm; but I felt proud of his courage, his intelligence, his passion, and his integrity. He had a pure nature, a profound sense of understanding, and an extraordinary insight. I sensed he had reached to a kind of perfection, by which he looked distinguished amongst any crowd. I felt so happy that he was studying what he loved.

He was a Psychology-Law student at Macquarie University in Sydney. He had told me that he would take the highest marks, and I had always faith in whatever he said. I would often tell him that, with his wisdom and his power of debating logically and speaking so eloquently, he was going to be a great man in future. ‘You can especially be a great writer,’ I would always tell him.

I was very aware of Ramy’s superb language knowledge, his outstanding writing skills, and sublime imagination. He would sometimes tell me about the details of a film-like tale that he was conducting in his imagination. Through his words, I could see the fairy-like characters and sense the wonderful world where they exist.

Sitting nearly dead in my sister’s home and burning with an unbearable pain, I heard again Ramy’s voice, ‘What for is it, Mum?’ It was midnight, and we were still at the party. Like me he had grabbed one of the swinging paper money which were scattered upon the dancers’ heads. Ramy was curious about that. ‘It is a tradition. I suppose it’s to thank the dancers.’ Screaming to hear each other’s voice, we both like the other dancers took our green, one thousand ‘toman’ upon our heads to show our happiness and appreciation to our hostess’ generosity.

Even though, seven days had passed from that beautiful night, its moments were vividly in front of my eyes. Strange; but I was watching Ramy and me. We were joyous and happy. Ramy’s eyes were shining; his face was so radiant, as if he had a hidden sun in himself. As usual, I called him with one of his nick-name and shouted into his ear, ‘Sun, now you dance with the girls. I got tired.’ I walked then out of the circle of dancers and went to my sisters.

‘Ramy, it was your wedding night!’ The words stormed into my mind; I felt my being was melting into nothingness. Without Ramy, so deeply, so badly, I wished to die. I couldn’t believe that my beautiful son had gone. It was only a fortnight earlier when Ramy joined me in Iran, and my cousin invited us to the party. Eshrat had told to those one hundred relatives and friends, ‘The party is for my cousin and his son, who have come from Australia.’

‘Where is the Sun, now?’ I asked myself and a dark deadly despair took my soul further to the afternoon of the same night, before going to the party.

‘Mummy, what do you think I should wear? A formal dress or a casual one? You know that I am not familiar with the Iranian style!’ Ramy asked me before getting ready for the party. Minutes later, I saw him walking the steps down. He had finally put on his faded blue jeans with a pale green, long sleeved shirt. The end of his nice new belt was hanging down. He said it was the new fashion. As if I subconsciously knew our time was extremely precious, I couldn’t stop watching him and keeping his image forever on my mind.

As usual Ramy was carrying an aura of grace, with which he presented an attractive, young man’s elegance and a baby’s sweetness. Shinning with wonder, his big eyes looked like two lakes of bliss. His mouth with his sweet smile was full of life; his arms were slowly moving at his sides. His short hair looked wet, pointing up with a fragrant gel.

He looked even more handsome with a tan he had got in Iran. Against my fears of accident - seeing inconsiderate way of the driving in the city - he would go for a long, daily walk at Mashhad’s avenues after lunch. Ramy avoided having siesta; he would often say to his cousin, ‘You all are like koalas, always sleepy!’

‘How handsome you are, Ramy!’ My sister and I told him. He laughed and walked to us. I knew that he knew about his charm: ‘Mum, in coffee shops, random girls asked me to have a photo with me.’ Ramy had often told me those remarks in Sydney.

As my memories were swinging over the moments, I saw Ramy and me in my sister’s car. On our way to the party, I wanted to buy some flowers for my cousin; but it was Friday and shops were closed. Only at far end of the city, we found two shops open. They were next to one another.

Stopping the car, I walked to the flower shop. Disappointed with false flowers, I went to the next shop: it was a confectionary. I bought a big, beautiful pink cake and wanted to get some biscuits for Ramy; I knew he was then craving for something sweet. Uneasy that all cookies were set in a-two-kilo boxes, I noticed a tray full of brown biscuits on a table at the entrance of the shop. Asking the shopkeeper if I could get some, I walked to the tray.

Just then I heard Nima’s loud voice, ‘Aunty, don’t buy from them.’ I picked off some cookies, as I heard my nephew cried out louder, ‘Don’t buy them!’

Astonished, I looked at that young man and asked, ‘Nima, why you are yelling,’ and I walked to the shopkeeper to pay for the biscuits. Shouting even louder, Nima said: ‘Those biscuits are for funeral and mourning. Do not take them!’ I looked at him and saw a sparkle of disappointment and anger in his eyes; but I was too happy to listen to what he tried to convey. ‘Sweets are sweets,’ I told and left the shop.

In the car, I handed the small bag to Ramy and he shared the biscuits with everyone. I happily announced that the shopkeeper was generous and didn’t charge me for the biscuits.

‘I killed Ramy! Nima, you told me; but I bought the mourning biscuits for Ramy. I killed him. I signed for his death at that shop.’ I said and looked for Nima, whose eyes were fixed on me. ‘I told you not to buy those cookies! You didn’t listen to me.’ Nima said, and paused, and continued. ‘Aunty, since Ramy arrived in Mashhad, I could see a threatening shadow was behind him. but I did not dare to directly tell you! How could I? Wouldn’t you think that I was jealous or crazy?’

‘Ramy’s loss has nothing to cookies,’ somebody said, ‘you just hurt yourself.’ But after my son’s loss, I would see everything differently. ‘I was getting ready for his death,’ I thought. It was many years that I had not bought a black dress. I didn’t want to remind myself of my parents and a few siblings’ deaths, when I had to traditionally wear black. Before my flight to Iran, however, I accidently saw a pretty one and couldn’t resist buying that black dress. ‘It was for Ramy’s death’, I thought. ‘I killed my beautiful son,’ I said and pressed Ramy’s clothes tightly on my heart, ‘I apologise you! Forgive me! Forgive me, Ramy! Forgive me!’

My heart was then badly burning. I had a storm in my soul. It was ravaging me. I could feel that my whole being was cut into pieces, and from my all cells blood was dripping out. My beautiful Ramy had now become just some pieces of clothes.

‘Where is my Ramy?’ I asked again and again, silent or aloud, as the day was passing and getting dark. That night Eshrat told that she wouldn’t leave me alone in Iran. My sister, Roohi, gave her own bedroom to us. Lie down in bed, awake, exhausted, and miserable, I felt I was a dead, as my arms like a cross held Ramy’s clothes on my chest, pressing them so tightly there as if I wanted to make them one with my heart. I had then a very strong sleeping pill to survive the first night of Ramy’s flight. Frozen, yet feverish and delirious, soon, I crept into a dungeon with Ramy and without him at my side. Tortured, I almost tried not to cry, not to moan. Yet with my sigh my cousin would sit in her bed. She would every time remind me, with a mother’s devotion for a child, that I was not alone and that I could talk to her or cry if I want.

On the second day after the accident, I dared to ask if my Ramy was whole, if he had a face, if I could see his beautiful eyes. I had heard that the small car, called shamefully ‘Pride’, had collided with a truck. I had also heard the car’s driver was badly caught and destroyed in the car. ‘Does my Ramy have a body?’ I wanted to know; but nobody answered me. The deadly silence in the room made me stop questioning. Nobody had any information more than me.

It seemed the only help that my sisters could give me was offering some herbal tea. I would accept to have tea to bring some comfort to them, and rejected any food because even its sight would make me more nauseous. Then I would hear that I should keep my strength. The suggestion, however, would make me cry; since I wished to die. Joining Ramy was my only desire. ‘What a shame! Living without Ramy!? How am I alive? Why I am not dead? It’s so cruel! I wish to die,’ I was constantly thinking and sinking deeper into a killing despair.

After another hour, once again, the visitors were there. Men or women, old or young, would approach me in silence and took me into their arms. I was silent too; but aware that the visitors tried their best to give me some warmth through their presence and hugs. The whole day passed as I sat quiet; while I was continuously yelling in my mind: ‘Ramy! Ramy! Ramy!’ I could see that my silent screams were soaring into skies and turning into a harsh thunderstorm, emerged from my soul’s grief and anger.

Late at night, there was a phone call, ‘Ramy’s body is safe, sound, and beautiful.’ The news reached to me. It made me cry. Were they tears of joy or sorrow? I never knew. I had lost the border between the emotions, between the reality and the illusions. ‘I am going to see him,’ I announced, ‘tomorrow, early in the morning!’ My brother-in-law offered to drive me to Ramy. My cousin, who had sat the whole day next to me, reassured me that she would come, too. I walked to have a shower, to be clean to visit Ramy: I was dying to take him into my arms.

In the bathroom, once again, I felt Ramy’s presence. ‘What a beautiful bathroom it is. I like the reflection of the light on these blue tiles,’ I heard Ramy’s remark. He had always told me those words, from his childhood, if we were on a trip in my sister’s house. And now Ramy was there. He loved bathing. I sensed his presence. Dying to see him, I looked all around. He was not there; yet he was there. There was just the feeling. He was in the air, under the shower, under the light, on the faded blue reflection of the rays from the tiles. Like me, he was in a profound grief, trying to communicate, and sinking into a deep despair to find he was unable. So strange! I did not feel uneasy of his presence in the bathroom. I knew that he had got a new vision to look at our world, at the people, and our lives. Showering, and weeping, and touching the air, I thanked him second by second for being my son; I expressed my infinite love to him, from the day he was born till the day I die: forever, an eternal love.

In the morning, I forced myself to have a bit of breakfast. I knew that I needed some strength. I did not want to faint just in front of Ramy. To him, it was unlike me. Ramy had always reminded me of my inner strength. With his words in my mind, I got into the car.

Soon we were on the road, where my mind, my thought, and my soul, were swinging in the time. For a second I felt my frozen body in the car. Next second I was deliriously somewhere else with Ramy at my side. He was sometimes a young, tall man, incredibly handsome, kind and wise; sometimes an adorable, passionate teenager; sometimes a precious new born baby, soft and pink.

Obscured and lost, along the way, like the previous days, I suffered a physical pain in my heart, burning so severely that I expected to die with each breath. But I was painfully alive, breathing through my overwhelming rage and hatred toward my own life. I didn’t want to live anymore; I had lost all motivations for living, and still I was on my way to visit Ramy. Trapped in the car on a road that seemed endless, I could see that there was not the heavy traffic that I had seen a few days ago, when my beautiful Ramy was sitting next to me, travelling happily towards Ghochan. My mind then took me even more back, before that trip.

On that day, Ramy and I were in my sister’s, Mahin, home. Sleeping at four in the morning, I got up with tiredness at eight and went to Ramy at nine. ‘Ramy Jun, I know you need to sleep more, but get up if you want to have a shower.’ I told my son and continued, ‘We have to go to your aunty Ashraf’s home. Your uncle Hassan and his family are there. Today, we will go to their farm.’

Sleepy, with half open eyes, Ramy had looked at me and told, ‘But I want to go to my cousin’s house. He is coming to Mashhad to get me.’ With resentment in my voice, I reminded my son that I would not like he travel to Ghochan in his step-cousin’s car; because I didn’t trust his driving. ‘But, Mum, he is coming to Mashhad because of me,’ Ramy said. ‘Do not forget that he is coming to Mashhad to purchase what he needs for his grocery shop. Please don’t tell me that he is coming because of you.’ I stated. In silence, Ramy left his bed and walked to the bathroom. I left the room too, nagging angrily in my mind, ‘I don’t know why some people do not leave us alone, as if my son is an exquisite toy, imported from overseas, to be played with in Iran.’

It was on the same morning that my sister, nearly with a harsh tone, told me that Ramy looked depressed because I tried to control him in Iran. She had often overheard me telling Ramy not to stay out too late, when he went with his female cousins. There was always a danger that the special guards - passdars - would capture a boy and girl to interrogate them, put them in jail, or force them to marry. Mahin didn’t find out that her unfair remark indeed hurt me; I stayed silent, unable to confide my feeling to her. But a horrible sense of fear that had all the time sized my mind would turn in me to a silent anger, emerging from a strong sense of danger that I felt around Ramy and me in Iran.

In fact, from the moment I walked out of the aircraft to step on its ladder to entre Mashhad Air Port, I shivered with fear. Then, according to the dress code in Iran, I had put on a scarf, a loose, long sleeved blouse, and a long skirt that its corners were a bit lifting with the wind. Up there, standing in a panic, I looked down and saw the armed guards on the ground. So I convinced myself that I felt so cold because of the wind and I felt so frightened because of the guards. Yet I wished not to step on that soil, but to escape from Iran. The strong feeling of danger soon turned into a severe physical pain on my neck when my brother-in-law drove me home, as the word ‘hazardous’ had awfully captured my mind, hammering.

Three days later, when I travelled to Ghochan, the dreadful sense of danger and horror changed to a sense of mere death. Although there were never such crimes in my hometown, I constantly felt that I would be shot. As such, every few steps I would look around as I walked in a very quiet street. The ominous feeling, that not only had astonished me but had also embarrassed me in that peaceful environment, never left me in Iran till it got me, stroke me, shook my cells one by one to death, and kept me alive for a torture worse than death itself.

Still before the accident, with so many parties, so much hospitality, kindness, and love that I received in Iran, it was very unfair to come across unappreciative, or to talk about my unreasonable sense of fear to others. Only I would never step out of any house without calling a cab company for a taxi, which was expensive but would pick me up just in front of the house.

So on Ramy’s arrival, I constantly told him about all the potential dangers, including the driving at the roads and streets, or of being out with any girl late at night and being captured by the guards. I did my best to keep him safe; but all were in vain! He was an adventurous, young man, who wouldn’t like to listen to me all the time. Only my words seemed odd to others, who tried not to interfere and to be polite; but they obviously thought that I was too paranoid.

On the day, as Ramy was taking a shower, I walked to the living room and saw that Mahin had two visitors: a neighbour and my cousin, Eshrat. I shook hand with my sister’s friend and gave a hug to my cousin. She was a bit younger than me, with beautiful, big, honey eyes, light brown curly hair, and a lovely loud laughter. We were childhood’s friends. I told her that she would always bring the most wonderful memories back to my mind: being a child, on a picnic, with my parents, my brothers and sisters, in the villages around my home town.

After half an hour, as the four of us were sitting, drinking tea, and speaking in Persian, Ramy joined us. As usual, he was in neat clothes, with perfume and his wet hair in gel. I considered again that his confidence, yet being reserved, appeared in my son as an extraordinary sweetness. He smiled and said, ‘Salaam,’ and sat in a chair at a round, dark brown, wooden table. Sometimes, I watched him and felt happy to see him so content and appreciative with small things. He was obviously enjoying the moments of having that simple breakfast and listening to our conversation in Persian.

After a while, Ramy left the table and came to me with a piece of special Persian bread, called ‘sangak’, baked on hot pebbles. I saw some home maid, sour cherry jam and half a fat walnut on the bread. ‘Have it, Mum. See how yummy it is.’ The nice gesture made me happy. He made me feel special. I felt proud. I smiled and said, ‘Do you intend to make me fat? I have already had my breakfast; you were sleeping.’ Ramy insisted, ‘Please eat it. I made this for you.’

I took the bite and ate it, as he was still waiting there for my response. ‘It is indeed tasty, Ramy. You’re really expert in making yummy sandwiches,’ I said. He happily asked, ‘Do you want one more piece?’ I nodded and he walked back to the table. I was still watching him. With a deep content he took the glass of his tea and drank that with such satisfaction as if he was the most fortunate Man on the Earth. Once again, I felt so proud of him. Without expressing a word, I admired my son in my heart.

Around noon, we finally said goodbye to Mahin to go to my eldest sister’s home for lunch. On our way Ramy asked me with a soft sweet voice: ‘Mummy, I saw a gold chain in a shop. Would you come and buy it for me?’ He knew himself that if he liked something, I would not say ‘No’ to him.

In a rush we went to the jewellery shop. The shopkeeper, who saw my son’s keenness, sold the chain overpriced. I paid and handed the small box to Ramy. He smiled and thanked me for being patient. I could see the excitement in his eyes which meant the world to me, and that is why I hid the fact that I disliked the chain (And he never got a chance to put the chain on as he soon went on a journey with no return. On the night of the accident, I noticed Mani’s gold chain; he, too, had left his chain on a table before going to the deadly picnic).

Leaving the jewellery shop and getting into the car, I requested my cousin to drive us to Roohi’s house. Our suitcases were there. Ramy and I needed to take some personal stuff for our short trip on my brother’s farm. So in front of my sister’s house, Eshrat pulled over the car, and we rushed inside. I placed my towel, some clothes, and my toothbrush in a small blue bag, which would bring me happy memories of Sydney 2000 with the Olympic symbol on it.

Ramy took some clothes, extra shoes, perfumes, deodorants, hair gels, a few books, and some other things. ‘How heavy it is, Ramy! We will stay there only two days,’ I told when I tried to carry the bag and instantly put it down. ‘Well, Mummy, that’s because I took everything that I’m going to need over there. I have even taken the box of my coffee with me,’ he replied. ‘Why you brought coffee from Australia? It’s not like a few years ago that you hardly could get coffee in Iran. Now you can easily buy it from any shop.’ I told him.

Ramy grabbed easily his heavy bag and said: ‘Daddy purchased the box for me, just in case!’ Ramy laughed and continued, ‘In Sydney, everyone tried to get me anything I possibly liked. Mona spent lots of time with me, walking, laughing, and talking about everything. She bought me an expensive, white, leather jacket that I had only shown her because it was exquisite. I love it, Mum, you should see it.’ I smiled and said, ‘That’s good that you didn’t bring it to Iran. You see it’s very hot in summertime.’

Ramy continued, ‘Maziar spent a whole day with me. We talked about life’s everyday problems and how to solve them. We talked about love. We shared our secrets. We laughed a lot and had so much fun. We went to my favourite coffee shop, and had lunch in a nice restaurant, before returning home,’ Listening, I smiled. Ramy added, ‘and you know how busy he is - studying for his speciality exam.’ I smiled again, ‘You are spoiled; yet you deserve to get whatever you like. You are such a good boy! You are really loved! You see! I am right, if I call you ‘Family’s Little Love.’

He added, ‘I had a nice time with my friends too.’ I laughed and said, ‘Don’t mention it! I know it. I am sure that you invaded Sydney’s coffee shops with boys and girls. It’s amazing that you have so many friends. It’s astonishing that you have so much in common with the people from all walks of life.’ Ramy’s friends belonged to different races, religions, and background nationalities.

Talking happily about everything, Ramy and I walked down the steps. With my sister we went to the yard. On our way, Roohi tried to pick some grapes from the vine tree; she couldn’t reach to the clusters, which were beautifully hanging down from a high trellis. Lifting his arm, Ramy picked some and offered her aunty.

‘Ramy Jun, I wanted it for you,’ my sister said, ‘please pick as much as you want for yourself.’ Ramy thanked, smiled, and gratefully put some baby grapes into his mouth. ‘Yummm! What a sour and sweet taste! In Iran everything is the best. You can’t find anywhere in the world such beautiful grapes. I love it!’ With the clusters of emerald like grapes in our hands, we said goodbye to Roohi and went to Ashraf’s house.

There I met my sister’s married children, who were on a visit. We sat around a white, cotton table-clothe spreading on the red Persian carpet. The gathering looked like a feast. Everyone was so happy and my sister had made Ramy’s favourite food: ‘gourmet sabzi’, cooked with beans, chopped vegetables, and fried meat, served with rice. She had also ordered some yummy kebab from a restaurant. Ramy and my brother’s son, Mani, sat next to each other at my side.

After the lunch I helped my sister tidy up the kitchen. Coming back to the living room, I saw Ramy and his twenty-six-year-old cousin, Mani. Lying down on opposite sides on the carpet, they had placed their heads on one pillow for an afternoon nap. I heard their soft laughter and talk, as I passed. I didn’t know why, but the sight touched deeply my heart.

Late in the afternoon, we said goodbye to my sister and her family and got into my brother’s car. It was small, but looked safe and comfortable. My brother told me that he purchased that German car after their BMW was written off in an accident a few months earlier. He indicated that on the roads he would never sit in a Pride. I had earlier heard that a Pride car has a strong engine for speeding; but it has a low roof, a weak tin-like body, and a break that might fail while its steering could be locked as you drive.

Then I didn’t know that Iran had the highest rate of car accidents in the world. Yet, I would feel scared every time I got into a car; since I had often seen the hostile traffic. On the road like inside the city all cars were accelerating, speeding, trying mercilessly not to give way to others. I had seen that the drivers would overtake dangerously, as if there was a race and they were going to get proudly a fantastic prize.

On the way to Ghochan, we went first to a family garden outside of the city. In the orchard, we walked around, picking and eating fruits from the trees. The juicy, small, green apples were especially very tasty. I picked some and offered to Ramy. He was joyously filming the orchard with his mobile. In his view there were three hens in ochre and two beautiful roosters: one snowy white and the other dark shinny green. As if they were competing, they both were wonderfully and loudly singing. Pointing out to the roosters, Ramy called me and said: ‘Mum, Listen to them! It is divine!’

I smiled with satisfaction and walked with Ramy to a rugged platform, which was surrounded with trees and flowers. Sitting there and leaning over the colourful cushions, we were served with drinks, newly baked bread, and chicken kebab. I offered Ramy some bread that I dipped in yoghurt. He put it gratefully into his mouth and told me, ‘See, Mummy! I told you! Here, everything is so good.’ Watching the sunset, I smiled and once again I felt that how deeply I loved him.

The crimson, golden sky was getting navy blue when we thanked our host, shook hands, and parted to go to Ghochan. In the car Ramy sat next to me. His presence at my side was like bliss; a few times I put my arm around his shoulders and cuddled him with delight. He was silent and never objected as to why I treated him like a child. I never knew how precious those moments were: to be kept forever in my heart, with the deepest love.

At nine, after around two hours driving, we were finally in Ghochan. There, we had a simple dinner and some ice cream before being on the road again. After another fifty minutes, around eleven, we were on my brother’s farm. A few village workers then welcomed us.

Ramy and I felt happy to see again those humble and lovely people, whom we had met two years earlier. But there was no trace of the beautiful black and white dog that we had seen on our previous trip. They told us that Seiah, ‘Black’, was killed by a car on the road. Ramy and I sighed and without a word entered the two-bed-room villa that my brother had built there for their occasional trips to the farm.

That night we went to bed very late. Sharing the rooms, I stayed with my brother and his wife. Ramy and Mani took the other room, sleeping on a huge mattress that had nearly filled the whole room. Mani said that the mattress belonged to his mum’s dead aunt. I didn’t like the mattress; I didn’t want my son sleep on a dead person’s bed. Yet not to be rude, I remained silent and thought it was only for one night and that in two weeks we will leave Iran for our own home in Australia.

When the lights were turned off, however, I suddenly felt that I had terribly missed Ramy. It was odd. Even though, he was just in the next room, it seemed to me that he had gone so far away as if he was on the other side of the world. I couldn’t understand why my heart was overflowing with that strange feeling of longing, as if my son was a little baby who needed my care and support while I couldn’t reach to him for any help. The night seemed a century to me.

In the morning the bright sunshine washed away my worries. Then Mani drove Ramy and me to Ghochan. I wanted to meet somebody in relation to a land that I owned there. I had, in fact, travelled to Iran to sell that land, which I had inherited from my father. He had bought it in my name when I was an infant. With one document, however, the land was too vast and too expensive for one person, in a small city, to buy it. The selling and buying could only be done through an attorney.

So thirteen years earlier, when my brother had offered, I gave him a power of attorney and I requested that he sell the land in two or three months. To do so, I told him sell the land under priced, with one third of its value. He promised to carry out my wish; but he didn’t, postponing it all the time. He would, of course, look after the land, and I knew that without his supervision, while I was away from Iran, others might possess it just by constructing buildings over there.

Yet unable to do anything, throughout the years, that useless possessions made me gradually develop a deep feeling of silent frustration. Above all, I couldn’t explain it to anybody or even to myself, but with an obscured and unpleasant sense of premonition in my heart, I really wanted to get rid of that land. Even though I myself needed money, many times I decided to donate the land for educational purposes. Yet I did not put efficient effort, because doing anything in Iran especially if you are far from the country seemed impossible (after the accident I tried, through the Iranian Embassy in Australia, but I was unsuccessful).

Being then in Iran and determined to sell the land, once again, I found myself unable to do anything. I found, after all, I was only a woman: an outsider, particularly. I am talking now about these details to confess how the land and my powerlessness against what belonged to me had created anger, hatred, and even greed in my soul: to make its clarity blur and dark, to make me become a materialistic person. This, I believe, contributed to Ramy’s loss. Was it to awaken me from my deep sleep in this world of material? I know nothing. To pay such a high price, higher than giving my own life? I yell: it is unfair. Unfair!

For two days later, I made another appointment in Ghochan in relation to the land. In the afternoon, as Ramy wanted, I left him in the town with his step cousin, who was a thirty-year-old, married man with three sons. During our previous trip to Iran, a year and a half earlier, Ramy had made a close friendship with him through Mani.

Unaware that it was the last precious time that I could feel the warmth and softness of my beautiful son’s body within my arms, I cuddled him, kissed his cheeks, and told him that I love him. He laughed loudly and said, ‘Don’t worry, Mum; I am not going to the Other Side of the world. I see you soon.’ I asked him to take care of himself, before asking seriously his step-cousin not to take my son to the mountains. I indicated that Ramy was neither familiar to mountain climbing, nor has he suitable shoes for that. His cousin promised me and told that they would only go into a garden to have dinner and to spend some times together.

I believed him and thought that the garden was in my home town. That young man’s words sounded like that; especially when he reassured me that the garden was a very safe place. But I was wrong. I was deceived, and the failure was mine. I never asked him where the garden was. It seemed that an invisible strong force had made me then stupid, deaf and blind. I knew that there was not a big private garden in the town, when many years ago I left Ghochan with my family for Tehran; yet I imagined the garden was just around, inside the town.

As the fragmented memories tortured me with unbearable pain, anguish, and regret, throughout the horrible, long trip, suddenly, Ghochan appeared in front of my eyes. The far view of the town made me feel submerged, breathless, dying. I was well aware that I was going to see my son, the same beautiful son who somehow was not the same. Not anymore.

Entering the city, I asked my brother-in-law to stop the car at the main street. Then I whispered into my cousin’s ear, ‘Buy a small scissors for me, please. I need to take a lock of his hair.’ Eshrat left us and was soon back, handing me a small bag. My brother-in-law drove again to Ramy, and a few minutes later I found myself in the cemetery of my home town.

In a room, bright with sunshine, I visited my baby. Frozen, he was still elegant and beautiful. He looked painfully innocent. I called him ‘The Little Prince,’ and saw the innocence of Saint - Exupery’s The Little Prince in him.

A few times I visited that precious sleeping child. He was silent, with closed eyes; beautiful, dark, long eyelashes; tanned, white skin. He looked only sleeping on a hot day with cheeks turning to pink like scented roses, and red lips, like rubies, that looked thirsty for a soft drink: a ‘Coke Zero’ or perhaps a sugar free ‘V’. Talking to him - watching, caressing, kissing him - each time I had to leave finally the room and after a few minutes to go frenziedly back to the janitor to beg her let me see my son once more time.

Outside the room, I would walk to my elder brother’s grave. By then, it was fifteen years that he had died of a heart attack in Ghochan. Over there, I would remember that once on a visit to his grave, Ramy had looked with high regard at the white marble stone and told me that how beautiful it was and that he did like it. His words of admiration for a grave had then hit me like lightening. On that far day, I had looked at him with resentment; raising my voice, I had angrily told Ramy that a grave couldn’t be beautiful and that he should not say such words ever again.

Ramy was then only nine. He couldn’t grasp what was the reason of my bitterness if he had liked his uncle’s grave in the cemetery of my home town, neither did I myself. With Ramy’s motionless body in a room close to my brother’s tomb, however, I well knew why years ago I was so panicked with my son’s innocent remark. Shattered and miserable, I could see that I had missed the warning signs to avoid my home town, which would kill my son like my brother, both on a uni holiday trip: one a professor, the other one a student.

On that horrible day, dragging myself to my brother’s tomb, I would ask him, again and again, to take care of Ramy, not to let him feel lonely or frightened on a journey for which he was too young.

Spending few devastating hours at the cemetery of my home town, finally, I was convinced that staying there was useless. I was told that I had to go to the police station of the area of accident to get the certificate of my baby’s flight. At midday, we left Ghochan. Soon I found myself on a road that I knew it had killed my son. Watching all around, in profound anguish, grief, and disbelief, I could not then accept that such a tranquil road could be a murderer. The road was in surrounding of vast, golden landscape, dotted with green shrubs and wild purplish flowers. But I could see that with all signs of ‘DANGER’ and ‘SLOW DOW’ the road was frantically winding across the mountains slopes or creeping right through their hearts. I knew that the dangerous road would reach to Dargaz, a town on the border of Russia.

I had unhappily visited once that town. Then I was a nine-year-old child, travelling with my family to Dargaz to visit a family friend. One early afternoon in company of our host, his wife, and his nine- year-old daughter, we drove to one of the high mountains to watch the border of Russia, which seemed to me a phenomenon. I was very excited to see how a border and Russia looked like and what they were that brought awe to the people.

Up there, however, my eldest sister, Nahid, didn’t let me leave my father’s car to have like all others a look around. She wanted I take care of his sleeping two-year- old son in my father’s jeep; but she was pretending that I would catch a cold if I was allowed to get out of the car. I felt then desperately angry and hurt; it had a bad impact on me for a long time, before the memory being finally suppressed in my mind.

However, just a few months after our arriving to Australia, one early morning I had a dream about that forgotten scene. In the dream, not as a child but at the same age that I was, a happy mother with three adorable children, I saw myself on the high mountains, around that town, close to the border of Russia. The view from top was panoramic and amazing; but I was in rage, sitting on the ground, with a fist full of soil, so soft that - like water - was pouring down through my fingers. Looking furiously at the sky, yelling and screaming unbelievably painfully, I was then addressing my sister and swearing to something unusual that I had never heard or said before: ‘Swear to this soil! I will never forgive you for what you did to me as a child!’

I found myself shivering, in cold sweat, as I opened my eyes in my bedroom in Sydney. I sat in my bed, trying to calm my mind. It was dawn; a pale light was coming in through the windows. I looked at Ramy, who was around five, sleeping peacefully at my side. Lying down, after a few minutes, I took Ramy into my arms and pressed his small body against my chest. Breathing through his fragrant hair, I found solace in his presence and warmth. ‘After all,’ I said to myself, ‘it is a dream and those mountains are far, far away, on the other side of the world.’

Yet I couldn’t sleep. I felt deeply disturbed. Astonished, I asked myself that what the dream meant. I knew that I loved my sister very much and that I wasn’t angry to her. In fact, when I was a grown up girl, she and I were very close, like two best friends, even though I was eighteen years her junior. And by then it was more than one decade that she was gone. She died by a strike at the age of forty-two, beautiful and young.

Yet, just now, writing about the border of Russia, the dream with my weeping and screams popped into my mind. Was I crying then so painfully in a dream for an unfair occasion in the past or a catastrophic event in the future? Was the dream, with the highlight of the mountains, revealing metaphorically the oncoming loss of my precious son, at dawn, whose lovely, warm body was then next to mine? Could be there any relation between my anger and frustration on those darkest slopes, when I was nine, to my unborn, beautiful, innocent son? Was there everything predestined or it was otherwise, consequential?

Yes! When something so horrible happens to somebody, everything turns to be upside down. It makes you analyse the details throughout your life. You see your failures in protecting your happiness. You see the unfairnesses that have happened to you. You see that how have all negative occasions built anger and hatred within your soul to make it murky, dirty, and dark, to somehow destroy your life. Such a tragedy makes you say it all is my fault. It makes you - to be precise - superstitious and sceptical to ask yourself: ‘Now, what can be right; what could be wrong? What shall I do? What I shall not?’ Yes, the impact is horrible, unescapable, and deep. It touches badly your soul and heart; it pulls into darkness the essence of your life.

Yes, once as a child I felt so alone and unhappy on top of the range of mountains, because I felt the way I was treated was unfair. And then, after decades, I was shivering with frustration, bottomless pain, and an anger so huge as the world on the same mountains and felt what had happened to me was devastatingly unfair.

Once, the mountains had deprived me of seeing Russia’s border without having any concept of it in my mind. Now those mountains had deprived me of my Ramy, without having any idea where he was gone. Yes, on that countryside, on that cursed spot, I damned the mountains; I damned Ramy’s eldest cousin, who had promised me not to take my son on the mountains, but he did. I damned myself for my failure to save Ramy’s life: I damned the life itself. I was angry. Angry to death! I had lost my faith.

Drowned in painful thoughts, I saw my brother-in-law slow down and pull over. We were in front of the police station, amongst the mountains, nearly in middle of the way. We left the car. A young, armed soldier took us to his superior: a tall officer in a kind of greenish uniform. Expressing his empathy, he told me that by the first sight of that young man, he and the others knew that he wasn’t a local and that he was not used to seeing such horrible scene.

‘What scene?’ I asked. He said, ‘Seeing the destroyed face and body of the driver,’ he answered and paused and continued to say that my son probably didn’t die by head injury, even though the doctor’s certificate indicated that. Deep in thought, he revealed his own feeling that my son had died because of a cardiac arrest.

He also informed me that my beautiful Ramy had left the car after the accident, and walked a few steps, and said a few sentences, before falling down on the ground. The officer, however, didn’t know what Ramy had said. The only witness at the scene was the truck’s driver. And he would avoid us. I never could reach to what my Ramy had told. After all, I told myself, ‘What difference it makes? Why should I care about what his killer would say?’

Afterwards, as if it was Ramy’s flight ticket, purchasing by me, I put my signature at the bottom of the papers to receive them. At the same time, I saw myself as Ramy’s witness in an office in Sydney, when I put my signature at the bottom of a paper which confirmed, instead of Ramtin, my twenty years old son wished to call himself officially ‘Ramy’. He believed his real name was difficult to be pronounced in Australia. ‘After all, you always called me “Rami,”’ he told me then; ‘however, I want my name be written with a “y” at the end.’ Torn, with a pen in my hand, on that corner of Iran, I was in two places, swinging in the time, signing for my beautiful Ramy, and thinking to change his name brought somehow his death, while he made me his own witness.

Yes, the papers confirmed that Ramy had gone on The Other Side around four in the morning. The officer then passionately recommended that I shouldn’t take the body of that beautiful bird out of Iran. He believed that Ramy had chosen to die there. I remained silent about that and then asked if there was anything there that belonged to my son.

The officer led me into a gloomy room. On its dark, ugly, bare floor I saw a few wallets, a few mobiles, and other small things. I took a familiar mobile and a wallet. To make sure it belonged to Ramy, I opened it and saw a few photos of the people whom Ramy loved. Then, inside the wallet, I saw the Iranian money that I had given him. It seemed untouched, I felt, to pour more anguish into my heart.

Soon we left the police station. In my request, a young soldier accompanied us to show the place of the accident. On the remote, private road, I again started to watch all around. The road looked excellent. It was well asphalted, quite wide, and completely empty of traffic. We had driven for an hour, and then coming back and hardly saw a car: perhaps one or two. This made me feel even worse. A sense of frenzy invaded my soul. With a burning heart, I screamed inside that if there is no car in daytime why that damned truck appeared there in the dark. Ramy had left this world at dawn with the first rays of the sun.

As I was thinking of Ramy, we reached to a perilous area. Up there before the sharp curves, there were coloured signs of ‘danger,’ ‘warning,’ and ‘slow down’. A bit further, above an abyss, the road was terrifyingly winding on body of the mountains to right and left, again and again; while it descended very steeply towards a vast valley. Curving down a hillside underneath, the road crept around two hundred metres or so, with a strong safety rails all along its low and bent part at left, and the body of the hill on its right, before ascending steeply up another mountain.

From top, I was watching all around, sensing danger, and cursing myself to let my son come to such an unsafe area. I felt profoundly guilty and responsible for his death. I told myself, ‘You killed him,’ again and again and again. And I well knew that I would say that to myself for the rest of my life.

We were still on the height that the soldier shouted, ‘Slow down! Stop down there! On the lowest spot! That’s the place of the accident!’ He was obeyed. Our car moved very slowly downward. Reaching to the base of mountain, we stopped and got out of the car. I could hear whispers of sighs and alas.

In grief, anger, regret, and pain as huge as the world, I crossed the road towards our left side. I stared at the beginning of the safety rails. It had moved completely backward, like an upside down ‘U’. The soldier pointed out to the bars; with a loud voice he announced: ‘It is done by the Pride car. Look! Do you see the damaged bars?’ Staying there, suddenly, I sensed Ramy’s feeling at the spot. Sensing death, with the sound of the clash, he felt blind with huge light of the truck, which was further away, yet so close to dazzle his eyes. My heart ached; I hardly could breathe. I felt unable to bear the sense. I passed the spot and continued to walk along the rails.

I heard again the soldier’s remark: ‘As if the Pride’s driver was unconscious, he has hit safety rails so many times for a long distance. Unable to stop the car or to rip the bars, he has finally reached the truck at the lowest spot of the road.’ The soldier paused and with a low voice said: ‘Both accelerating!’ He was right. It was obvious. I could sense that. The soldier added, ‘The Pride’s driver was not only speeding, but deadly sleeping, hurtling toward the truck in the wrong lane.

I wanted to ask if the driver was drunk; but I remembered that in the police station the officer had answered that question by telling that they had not found any alcohol in the car. Clearly, the police investigation did not go beyond looking for a bottle of alcohol in the car. So I remained silent, invaded with a killing rage and despair.

Shivering, my feverish body felt so cold and heavy. Thinking to the police report, I knew what had happened there; but the soldier pointed out further ahead and sympathetically said: ‘Look! Can you see the trace of the tires on the road? After the fatal collision and killing the sleeping driver, the truck had then turned the small Pride towards this mountain and hit it once again from the back. He looked at me shyly and became silent. I heard his untold words, ‘To kill your son!’ A river of pain ran through my heart.

I knew that Ramy had taken the passenger seat behind the driver. Next to Ramy was Mani, my brother’s son. Then I didn’t know that just in three days later that handsome, lovely young man would leave us, too. With internal injuries, Mani was then in a coma at the hospital in Mashhad. For sure, if after the crash Ramy and his cousin Mani had a chance to survive, by the second clash it was lost.

The pain in my heart, then, reminded me of the officer’s remark about the cause of Ramy’s death: cardiac arrest! I also knew that Mani’s lungs were severely damaged. These gave me the impression that something hard might have pressed the two young men’s chests. I had once seen a thick metal bar installed behind the front seats of a Pride car - I was told - to make it stronger for travelling to countryside or carrying heavy things behind the seats. Further, by the car’s low roof, Ramy and Mani had sustained head injury as well. Unlike their survived step-cousins, who were short, Ramy was tall and Mani was even taller.

To think to these all and being unable to escape the horrible reality, in the middle of that countryside, I wished to sit on the ground to scream and yell non-stopping, from the bottom of my soul, till I die. Yet I was deadly silent, unable to say one word or even to sigh, as my mind was analysing the details with ‘Ifs.’

If my stepbrother’s son, who was the host and arranged the damned one night picnic, was a responsible man and cared for others and took care of the details, this accident wouldn’t happen. Neither would the fatal accident occur if my brother, Mani’s father, had asked his son to take their own brand new German car. I indeed believed in Mani’s intelligent, thoughtfulness, his sense of responsibility and his superb driving skills.

Further, I could see that the accident could be less catastrophic if, after hitting the beginning of the safety rails, the small car had escaped the road instead of bouncing strangely into it. One second later, there was still a chance not to confront the deadly truck, if the rails were ripped to let the small car run out of the road.

There, beyond the safety rails, the one or two metres roadside sloped down to a vast, flat land which, for a runaway car, looked rather safe with its yellowish and possibly soft soil. But with no way to escape, one side the thick hillside, the other side the safety rails - which were there to save bad drivers’ lives – the road had become a death trap for the Pride. It killed three passengers from three different families and let the three others from one family survive.

Submerged with painful thoughts, I could see that nobody might be even killed if the truck driver had a bit of compassion to generously give way to the at fault Pride driver by turning slightly to the opposite side. But he did not. Perhaps he didn’t find time to make a right decision to avoid hitting the small car with its crushing force. Or was it possibly lack of morality and conscience, by which the driver’s mind, at a time which was so crucial and vital, calculated to be considerate of his own benefit: to behave in a way that wouldn’t bring him any accusation or compensation within the Iranian law.

I could, however, never have any exact idea about these; unless that the truck driver knew clearly that he was invincible in his huge vehicle. And I was well aware – with my pierced soul and heart - that my thoughts were emerging all from ‘Ifs’, that they were all absurd wishes. The scratches of a U-turn on the hard asphalt were telling the story otherwise: as it had happened, and it was ultimate, and it was too late for any ‘If.’

I knew the rest. From there, without receiving any help, my beautiful baby was directly taken to the morgue of the cemetery of my home town, and the casualties to a hospital in Ghochan, before being transferred to Mashhad. What a pain! Throughout those vital, critical, and killing minutes, my brother, his wife, and I were still sleeping on the farm, unaware of the catastrophe that had happened to us.

Back to Ghochan, in the darkest dusk, soon we travelled to Mashhad, following the ambulance that was carrying my beautiful son. He was within the blocks of ice. I was within an ocean of suffering. Submerged, then, I thought that I finally knew why my Ramy would sleep with a heater switched on close to his bed even during some of the warmest nights of the previous summer in Sydney. My son was an athletic young man who would spend hours swimming and exercising in the gym. He previously would not put on many layers going out, even during winter. It seemed as though in that very last summer his soul had sensed the chilling touch of death: he had sensed that he was going to freeze, to become like a block of ice.

Thinking to the blissful moments that I had spent with Ramy in Sydney, I would remember how with astonishment I had often told Ramy, ‘I can’t believe this. It’s summer. It’s hot! How you can sleep with the heater.’

He would always answer: ‘Well, that’s because I feel so cold that I can’t sleep.’ Smiling sweetly, he would continue, ‘Mummy, if you are concerned about the electricity bill, I can pay it myself. I have got enough money by having a job at “yd.” ’ Ramy was working in a men’s clothing store on the weekends.

Smiling back, I always cleared for him that money was not the issue; that I was worried about his health; that I wanted to know why he was feeling cold; that it was to me too odd. Our conversation, however, ended there. Ramy would remain silent. Staring at me with those big, beautiful eyes and keeping a mysterious smile on left corner of his mouth, he would then walk away without any convincing reply.

In the car, I thought that Ramy might have known or sensed things that he would not dare to reveal. He knew how dearly I loved him. He avoided disturbing me. Interrogating myself for the failure to grasp the signs, I knew it was then too late and that it was all in vain. I had lost the chance to do something helpful: Ramy was gone. He was dead in an ambulance, just ahead of me, and that I didn’t know anymore if he felt cold or not. Just I felt a severe pain in my heart, knowing Ramy was without a heater in a bed of ice. Drowned in darkness, despair, and suffering, I saw finally the light of the city. The long dark road had ended without bringing any light into my heart. Soon, we reached to my sister’s home.

In Mashhad, my sisters were waiting for me. Staring at me, it seemed that through the eyes they wanted to hear what I had gone through. I had nothing to say. Sitting without a word in a chair, I couldn’t stop thinking to Ramy and wishing to die, so deeply, so badly. After a long silence, which sometimes was filled with whispers and sighs, I heard Mahin’s voice: ‘Ramy was aware of his death.’ I heard the words; but they escaped my mind. I had lost the sense of hearing or talking properly. It took one or two minutes till I grasped what my sister meant. ‘How? Had he told anybody anything?’ I asked with long pauses within the words.

Mahin reminded me of the previous day before Ramy and I go to Ghochan. It was on that night that I had taken Ramy to the holy Shrine, asking the Imam to always take care of my son, to keep him safe and sound to become old. The memory poured infinite pain into my soul.

‘Do you remember how Ramy looked happy in my home?’ My sister asked. I didn’t need to remember. I was seeing him. Seeing the whole day!

Ramy and I had lunch over there. We enjoyed the food and talking to my sister and her youngest daughter, Lily, who had come from Germany. At the dining table, Ramy told, ‘What a beautiful food, yum-yum! Aunty you are a good cook!’ My sister thanked him and said, ‘But your mum’s a better one.’ At this Ramy laughed: ‘Mummy cooks good food only for king Mazi!’

As everyone looked at me with inquiring eyes, Ramy started to explain that the reason he called his big brother ‘the king’ was because he was the first born child. With a great sense of humour, then, through his pleasant gestures and sophisticated words, which seemed half serious, half humorous, Ramy brought warmth, funny discussions and jokes. Staring at him, I merely smiled and finally said, ‘Don’t ever question my love for you, Ramy. You know that I love you dearly. I love you more than my own life.’

In reply, Ramy squizzed his shoulders and stretched his neck forward; moving his eyes the cuckoo clock, he childishly and slowly whispered: ‘OKkkeeeey!’ The silence in that large room was then filled with the sound of his giggling.

Seeing my sweet son in my mind, I suddenly felt how far away the lovely sound of Ramy’s laughter was. I heard the echoes of his giggles. It seemed like the sound of some small, magical, silver bells, ringing exquisitely in a distant forest, reaching to me through the clouds of despair. I shivered. A river of pain ran through my body and soul.

‘His drawing! If you can look at it! The drawing itself speaks,’ Mahin said. And my mind went again back on the day, remembering, watching, seeing!

It was the afternoon rest time, and I was delighted that - against his habit in Iran - Ramy didn’t go for his daily walk. To march along the streets and passing many intersections - with the careless drivers - seemed beyond doubt dangerous to me. So with satisfaction I asked Ramy to have a nap, as I placed a pillow for him on the carpet. Terribly restless, I forced myself to lie down and watched Ramy fall asleep quickly. Seeing my exhausted son sleep so peacefully was a relief to me.

After half an hour, however, Mahin’s other daughter arrived home from work. Complaining about the hot day, she walked to her mum to check her blood pressure. The noises woke Ramy up. He walked to a sofa. Sitting there, he requested her cousin to cheque his blood pressure as well. My niece did so, and after a while she tried it again, before stepping back in doubt. I felt something was very wrong; but I didn’t dare to ask. Instead, Ramy questioned, ‘What is it? How much was it?’ My niece paused and then said, ‘Something must be wrong with the instrument.’

My heart started to beat madly, thinking something was wrong with Ramy’s health. My niece continued, ‘The numbers were too close at first, and showing high blood pressure at the second time. It can’t be right.’ Everyone was silent; but Ramy asked his cousin to cheque it again. She refused, panicked. Ramy insisted, as he reassured: ‘This time the numbers would be just right. I promise!’

My niece approached Ramy in hesitation and measured his blood pressure for the third time. Bewildered, she walked back and asked: ‘How could you do this? It’s impossible! It’s just right. Unbelievable!’ Ramy made a happy face and said: ‘Don’t worry. Well! You see that everything is all right. Don’t get excited. I just control my blood pressure. That’s I who decide for the numbers, not the machine. Don’t worry, the instrument is not faulty.’

With a heavy silence in the room, Ramy looked uncomfortable. He asked, ‘Are you content now?’ Nobody answered him. I couldn’t believe my eyes; I felt deeply scared; yet I didn’t know why. My sister and her daughters seemed panicked, too. Awhile after, still unable to say a word, I looked at Ramy. He was not smiling or laughing anymore. He looked sad, drifted away, thoughtfully drawing something on a piece of paper. His seat was under the big framed photo of my dead father on the wall.

After an hour, Mahin’s daughter left. Ramy stayed with me. He had promised to accompany me to visit one of his cousins in the evening. It was still early; so Mahin and I sat next to one another, talking. With some distance, in front of me, Ramy was sitting in an armchair. It was around sunset. Through a vast window behind Ramy, the last rays of golden light dispersed in, embracing Ramy. I looked at him to see why he was so quiet. First, the fading light dazzled my eyes, and then it let me see him. Our eyes met. He was looking at me.

How can I describe it? I saw the look of infinite sadness on his face as he was staring at me. The look broke my heart; it pierced my soul. I mean it: it shattered my being. It was the second time that I was seeing that strange lonely look on Ramy’s face in Iran. Not knowing what to do, not knowing what was wrong with my son, I tried to escape the look.

‘Eyes are windows to your soul,’ Ramy has said in one of his poems. Now I know that then it was not our eyes but our souls who met. In that silent dialogue, his soul told me, ‘Mum, I’ll be gone soon!’

‘My little baby, my dear son, I am obliged to stay; but I will join you!’ My soul cried out painfully, in reply!

Later, on the same day, just before leaving the house, Mahin asked me, ‘Have you seen Ramy’s drawing?’ It was on the dining table. I glanced at it once or twice. Horrified, my eyes escaped it immediately. Panic filled my heart and turned into resentment. I told Mahin, ‘Look! He is so dear to all of us! He had always been; but especially his brain surgery made us much closer. He is now even more special and cherished than he used to be. We all love him so dearly. We would do anything for him! And yet he has drawn this scary picture!’ My sister remained silent.

I suddenly felt that Ramy was distancing me. Panic grabbed my being. I felt submerged, sinking, drowned. Overflowing with longing of being in the aircraft and returning to Sydney, I desperately wanted to be at my home, in my Home: Australia. Like a child - as I had repeatedly, childishly, and extraordinarily yearned, from the day I had arrived in Iran - I visualized that Ramy and I are settling into our seats on the aircraft, ordering the alternative meal to Ramy’s, so that I could give him my food in case he did not like his. I visualized then how we are getting off the plane at Sydney Airport, seeing our family, who would be there to welcome Ramy and me.

I was yearning to be at my home and see how Ramy is excitedly talking to his brother, his sister, and his dad about his time in Iran. I was imagining how he passionately tells stories about his trip to his friends, whom were always an essential part of his life. But the reality was different. I was far from my home and Sydney. I felt profoundly uneasy, restless, and even miserable; while I felt ashamed of my own unpleasant feeling with so much hospitality around. In a dead silence, I thought that I should get out of Iran. I felt that something was not right and that I shouldn’t be there.

Unreasonably scared, with bitterness, I whispered to my sister, ‘Perhaps, Ramy hates me. It was me who decided to separate from his dad. Afterward his brother and sister moved out the house to live in another city. I shattered Ramy’s loving family; but how his dad and I could stay together with so many disputes.’ Mahin tried to make me calm. With a soft voice, she said: ‘It’s just a drawing. Don’t be so upset. Ramy loves you.’

And once again, Mahin was reminding me of my son’s drawing. ‘This morning, I found it on the corner of the dining table,’ my sister told and passed a copy of Ramy’s drawing to me.’ I took it so dearly into my hands, as if it was one of the most precious traces my son had left behind. This time, my eyes absorbed the details that I had escaped the first time.

Around two days before his death, Ramy had marked that unhappy skeleton, who was scratching his own face, on top of the paper. He had written his name in Persian and English under the skeleton. There were portraits of his cousin, Mitra, in Iran, and two young females whom I believe were two of his dearest friends in Sydney.

At the bottom of the page there was a woman. I immediately recognized my own portrait. As usual he had gracefully drawn me as a pretty woman, with the beauty mole on the left cheek, attractive eyes, curly hair, full-lips, and - astoundingly - with two lakes of tears under my eyes. I was crying. The drops of my tears were rolling down and becoming big to show the pain: a pain as huge as the world, a world of regret and anguish!

Down, on the further right, there was the word ‘Allah’, written in calligraphy.

Yes, Ramy knew that he was going soon, and that I would afterwards cry, and cry, and cry. He then knew that I would write these pages with the drops of tears rolling down my face. Not knowing how, but Ramy had felt the chilly touch of death from the beginning of his trip. Later I heard that he had been extremely nervous at Sydney Air Port. On his journey, from an airport, he had sent a text message to Mona: ‘Love u 2, and I’ll be gone soon!’

And so soon, he was gone and I was left there alone with a burning heart, astonished how I could be alive. At the edge of a deadly despair, however, I had to remind myself of my other two children in Sydney. As if somebody was whispering into my ears, I would hear: ‘They need you. Don’t be selfish. Don’t let their lives be shattered more than this. Others need to feel Ramy’s love through you.’

I continue to write the following passages after leaving the writing for a long time, when I felt unable to recount the extremely painful memories. Even though, it is an overwhelming task, often in tears, I am doing this for Ramy, dedicating my writing to his elevated soul and his loving friends, who - I am sure - will never forget him.)

Thus, in those hellish days, with a madly wandering mind, I would remember each second that I had particularly spent with Ramy in Iran. Sometimes the memories would invade my scattered mind like a storm. Suffering in silence, I was unaware that I was grinding my teeth. The severe tooth ache on the third day after the accident that was added to my suffering was a sign that I had broken the root of a tooth. Yet the burning pain in my heart and soul would not allow me to seek any ease or comfort. I felt as if my mind did no longer belong to me. I felt like a dead person who was still capable of thinking, remembering, hearing, seeing and suffering immensely. Even the sweetest of memories had become extremely painful.

Thinking of the third day of Ramy’s arrival in Iran would specially add more coal to the blaze that was burning my soul. I felt cheated and ignorant. On that day, Ramy and I went to visit my oldest sister, Ashraf. Sitting and talking happily to her, Ramy suddenly began to recount a dream that he had in his late childhood. That dream had deeply disturbed me in the past; I tried to change the subject, hoping Ramy would stop.

However, Ramy continued: ‘Aunty, how do you interpret it? One night, I saw a bizarre dream; I was told that God wanted to see me and ask me four questions.’

I remembered the night. Ramy was only nine years old. He awoke in tears, cold, pale, shivering, profoundly scared, as he talked to me about his dream. I remembered turning the light on immediately and holding him in my arms. Stroking his hair, drenched in a cold sweat, I had tried to convince him that it was just a dream; yet I couldn’t bring any comfort to him. So I had finally asked him if he had seen God; what he looked like and what the questions were?

He had told me that neither had he seen God, nor understood what the questions were; but he was taken into an enormous white room, where he couldn’t see anything other than whiteness and couldn’t hear any sound than a profound silence.

Shivering and white, that night Ramy couldn’t stop crying for two hours. Both frightened, with my arms around his fragile body, we sat on the bed till the impenetrable blackness beyond the windows panes turned into navy blue and then silver, before becoming transparent. It was dawn and birds had lazily begun to sing when we lay down in bed to have some sleep.

Astonished that after thirteen years, Ramy was now remembering and recounting his dream, I wished my sister’s words bring comfort to me and him. Ashraf was a faithful and wise woman. She told Ramy that the dream meant he would become a great man with a bright future. Ramy smiled, and I felt grateful and relived with that fine interpretation.

After lunch, Ashraf and I sat on the veranda, reminiscing. It was pleasant to be together, drinking tea and sharing childhood’s stories. Ramy was apparently enjoying his time, too. He talked, laughed, and played joyfully cards with my sister’s grandchildren. The twin had come to their grandmother’s home to visit Ramy. They were a few years younger than him; but Ramy behaved with them so kindly and evenly as if they were the same age. I could hear their happy giggles through the open window.

At a moment that the house seemed suddenly very quiet, I looked for Ramy. I saw him sitting alone in the middle of the room behind the window, staring at me. Our eyes met. In a profound silence, something was seemingly said that made me scare to death. It broke my heart; my soul shivered. Ramy’s look was still and infinitely sad. His beautiful eyes were telling me something. I was unable to read the message. Shattered, by his deep, deep immense sadness, I escaped the look and tried to ignore my horrible feeling. Something that I will regret for the rest of my life that why I didn’t walk to my son to request him, ‘Talk to me. Tell me what is wrong. Let’s correct the things; let’s bring order; let’s beg God for safety!’ (Alas! I didn’t do anything! Not at that time, neither later on; I was selfish and ignorant.)

As the day passed and night fell, we decided to sleep outdoor. At midnight, boys spread the bed-rolls on a Persian carpet on the veranda. My sister, the twin brothers, Ramy, and I went to beds, still talking and laughing softly under the moonlight. The night was blue, quiet, and cool. The sky was full of stars. Midsummer night’s breeze was gently caressing our faces, and running to the trees, quivering their leaves, making them magically whisper. So serene and exquisite, the night looked surreal; I told Ramy as if we were in a dream world.

That magical night was not more than a far dream on the fourth morning after Ramy’s divine flight. On that devastatingly painful early morning, in Mashhad, I visited Ramy once more time. Frenziedly, I kissed him from head to toes, again and again. I knew that it was the last time I was seeing him without chemicals. As if it was somehow the beginning of his journey to the unknown, I frantically talked to him, silently or aloud. Few relatives were there to farewell my son, before his precious body to be taken to Tehran.

Mad with grief and rage, as I had Ramy’s dream in my shattered mind, then, I would ask others desperately that what could be four questions that God might ask a person at the end of a journey of life. At the same time, I felt angry to God who had scared my son at the age of nine, and had left me miserable at my latest fifties without my Beautiful Ramy.

It was hard not to be able to teach my son the answers of the unknown questions when he had to leave for the unknown alone. It was an unspeakable morning, a horrible day. It was an awful chapter in my life that I should get courage and strength to close it forever, to forget it, to erase it from my mind.

On that day, that beautiful lifeless rose was finally taken from the cemetery of Mashhad to the airport to fly to Tehran. Amongst all those, who were previously so lovingly around Ramy to enjoy their time, only one young girl had come to farewell him. The attractive girl handed me a red rose. I kissed the rose. I kissed the girl. We hugged and both wept painfully.

As Ramy was soaring into the sky, my mind was wandering in the time, swinging, remembering, yearning, suffering, and suffering. I was thinking, feeling, and seeing the blissful moments I had spent with him.

I could see his big beautiful eyes, looking at me with love, on the second day of his arrival in Iran. Even though he, had some rest during his stop - over in the hotel in Bahrain and had a good sleep on the previous day and night in Iran, he still looked jet lagged. Yet, with the shadow of extreme tiredness on his lovely face, he would tell me that he was not tired.

Then, sitting on the floor at Ramy’s feet, I was looking into my suitcase for a gift for my sister, Mahin, as we were getting ready to go to her house for lunch. Seated at the edge of his bed, Ramy suddenly sat down next to me on the floor. In silence, I looked at him. His sweet face was full of love and affection. I smiled, knowing that he knew the warmth and happiness his presence would always bring me.

At that moment, all of a sudden, Ramy said: ‘Mum, it seems you couldn’t sell your land!’ With that remark, an intense anguish in his voice broke his calm facade. I looked into his eyes, suddenly overflowing with a deep sadness. I found Ramy deep in thoughts, quiet, and disturbed. Confused and shocked, I gently said, ‘No, I couldn’t; but it is not important at all.’

Ramy continued, ‘But, Mummy, what about your wrists? Turning the old, leaking water taps has ruined your wrists. You wanted to renovate the bathroom and the kitchen. Without money you cannot do anything.’ The sadness in his voice startled me. I stroke his hair and reassured him that I would ask his siblings to help me change the taps, and that the old kitchen and bathroom were more than we needed to have a happy life.

‘Are you sure?’ Still very concerned, Ramy asked. I nodded: ‘Yes, of course! No doubt! Take it easy! Don’t worry!’ At this, a look of half happiness and half satisfaction appeared on Ramy’s face. Sighing with relief, I felt both: delighted that he was so close to me, and gloomy that my problem had so deeply affected my son.

A minute passed in silence. I started to look again into my suitcase when, out of the blue, Ramy whispered: ‘Mummy, I want to apologise you!’ I sat straight and looked at him in astonishment. ‘What for is it, my darling?’ I asked. With a mysterious smile on the corner of his lips, he shyly and tenderly said, ‘For whatever I did wrong! For whenever I made you upset!’ I listened. My son’s remark touched my heart. I can’t tell if I was happy about what he had then said, or sad. Bewildered, not moving, not talking, I just watched him with deep love, when Ramy started to criticize himself. He mentioned especially two occasions when I was angry with him and he was bitter to me.

I listened and thought that I had to ask for his forgiveness, too. I knew my own faults and failures too. I knew that I was not always a devoted mother, but a selfish woman, who sometimes was not considerate of her son’s age, his wishes, and his demands. Yet I did not apologise then and thought of doing so later on. At that time I did not know that very soon I will be apologising to him from morning till night, from night till morning, but all in my heart. I was unaware that I was losing the chance to show my respect for my beautiful son, to bring some ease in the future to my own soul by presenting my modesty and fairness at the time.

Afterwards, Ramy handed me his passport and his American dollars that his dad had given him to spend in Iran. With his passport, there were also his credit card; his VIP cards and two photos of Ramy himself with two girls, one of Jilla and the other of Helen, each of whom were very dear friends to Ramy. He asked me to put his stuff somewhere safe. It looked all natural. I took them. Watching the photos, I told him that the girls were extremely beautiful and that he himself was outstandingly handsome.

Then I made some jokes and asked him if he intended to marry soon. He laughed first and then frowned and with a serious voice said: ‘No.’ I was watching him; I saw him fall into silence, deep in thoughts. Yet his look soon changed and he started to giggle once again. With a childish voice, afterward, Ramy said that he intends to have seven or ten children and that he was going to be a parent earlier than his older siblings.

It was so odd; at Ramy’s words, I got a vision of a little, charming boy, dressed in dark suit, light shirt and white bow-tie. It seemed that the boy was walking to me through an arcade with a roof that looked like an upside down bird’s nest. The boy’s big dark eyes were smiling at me. Speechless, I paused. I felt stunned, my mouth half open.

The beautiful boy soon disappeared; the passageway went missing in the air. I felt amazed. I said happily to Ramy that he would not believe it, but I somehow saw his son and I fell in love with that gorgeous little boy. Ramy smiled. I smiled back and felt pleased that he had always faith in my words. I knew that, like me, he would believe in the supernatural; he never doubted or judged me.

Ramy and I were, in fact, very close. I still feel honoured that I’ve watched and discussed STAR WARS and HARRY POTTER films - and many other of my favourite movies - with Ramy. We both liked to analyse the films, expressing our views about the details, the music, the symbolic language, and at the same time learning from one another. If Ramy knew that I was keen to watch a particular movie, he would not go with his friends and instead would watch it with me

One particular occasion when we had gone to the movies together always makes me smile. Before going in the movie theatre, I bought popcorn, knowing that my son wouldn’t enjoy the film without it. Walking back towards Ramy, I saw him talking to his friends. I stopped and then turned to the opposite side, trying to hide. I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his friends. However, he called out: ‘Mum, I am here!’ Holding the large bag of popcorn and a huge cup of coke zero, I turned back to Ramy and hesitantly went to the group of eight or nine stylish girls and boys. ‘Mum, these are my friends! This is my mum!’ Ramy introduced us. After the greetings, we talked politely for a while and soon parted to go inside.

Sitting in the movie theatre and feeling comfortable, Ramy turned to me. ‘Where were you going, Mummy? Why you didn’t want to come to me?’ He enquired with curiosity. I explained the reason to him that in front of his friends, I thought, he might feel embarrassed of being in company of his mother in the cinema. My heart was overflowing with joy when he said, ‘I am proud of you, Mum. How could you ever think that your presence would embarrass me?’

Despite our friendship and closeness, we would sometimes argue. On such occasions, the two of us would afterward remain silent for a while; but soon we would start talking without any resentment. On rare occasions, I felt really hurt and ignored him. Ramy would then quietly sit next to me on the couch, making the cutest gestures like a little boy. I could then no longer ignore him. I would turn to him and ask: ‘Can you please tell me what you really are? Are you a Tiger or a Cat?’ Smiling and pleased, he would put his head on my shoulder and with the sweetest voice he would say: ‘Persian Cat! I am Persian Cat.’ I would put an arm round him; kissing his head and hands, I would tell my son that I love him dearly. And that would be the end of our fight.

We could easily talk to each other about anything and everything. We would often talk past mid-night. Telling him ‘Goodnight’, Ramy would always remind me that we had not yet played cards. I would rarely say that it was too late and I wanted to go to bed. Ramy would reply: ‘OK! Go! But then I would become depressed!’ The expression on my son’s face was then so sweet, so innocent and undemanding that made me feel unable not to sit down - on the Persian carpet, as Ramy wished - to play cards.

During the games, Ramy liked to talk to me. Listening, I sometimes offered him my advice; while Sultan, Ramy’s puppy, would every now and then jump on the cards. Seeking my opinion to solve his friends’ difficulties, my son would especially grant me the great honour of confiding in me.

Those late night cards games and sincere conversations - which have been always deeply treasured in my heart - had made Ramy and me much closer. I sometimes told Ramy that he was my best friend, or even more: a parent figure. At the same time, as a parent, I would feel an enormous tide of affection and protectiveness for him in the core of my soul. I knew myself, and he knew as well, that I was willing to give my life to keep him safe and that it was without any doubt.

As our days in Iran were fast passing, every night I kept hoping my son would become fresh and happy by the next morning after a good night’s sleep. However Ramy continued to look tired, quiet, gloomy, and flat not only on the second and third day after his arrival, but also during the coming days. Others would often ask me what was wrong with him and why Ramy was so down. Initially I would say he is jetlagged but later on I didn’t know what to say.

Worried and concerned, unfortunately I remained silent. The only time that I seriously discussed Ramy’s strange quiet look was the day before the accident. Then on my brother’s farm, I talked to Ramy’s dad who was in Sydney. I told him about Ramy’s distress and his abnormal blood pressure. I asked him to see what Maziar and Mona, both of whom are doctors, think of it and to call me back with their thoughts. I also reassured Ramy’s dad, and myself, that I would take my son to a doctor as soon as we go back to Mashhad.

Afterward, I called Ramy. It was late afternoon. I asked him how he was and why he looked all the time so tired and unhappy. I asked him if he was in love when he left Sydney. He burst into laughter and loudly recounted my words to his cousins. After a while, he told that he might not go to the picnic. I persuaded him to go, suggesting that staying alone at home would make him bored. At the same time, I thought that after the oncoming morning, Ramy would feel different. Completely different! That he would be nice and fresh, as I hoped and wished!

After that last phone call to my son, I went out of the villa for a walk. The big, golden sun was moving down across the sky to sink behind the far flat horizon. The sky was painted in red, crimson, yellow, indigo. It seemed that the rays of the dying sun were sprinkling dust of gold on the farm. The green surroundings looked magical. But I couldn’t enjoy the beauty of that vast field; I was unjustifiably extremely unhappy, longing for my own home back in Sydney.

Before the sunset, the sudden death of two animals intensified that sadness in my heart. I heard about the dreadful death of an innocent dog close to the road, after I saw the silent fall of a beautiful owl from a bough. Oddly, the bird - that for the first time in my entire life I had heard - was singing so marvellously that I thought it was a canary. The two incidents made me terribly disturbed. I wished to leave Iran; I felt I was there at the bottom of a hell.

On the same day, in the evening, Mani had a shower. He put gel on his smooth, thick, hair and got ready for Ghochan. Before leaving the villa, he came to me, ‘Aunty Shahin, how do I look? Are my clothes all right or you think I change?’ Tall and neat, in his Khaki pants and dark green shirt, he looked very handsome, and I told him. Mani was pleased. He smiled and turned to his parents, asking them to take him to the nearby city; where he could get a taxi to travel to Ghochan.

We all got into the car and after forty minutes driving we were in the town. Stopping at a large roundabout, Mani got out the car and walked around to find a taxi. It was dusk. It seemed that there was no bus or taxi going to Ghochan so late. Mani walked back, disappointed. Just then we heard the sound of hurrying footsteps on the asphalt. A man was running. He approached Mani. Panting, he said that right then he was leaving for Ghochan, if Mani wanted a ride. Mani’s mum, who had seen his son work hard all day and help the labourers on the farm, persuaded him to go and enjoy his time.

Mani looked at us, smiled, waved, and walked away with the driver. They both jumped into the taxi. Like a messenger of death, the driver and his vehicle were one minute there and gone the next. The deadly picnic would be surely cancelled, without Mani’s presence. Ramy was - I was later told - unwilling to go. He had said that he wanted to spend his time with his step-cousin’s children at home. The oldest son, who suddenly wished to go as well, had then begged Ramy to accompany them for his sake. Ramy was always considerate of a child’s demand; he couldn’t say no, so he joined the group that had been completed with Mani’s arrival.

As soon as Mani left, my brother drove back to the farm. It was dusk. The surroundings looked sad and silent in the mysterious darkness of the falling night. On the way, none of us talked till we reached to the villa. Later, we had a simple dinner and went to bed relatively early. I wished to sleep soon, because I had to get up very early in the morning. I had to go to Ghochan to visit somebody in relation to the land.

Lying in bed, however, I found myself agitated. Extremely tired, yet restless, I couldn’t sleep. I tried to meditate to calm my mind. Impossible! Like a crazy horse or a harsh storm, my mind was out of my control. I closed my eyes and thought to my children and prayed for them. Asking God for Ramy’s safety, I suddenly got a strange vision.

My Ramy was lying on a board, his eyes were closed, and his hands were at his sides, motionless. His tanned skin looked dark; his clothes were greenish, nearly black. It seems one or two meters of murky water or gloomy fog was above him. The vision gave me an instant physical pain. I felt nauseous. I pressed my palms on my stomach. Panicked, I opened my eyes and gazed into darkness of the night. Village dogs were barking every now and then; otherwise everything was very quiet and peaceful.

I prayed again for Ramy and this time I got the same vision with my eyes open. The physical pain in me became harsher. I prayed again and again, more than ten times. Each time, I got the same horrible vision that made me curl my body to bear the physical pain that had come to me from nowhere. I was shocked. Frenzied, I wanted to call Ramy; but I didn’t have a mobile. It couldn’t be activated in Iran - I was told in Sydney. I listened to my brother and his wife’s breathing. They both were slept. I decided to awake them; but I didn’t know what to say.

Alarmed, yet ignorant, I closed my eyes to the warning. As if a kind of force had made my awareness deaf and blind, I didn’t get that the image was a premonition. It was an aid from above or from my own subconscious mind to warn me. Alas! Ignorant, I told myself that you are just paranoid. I imagined that speaking about my unreasonable fear would make others laugh at me. So I started to accuse myself. I told me you are crazy. You have got mad. Your son is having fun, and you are seeing him like this.

However, I never thought that the vision was an image of a dead person. I loved Ramy more than that to be capable of thinking like that. I just ignored the visions. Bent, with my palms on my stomach, I tried not to pray but to sleep. I did not know it then, but within around four hours my world would change drastically. I could not imagine that I was losing the precious time to save my son’s life.

I didn’t know that what was showing to me was Ramy’s lifeless body on a board with a darker skin, the result of the chemicals: to enable his innocent body flying overseas, going HOME, To Sydney. I lost thus the last chance to bring any change, if it was possible, to the cruel destiny which had cheated me and then was mockingly cooperating to awaken me, to open my eyes, to open my mind, to help me to prevent the accident.

I did not know, then, that by keeping silent I was going to put a cross on my shoulders for the rest of my life. I wish that heavy, drastic cross was at least only mine; but Ramy’s family each got one, and I saw the price I had paid for my inauspicious silence at the night. Yes, finally, very, very late, perhaps at dawn, I could step into realm of sleeping. But there was a phone call, informing us of the accident.

It was terribly odd and painful but on our way to hospitals in Ghochan and then to Mashhad, I couldn’t get any vision or the least image of my son in my mind. Unaware that I had lost him, all the way, I was desperately praying for Ramy’s safety. With a horrible sense of profound deprivation, then, I would try to visualise my son; but it seemed as if I had never known Ramy; as if he had never existed in my life. I felt I had forgotten how he looked like, and that feeling would pour more horror into my heart. Yet I never thought it was an ominous sign. I would not believe that I would be unable to see my beautiful Ramy in my mind till I would officially receive his death news; when he initially appeared to me as a sphere of dense, bright, golden white light.

Yes, Ramy has always been the light in our lives. He always seemed to us as blissful sparkles of the sun. He was to me the Sun of the House. I can never forget the first day of his arrival in Iran with an amazing halo of a shimmering light all around his body.

It was in fact late afternoon on the first of July that I was getting ready to go to the airport to get Ramy, who was due to arrive in the evening. Before leaving the house, however, I received a phone call from Ramy’s dad, who told Ramy had lost the flight. The news made me feel relieved. Deep down, I didn’t want Ramy to come to Iran. I could see that things were rather boring and somehow very sad; since there were many deaths and funerals around.

On the phone, Ramy’s dad explained, ‘This happened because Ramy’s passport was expired and we didn’t know. At the airport, we were told that Ramy could leave Australia, but he won’t be able to come back.’ Listening, in my heart I thanked God. His dad continued, ‘It was a lot of effort till we were able to renew the passport on the following day. But then it was impossible to get a new ticket, because all seats were booked out for few weeks.’ In silence, I smiled and thanked God again. But he kept on telling that just when they gave up and were about to leave the travel agency, a cancellation came up on the computer’s screen. The seat was immediately taken for Ramy. He said that I should pick him up at dawn of the following day instead of that evening.

Knowing that my son was on his way to Iran, I felt a touch of chill in my heart. I remained silent and couldn’t say a word. At the same time, I reproached myself about my own bizarre feeling. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me and why I felt so sombre. I didn’t know why, silently in my heart, I wished to leave Iran. Ramy’s dad, however, was very pleased. He indicated that it was indeed a miracle to get the ticket: unaware that soon it was going to appear as a curse.

So on the second of July, at two am, in the silence and darkness of the night, my brother-in-law drove me to the airport. Soon the aircraft landed and passengers started coming out from the inner section. Watching, I felt astounded with the change in Iran. A huge crowd of passengers entered in the country in the middle of the night and all were Arabs, wearing long, white costumes and loose sandals. They were very loud. I guessed they were on a pilgrimage to the holy shrine.

Not seeing my son, I gradually felt worried and thought Ramy had missed the flight. I knew that he had an overnight stop over at Bahrain. Waiting nervously, an hour passed; yet Ramy had not shown up. It made me feel sick. Tired, sleep deprived and without energy, I felt so cold and frail, as if I was going to faint.

It was then like a dream when an elegant, tall man approached me. He was wearing jeans and a very nice, hooded black and white striped jumper. He was distinguished among the crowd. His big eyes were full of wonder and appreciation. I felt startled at first, and then looked at him with admiration. ‘Is it you, Ramy? How tall you have become?! I didn’t recognize you!’ I said.

He laughed heartily: ‘Mum, I couldn’t have grown taller in forty days. It’s impossible!’ Still watching him, I said: ‘I bet! Let’s go back to Sydney and ask your dad to measure your height and compare it to the last mark he had previously put on the wall. You’ll then see that you are a few centimetres taller!’ Ramy laughed again, and walked to me, as I stared at him in astonishment.

Once in Sydney I had seen a golden halo all around him and had told my son that he was indeed the Sun of the House. This time I saw over him a dazzling circle of colourful light, from yellow to azure, turning to deep bright blue, nearly a shimmering purple. I exclaimed: ‘You can’t believe, Ramy! You have a rainbow of light around you!’ Ramy laughed gleefully and put an arm on my shoulder. We hugged, and he asked that whether cuddling was okay in Iran. I said yes, because you are my son.

A while later I looked at Ramy again. The halo of light was disappeared, as if it was merely a sweet dream. I patted Ramy’s head and said your hair style is very nice. He turned to show the back of his head and asked if I like his rat tail, too. I patted his head again and said, ‘Yes, of course!’ He explained that he had hidden his hair in the hood of that new jumper that Mona had bought for him in Sydney. Watching him, I said, ‘Your jumper is very nice, too.’ I added that he shouldn’t be worried about his hair because things seemed to have changed in Iran, and that the guards wouldn’t bother young people anymore.

‘So, why others are gazing at me?’ Ramy asked. ‘Among these strange people,’ I told him, ‘it is not strange that everyone stares at you; because you look so beautifully different, as if you are from another planet, perhaps Neptune!’ He happily laughed. I cuddled him once more time and told him, ‘Ramy, I love you very much. I was so worried. Why you showed up so late? I thought you missed the flight.’

‘Mum, I am here now! You can’t believe what a great time I had in Bahrain. The pool in the hotel was so inviting. Even though, I didn’t have my swimmer, I couldn’t resist the water in that hot weather!’ He said and blissfully smiled. ‘What do you mean?’I wanted to know. ‘I mean I just jumped into the water with my pants.’ I was surprised; I asked, ‘Really? Did you? Like that?’ A cheeky smile appeared on his sweet face as he said, ‘Yessss! And it was so nice! I enjoyed it very much!’

I was pleased to know that he had a nice time and it made all my worries go away. In retrospect, those short magical moments at the airport were the only time that I found my beautiful son so cheerful, happy, whole, and sound in Iran. As Ramy was still talking excitedly about his trip, my brother-in-law, who was looking around for him, saw us. Walking to Ramy, he shook hands with my son and cheerfully welcomed him. Then we walked out to leave the airport.

Outside, the sun was rising. The streets were quiet, clean, and empty of traffic. It didn’t take long to get home. When we entered the yard, it was neat and nice. Over the small garden, the sun had sprinkled silver dust. The young trees looked jubilant. Green grapes, pink peaches, and crimson plums looked like jewels hiding amongst the exuberant leaves. On the furthest corner of the small garden, a tall and delicate walnut tree was soaring to the sky, as if it was showering under the first rays of the sun. Underneath, the grass was covered in dew; its sparkle on the green lawn made it look like a sea of emerald. Over there, Ramy stopped; gazed, and said, ‘Wow! What a magical garden!’ And we walked to the building.

It was still very early. Yet everyone was exceptionally awake, waiting for us. Ramy was welcomed, and we were directed to the kitchen. A beautiful breakfast was on the table. Tea was ready. Its aroma had filled the air. The samovar was chanting; sound of the boiling water was softly resonating around, greeting Ramy.

We all sat around the table. I took the closest seat to Ramy: his beautiful presence filled my heart with hope, grace, and joy. He took a piece of bread and spread butter, bought from the farm, with home-made kiwi and sour-cherry jam on its top. He took a bite and smiled. With dreamy eyes, he looked into the distant sky beyond the window and said: ‘It’s so nice. In Iran everything is very nice!’

‘It’s so nice. In Iran everything is very nice!’ The words were storming in my mind, striking and smashing my whole being at Mashhad Air Port as the airplane took off, carrying my son’s motionless body towards its destination to Tehran. Grieving deeply and silently, I felt all my cells were bleeding one by one as I looked around with dried eyes, without a drop of tear. The beautiful girl who had come to the airport to farewell my son put her arm around me and with a few relatives we walked to the cars.

Back to my sister’s home, I looked at the small garden. As if Ramy was whispering into my ears, I heard his words over there; where at his arrival, he had stopped, gazed, and said, ‘Wow! What a magical garden!’ I halted there for a while. Frozen and cold, I saw everything was still the same as the first day when Ramy entered that yard; only my being was shattered, and my heart was burning, and I knew that my Ramy wasn’t around. Suffering immensely, I knew too that, with that horrible pain in my heart and soul, I had to be considerate of my three sisters who had serious heart problems.

Walking to the building, I sat in a chair in the hall, talking to Ramy in my mind. Others tried to be quiet. No word could bring ease to me and everyone knew that. Even speaking to my family in Sydney couldn’t reduce my blazing pain. I could feel how the world of all of us was falling apart by Ramy’s loss. I couldn’t then be helpful to my children at all. Since I was far away, on the other side of the earth; while I was myself disintegrated, fragmented, and almost dead.

To support me, in Mashhad, close or far relatives and friends were still kindly visiting me. Some people even travelled from other cities to see me. At times there was no need for any word or expression. I could feel people’s empathy, their pure love, and their profound sadness in a very specific way: a sincere hug, a look, or just a silent presence. Then deep down in my heart, I felt both: very grateful for so much care for me and my son, as I still felt so helpless, so startled, and so alone that no word can express the depth of that killing despair.

Moreover, I was well aware that in Tehran, as a rule, they might take Ramy’s inner organs out just to throw away. The horror of losing his heart, his brain, and his beautiful eyes was engulfing my being - even though I well knew that my beautiful son was physically gone. Seeking help to keep Ramy whole, then, his dad contacted the Australian Embassy and delivered a plea that Ramy was an Australian young man, whose body should be treated with respect according to the Australian law.

Afterward, I received few phone calls from the Australian Embassy in Iran. The lady on the line was an understanding Iranian woman. Kindly, with a sense of deep empathy, with apt and compassionate words, she talked to me; while, considerately and respectfully, she called my son ‘Ramy Jun’: Dear Ramy.

The remark made me cry; it took a thorn out of my soul. I opened my heart to her and complained that no matter how many times I had told others that my son has a name, it seems that some people can’t help it: my son is often called as the corpse. I said and wept with bitterness. She expressed her sincere empathy once again, and then said that the embassy is trying its best to help me and Ramy Jun and she would let me know any further news.

The contact from the embassy gave me some hope. Yet following my quest, desperate and shattered, I frantically turned to the divine, wishing a celestial hand from the beyond make Ramy leave Iran whole. Even though, I had lost my faith and was mad with rage to any kind of spiritual or religious belief, I asked Imam Reza for a miracle. I begged God, universe, nature, the earth and the skies to grant my plea. I started then to pray nonstop from morning till morning, sleeping or waking, sitting or walking.

Unbelievable! One of the results of my prayers was Ramy’s absolute wakefulness, revealed to me through people’s dreams. Since I never had a dream of him myself, I would listen to others’ dreams about Ramy with my whole being, as if it was truly a message from my son. On the first four days after the accident, Ramy had appeared on people’s dreams very tired, sleepy, obscured and exhausted, asking gloomily for a pillow to sleep somewhere. Anywhere!

I knew that Ramy was indeed like that because he had not slept at all on the night of the accident and perhaps the night previous to that. I well knew that he left this world with a sense of extreme tiredness. Without comprehending what had really happened at the time of the accident, my beautiful son had left the car, said few words, and took perhaps five steps - like the film Kill Bill - and fell down on the ground; since a sinister touch had cracked his heart.

So those dreams made me suffer awfully without expressing a word to anybody. I didn’t want people know what was going inside me; I did not want to stop others revealing their true dreams to me; since the dreams seemed as a channel between Ramy and me. After I started praying and visualizing Ramy and his wellbeing within a shield of divine light, however, I would have visitors who had just come to tell me how cheerful, tall, strong, and energetic Ramy had appeared in their dreams. The new dreams poured some light into my darkened heart: Ramy was awake. He knew where he was, or at least he could guess what had happened on that damned night. And that he wasn’t thinking he had been trapped in an awful dream.

This was, in fact, contrary to the time - few months before the accident and my travelling to Iran - when Ramy had described an experience he had when he could not wake himself up from an afternoon nap. On this occasion, I arrived home with a bag of shopping for dinner. I saw Ramy sitting up worried and pale at the edge of the sofa in the living room. He looked at me and said thanks God that you are back.

Then he continued to say that after coming home from uni he had wanted to lie down for a short while. But he had quickly fallen asleep and started to have odd, disturbing, nonstop dreams within dreams. He would then wake up in a cold sweat; sit up in bed; touch things; call his friends, his dad, his siblings, and me to make sure he was actually awake. However unexpectedly, hopelessly, and desperately, he would grasp that everything he had done was just another dream.

He told me that after a hard and dreadful effort, he had finally felt that he was really awake. But he could not believe it. So as he had done in his dreams, he had jumped out of the bed and ran to the living room, called his dad and in disbelieve asked him a few times if the phone call was really real.

I listened, then, to my son with curiosity. Whatever disturbed Ramy would deeply hurt me! Concerned, I sat next to him and affectionately put my arms around his shoulders and reassured him that he was not sleeping anymore and that after all it had only been an annoying dream.

So after the accident, while I was still in Iran, Ramy’s strange dream in Sydney would painfully come into my mind. I would remember my son’s pale look and the irksome fear that had persisted in him for days: a sense of being trapped in a dream and unable to combat the fear of his powerlessness to awake himself. This was very unlike Ramy who was a very brave young man. We all still remember how daring he was at the time of his brain surgery.

The day before the operation, Ramy let the nurses shave his beautiful hair; while he was laughing and joking with them. Coming out of the room, he was still giggling, telling that he liked his bold head, and how sweet were the nurses who had called him the handsome bold boy. He poured hope into our hearts with his smile and laughter and jokes at a time that we all were awfully horrified. The following day, before going into the operation theatre, too, he laughed and joked and transferred his courage to his siblings, his dad, and me; even though he knew in minutes he was going to have a serious and life threatening surgery. After the accident, I would think to all of these and frenziedly ask myself why my fearless son was frightened and so very affected by that dream in Sydney.

Wondering that whether Ramy knew what had happened to him in Iran, I was in bottomless pain, thinking that my beloved son was possibly imagining that he was just dreaming and that he was trying wildly to awake himself. Dying by a vain desire to reach Ramy to only pat and comfort him, I suffered awfully. I felt he was trapped in oblivion of a misty wilderness with a consciousness that was held between the two close yet different dimensions. To me, my innocent son was lost and obscured for the first four days of his new life.

However, after I started to pray, something changed. In people’s dreams, Ramy would not ask anymore for a pillow; neither would he complain about his tiredness or lack of sleep; nor was he gloomy or confused. On those days, one specific dream touched deeply my heart.

On the dream, Nima, my nephew had seen Ramy in two different appearances. In a very large room, Ramy was lying motionless in a bed. At the same time, there was another Ramy, who was running, jumping, and even bouncing around the room as he was laughing heartily and happily telling Nima that he would feel so unbelievably free; because he had got rid of the cage of his body, and he could then fly and go wherever he like, and nobody’s hand can reach him.

Beside the remarkable change in people’s dreams about my son, I also started to experience a bizarre feeling. Praying frantically, intensely, and desperately in Persian or foreign language - Arabic - reading some verses of the Koran without understanding the meanings, I felt a soft, warm, and loving touch over my head and forehead. The touch was constant like my prayers. It made me sometimes put a palm on my head to see whether a butterfly was fluttering there. I would find, of course, nothing; but the vigorous touch like an invisible loving palm or sometimes a child’s fingertip was softly moving over my head or through my hair: caressing me.

Yet I was in such a huge pain that I had no time to ask myself what that unknown and peculiar feeling was; neither could I think to any mystical or supernatural senses, or anything else beyond my limited vision and belief. Only, I somehow and very painfully would feel that Ramy was around. Yet I was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually petrified. Sinking into bitterness of this world of material, I was unable to think to anything or giving myself some hope that the loving touch belonged to my beloved son.

I could not imagine then that, like me, Ramy was in an immeasurable pain and suffering. He was in grief of the sudden separation from me, his loving sister and brother, his caring dad, his dear friends, and all those who were in pain for him. I am well aware of what I am saying at the moment because now it is August 2010.

It has taken me a long time to write this. I often have to stop writing from time to time as I find it so painful to think and write about my beautiful son and those terrible times.

Praying for Ramy, I would also pray for my nephew Mani to survive. I loved Mani very much ever since he was a little child. Mani was a quiet, sweet, and smart boy, whose dark glittering eyes were always reflecting both warmth and care. With his strong will and certain cuteness in his voice, he would easily get everyone’s attention and love as a child. Mani was about four years older than Ramy; yet the two cousins had made a close bond of friendship throughout the few trips I took to Iran with my son. Like me, Ramy loved, trusted, and admired Mani who had become a tall, good-looking, extremely bright young man.

With his jet-black, sleek hair covered neatly in hair gel, Mani was very stylish in a casual way. Beside his lovely appearance, his nice manners and his pure nature would always impress Ramy and me. Mani was polite, understanding, thoughtful, generous and tolerant. He could not conceal his rare and profound sense of devotion under an unyielding, serious, and stern appearance.

I can never forget one special occasion on my last trip to Iran when I had gone to my brother’s farm to visit him and Mani. At the time Mani’s mum and his sister were in Tehran, and Ramy was still in Sydney. Sitting alone in the room, I felt extremely lonely and unhappy. Listening to the samovar’s whisper of the boiling water, I suddenly felt a craving for coffee as if it could be my companion. I looked around, but I couldn’t find any.

Suddenly Mani walked in. I asked him where was the box of Nestle instant coffee that I had seen one year ago on my previous trip. Mani’s warm, dark eyes shone in wonder. He shook his head and apagogically said that no coffee was left but he would purchase as soon as he go to the city, and a second later he disappeared. I knew that he was very busy and had to supervise the workers on an important task aimed at getting water from depth of the earth for irrigation of the farm.

Around two hours passed. Sitting alone in the room and reminiscing, I was watching the green landscape through the open door. The range of the far mountains beyond the fields looked purple and misty. I was imagining how a loving family or a wonderful tribe were those beautiful mountains that looked so firm, strong, and supportive of one another; as if they were hand in hand dancing in a semi-circle to celebrate life.

The exquisite sight had filled my heart with a kind of strange longing, when gentle noise of a car engine took my attention. The car stopped in front of the villa and Mani got out with a bag of shopping. Coming in, he handed the bag to me and said, ‘Aunty, this is the coffee you wanted. I am sorry if it took so long; I drove to the nearby town to get this.’

I thanked Mani and told that he shouldn’t have gone into so much trouble for me. At this, a shy smile appeared on Mani’s face as he walked away quietly and soon brought me a big crystal glass. He would still remember, from my previous trip, that this was my favourite glass for drinking tea or coffee. Afterward, he walked out, going to the workers. I made my coffee with delight and drank it with joy, thanking Mani in my heart.

On the same day late in the afternoon, I saw Mani again. Covered in dust and mud, he walked towards the bathroom to have a shower. He soon appeared again nice and neat with his thick, shiny, black hair covered in gel falling about his ears. A faded smile on his lovely face was revealing his deep satisfaction of both: managing the important job efficiently and working hard with the labourers with modesty and joy.

I never told Mani that amongst my siblings’ children he was one of the most favourites; neither did I tell him that I would be very happy to have him on a vacation in Sydney. I was planning to surprise Ramy by my suggestion and to let him invite his cousin to Australia. Since our return tickets were from Tehran, I thought we had enough time to talk about everything when Ramy and I would spend the last ten days of our trip with my brother’s family.

Similar to my own son that to him whatever good deeds I did, I did, and whatever I missed out, I missed: I missed the chance to tell Mani how dear he was to me. Mani fell into a coma after the accident. He had opened his eyes just once at the hospital in Ghochan. Sitting unexpectedly - I was later told - he had yelled with his all strength: ‘Did you see what happened?!!!’ Collapsed back instantly into the bed, he had lost consciousness and never again gained it. With a sound appearance, Mani had internal injuries and his lungs were severely damaged.

One week after the accident, exactly on the same day and perhaps the same time at dawn when my beautiful son had left this world of material, Mani flew away too. The two young cousins’ death, at twenty two and twenty six, hit the family awfully; but nobody could do anything against the cruel fate. Mani’s father decided to let him rest in peace at our home town next to our older brother’s tomb. On the day, I joined the family and friends. We travelled to Ghochan to attend the funeral, to farewell and to pay our last respect to dear Mani, who was travelling on the same road in an ambulance ahead of us.

In the town the ambulance was passing through the street, where our parents’ house was located; but a crowd of village men stopped it. The rough men, with loyalty and love, had come up from countryside to kindly attend our father’s grand-son funeral. They carried Mani over their strong arms through the street and to the house where once was our childhood paradise. My brother and I were following them around the yard, inside the rooms, back to the street. We walked in silence, tearless, dry-eyed. Mani was then taken to the cemetery of Ghochan.

There I approached Mani’s mum. She was given so many sedative pills that she was unable to stand up, but barely sit. I sat on the ground next to her. I asked her not to be disturbed, because Mani was not anymore in pain; but he was quite well. I told her that I was seeing both: Mani and Ramy. With enquiring eyes, she looked at me and sighed. I explained to her that how happily his son and mine were walking above the crowd.

What I was seeing was not a hallucination. Beyond the limited mankind’s vision, staring up at the two laughing, chattering, young men over the crowd, I could vividly see that Mani and Ramy were moving around. Under their feet, they had long spring-legs in a zigzag shape. It looked similar to the cartoon of Inspector Gadget, who walked with extra legs on urgent situations. I could see that Mani and Ramy looked very curious and somehow playful and pleased, as if they were indeed inspecting what was there going on. I could see that they look down, smile at the crowd and the scene below, and laugh at the people’s weeping. It seemed that they were enjoying their time, being quite amused by the sight.

What I was seeing or it was shown to me looked odd. Yet, without any doubt, Ramy and Mani were there, not like phantoms but very real as they always were, and I was allowed to see them up there; while like a drop of water I had fallen into a flood that was carrying me wherever it wanted. I was there and I was not there! I felt lost in the flood, trying to surface on the tides of the blissful memories I had with Ramy, as my shattered mind was now and then taking me back: back to Japan.

My mind was taking me back to a very particular time that I had some peculiar and precious mystical experiences in Japan. On one occasion, one night after having an hour of meditation, I turned off the light and walked to the bedroom to sleep. Ramy’s small bed was next to mine. His dad had slept with light on. I approached my little son and watched him under the light with the same adoration that a mother feels in her heart for her little child. Ramy was, then, three - a fragile, sweet, and very attractive little boy. Under his left cheek, towards me, he had made a pillow with his small palms facing one another. His long eyelashes on that fair angelic face were amazing. I felt how deeply I love him, before turning the light off and going to bed.

My mind was not then occupied by any thought. Lying comfortably in bed, I felt relaxed and very sleepy. But suddenly I was alert and felt my soul drifting out over my body, floating in the air, being led to Ramy and merging with his spirit. That sense of oneness took the shape of a cocoon of white light, overflowing with infinite love, elation, and gratefulness. The blessed cocoon then turned to something like one small tent or an umbrella, hanging up there, around one metre or two above Ramy’s small body. During those short minutes, all feelings were detached from my material body, bonding to somewhere cosmic beyond this world. It made me feel a secret: the sense of oneness in the universe. ‘The Umbrella of Bliss’: the terms came into my consciousness at the end of that short mystical journey.

Later, I interpreted that the celestial happening meant that Ramy would be so protected by God that never anything harmful could happen to him. Even, a few days before the accident, out of the blue, those two words ‘umbrella of bliss’ came to me. Then I was happily walking with Ramy along a busy street in Mashhad, when my mind reminded me of the horror that four years earlier I had gone through, when my precious son had the brain surgery at the age of eighteen. Walking at his side, then, I smiled and thought what a fool I was if I was frightened for his life at the time of his operation, when I was shown the ‘umbrella of bliss’ for his protection over him as a child.

On that hellish day in the cemetery of my home town called ‘Paradise of Zahra’, I was yearning for those short moments of complete bliss with a merging soul with my son in the cosmic world. Feeling mocked, in anger and disbelief, however, I was telling myself what a fool I was if I had trusted God. Yes, such horrible incident can change the way one perceive the world and life. It made me feel that in Japan I was deceived through the vision by a powerful force.

At the same moments, shattered and disintegrated, I was telling me that loss of Ramy and Mani emerged from the faults and failures of their parents in their lives: lack of appreciation, positive response, content, awareness, and devotion. To ease the emotional pain and suffering, on that ugly day, in the cemetery of my home town, I had to escape from the time and the place. I couldn’t then be myself. I was drifting in and out: running away from the reality, seeking a refuge from that bitterness and hardship, and somersaulting right into it, sinking, surfacing, and praying madly all the time.

On that afternoon I received phone calls from Tehran and Sydney. My plea was granted: Ramy was whole to continue his journey back to Australia. Yet it took another ten days - seventeen unspeakable days after the accident - till my family found two different flights for Ramy and me to return to Sydney (our previous confirmed tickets were lost).

Then I found out that it wasn’t strange if throughout my trip in Iran, I desired all the time so badly, so childishly and even foolishly to sit with Ramy at my side in the plane to return to Sydney, and take every possible care of him, and tell him that how dear he was to me, and swap my food with his meal if he wouldn’t like his. From the beginning of my journey to Iran, I knew somehow that I had to be back without Ramy. It was all for sure in my subconscious mind. How? I don’t know!

Before leaving the country that robed me of my son, one of my last goals was to gather and pack Ramy’s belongings for Sydney with both: deepest agony and profoundest love. I travelled to Ghochan and took back his backpack. The sight of the box of his coffee poured a huge pain into my soul. I kissed that and decided to keep it till the day I am alive. Touching and kissing his small, religious, silver, good-luck charm made me cry painfully. I accused Ramy that if he had put on that silver chain with the charm - that had carved words from the Koran - he would perhaps be protected and alive. With big drops of tear, rolling down my face, as Ramy had earlier drawn me, I packed my son’s suitcase. His books, The Da Vinci Code, The Art of Happiness, Perfume, a thick book in psychology, and a heavy book in law, remained as before on the top of his suitcase with clothes and his new white shoes underneath.

My other goal was to invite family and friends to dinner in a restaurant. I wanted to thank them for their unconditional love, kindness, and sympathy towards me and Ramy. On the phone, I asked the guests not to dress in black. I told: ‘It is a gathering not for mourning, but celebrating Ramy’s short life.’

At the restaurant, I placed copies of Ramy’s photos on a table. My beloved son had handed them to me the day he arrived and had asked me to keep them safe. Around the pictures were some flowers and two candles. I lit the candles and sighed when their flames started to frantically rise up as high as around ten centimetres. Dancing wildly all the time, the flames were smouldering every now and then, going high in the air and dropping down to the base before rising again like a fountain of light. The most extraordinary thing was that even when the body of the candles had melted away down to the base, the flames never died; neither did they become quiet or tiny, till the last guests said good bye and left.

In the night, scared to faint, I spoke a few minutes about my son. I wanted the guests, many of whom did not know Ramy, to learn about his traits, his ideas, his beliefs and his achievements. I did not cry; I knew that others were crying for me. Even the candles! In the end, I read one of Ramy’s poems and asked the guests to clap for my son. Ramy had written this poem at the age of sixteen:

Going home before midnight, I felt Ramy’s presence and his influence all around. Some of the guests and other visitors had obviously felt unable to leave me in the night. Depriving themselves of their sleep, they had come into my sister’s home to be around me. They showered me with their love, many hugs, and some sentimental gifts that were obviously priceless to themselves. Amongst the gifts there were also a few apt books translated in Persian - including The Thorn Birds, Embraced by the Light, and Life after Death - together with lovely letters and touching notes.

Before leaving for the airport, Dr Elli, my niece, a specialist practicing in Germany, who is also very spiritual, called me. She excitedly said that the amount of the energy that was coming to me was so enormous that it was as big as the Damavand Peak. I knew that she was referring to the beautiful peak of the Elburz Mountains in Iran; yet at first I did not grasp what she meant. I asked how she was capable of sending so much energy to me. She happily laughed and said: ‘Ramy did it! I was just helping.’

She explained that as soon as she had sat to focus on me - intending to channel some energy to me for the night - Ramy had presented at her side to help. Elli’s words carved themselves beautifully on my heart. It made me cry and smile. I thanked and reassured her - and Ramy - that not only me but also the candles had absorbed that tremendous energy. At two in the morning, I was accompanied to the airport.

Ramy and I travelled with two different aircraft, around the same time. Ramy’s plane took off from Tehran; mine from Mashhad. Lily, my niece (Elli’s sister), who had a German passport, could easily get a visa to kindly accompany me to Sydney. Without help, I felt paralysed, crippled, and unable to travel by myself.

At the airport - unaware that it was the last time - I farewelled my three sisters and with the pack of Ramy’s clothes within my arms I walked into the aircraft. Around two hours later, we were out of Iran. Changing the plane for Sydney in Bahrain, I felt so weak and disintegrated that Lily had to help me walk or sit somewhere when she presented the passports and answered the questions.

Over there, with the invasion of the memories of my previous happy trip with my beautiful son to Iran and an exciting over- night stay in Bahrain before returning to Sydney, I thought that I could never be able to make that long trip. With a soul wandering around, I profoundly and inexpressibly wished to die, as I was madly spending my time with Ramy in my mind.

I would then see his beautiful face. I could see the appreciative look and happy laughter he had when in Bahrain I took him on a tour to the Camel Farm that he so wanted to see. I would remember how joyfully he was caressing the adult and baby camels and told me that his wish was granted when he had a ride. My mind would drift in and out of those memories, longing painfully for the blissful moments that a year and a half earlier Ramy and I had in Bahrain.

On the next flight to Sydney, I felt horribly sick with the desire to have my beautiful son at my side. I can’t remember how long passed but finally the aircraft’s lights were turned off and seemingly the passengers slept. I asked my niece to have some rest. I told Lily that I was well and she cannot ease my pain by trying to stay awake for me.

Seated there silent, motionless, and wide awake in the darkness, I was pressing Ramy’s clothes on my heart and blaming myself for his death. Like the past previous days, a storm was ravaging my soul; while my heart was aching and burning so awfully as if it was a furnace filled with the blazing coals. I couldn’t believe how one could be able to survive such an emotional and physical pain. Rhinoceros! Thick Skin! The words would hammer my mind, making my silent screams soar into skies, scattering and turning into storms all over the universe. I was angry! Angry to death!

As the passengers were slept in the darkness and stillness of the aircraft, I suddenly heard a sound. It was coming from the roof of the plane, one or two metres further away in front of me above my head. It seemed that up there a kind of force like a wild storm was going to crack and smash the body of the aircraft. A minute or so passed. Indifferent to whatever was going to happen, I stared up without any fright.

Waiting to see what was going to happen, suddenly, a queer feeling came to me: I sensed Ramy was out there over the plane. I felt he want to enter the aircraft. He wanted to come to me; but he was not yet familiar how to do that.

I whispered: ‘Ramy,’ and remained motionless, gazing at the spot. Then the noises faded away; silence filled the air, and seconds later, a warm, loving, and conscious energy, something that I cannot give a name to it approached me, gently touched my head, and gradually covered my whole body from head to toes: I was lovingly hugged.

I felt unmistakeable presence of Ramy as an aura of love, affection, and protectiveness, turning into an invisible circle of clear light that was sensible, powerful, and alive. Soon he encircled me from above my heart down to my ankles. Wrapping around me like a blanket, he was trying to ease my pain and to give me warmth against the chilly feeling of cold that was storming in my body and soul. My shivering stopped. I felt calm. Thoughts transferred into my mind: I am here, Mum! I heard my son’s silent words. I answered: Ramy! You are here! I know! It’s you! I love you, Ramy! Don’t leave me alone! Please! Don’t you go away! I beg you! Stay with me! And he stayed with me. Both still!

I want to reassure it now that what I witnessed and felt and experienced in the air craft was not my imagination at all. It was not melancholy. It was not illusion, neither was it hallucination. It had nothing to the desperate and shattered state of my mind. But bliss! With which word can I ever describe Ramy’s presence over there other than the term bliss!

Afterwards, Ramy’s beautiful spirit like a pure, vast, celestial lake tried to absorb and wash away some of the paralysing pain and coldness in my heart and soul. His gentle spirit was like an oasis in a desert. It was like pleasant rays of the sun, giving warmth on an icy night. After all, wasn’t that me who would always call him the Sun of the House – in the days and during the nights?

Cuddling me, throughout the rest of the long trip, my beautiful son never left me till the air craft landed in Sydney; where I found myself amongst my family. Even though we are very reserved, we hugged and wept loudly and asked: ‘Where are you Ramy? Where are you Ramy?’

At home, the first sight was myriads of flower baskets on the veranda, along the corridors, and inside the rooms. It looked as if the entire house had changed into a flower garden: ‘Ramy’s Magical Garden,’ I thought as I walked and looked at his portraits surrounded by the flowers in the living room.

Two large photos absorbed my whole attention, immediately. I could not believe how, among hundreds of Ramy’s photos, those two were chosen to be enlarged, framed, and hung on the wall. Frozen, in disbelief, I stared up at them.

The first one was a portrait of Ramy at the age of six or seven with silky, light-brown hair and attractive, big, deep-brown eyes. Dressed in his favourite navy blue suit, baby blue shirt, and white bow-tie, he was laughing happily. At the sight of that photo, a thought like thunder passed through my mind and struck me. I remembered the vision I had of a gorgeous little boy walking to me through an arcade in Mashhad on the second day after Ramy had arrived. I remembered how I had happily told Ramy that I had seen a vision of his future son.

But now, gazing at the photo of my sweet, little baby, I felt mixed emotions: a sense of profound adoration towards him captured my whole being and, at the same time, I felt mocked and cheated by an unseen force around. I realised the vision I had got in Mashhad wasn’t Ramy’s son: but Ramy himself in his childhood, identical to this photo. The harsh reality made my soul scream with agony and burn in the blazing flames of fury: I was angry to death!

Yet in silence, I turned and looked at the other picture: a portrait of Ramy as a handsome young man. Ramy had taken that photo for modelling purposes and afterward with the sweetest smile he had requested me to put it on the wall next to his brother and sister’s graduation pictures.

Mona and I, however, disliked that photo. The blue background - like infinite skies - with those big, sad, innocent eyes, and a quiet enigmatic smile on the corner of his mouth, Ramy’s photo had reminded us of the pictures typically seen in Iran of martyrs: the young men who were killed during the eight years of war between Iran and Iraq. Hence and perhaps subconsciously, I had come up with few excuses to reject my son’s suggestion at that moment and later on we had both forgotten about it.

At the presence of that elegant photo, however, I felt that Ramy himself - who would always get whatever he desired - had finally put his photo up there on the wall. The portrait brought me back the memory of my beautiful son, his sweetness, and his childlike request at the time into my mind. It made me wish so profoundly that I was dead, that I didn’t exist; but I was very painfully alive. The huge sense of the loss, guilt, and all the regrets then turned into a dagger, stabbing my soul; as I couldn’t stop thinking to the butterfly effect: the fluttering of a butterfly on this corner of the world can bring a storm on the other side of the world.

I thought if I had indeed been considerate of my son’s wishes, the destiny would have been different. Further, I couldn’t stop thinking of the conversation I had with Ramy not long before the accident. Then on a lovely evening in Sydney Ramy and I were talking about my higher degree education in English Literature. Ramy asked me what message I would want to express through my thesis, to which I replied: ‘To show your loved ones that you love them before it is too late.’ Once again being in my home in Sydney, however, I knew that it was then too late to grasp my own message for my beloved Ramy: I was lost in darkness, anger, and despair.

In grief, I dragged my feet on the carpet. I walked to a sofa and sank into it and burst into tears: ‘Where are you Ramy? Why did you do this to me? Ramy, my beloved Ramy, forgive me! I apologize to you for not putting your picture on the wall! Forgive me! Please forgive me!’

Later on, we painfully decided to put that photo on the headstone in Ramy’s Garden, where his dear body has been laid to rest. I felt that Ramy wanted that - that it was his own decision!

Ramy’s funeral was on the third morning of my arrival. Maziar and Mona had arranged it such that I would have a day of rest before the ultimate farewell.

Thus my heart broke forever! It turned into pieces! Each piece cracked into hundreds! Irrecoverable!

Page Two:

After Ramy’s funeral, miserable and lost, we went home. Life seemed so vain and we knew that nothing could ease the shattering pain that we were carrying in our hearts. In fact, none of us had any desire to live, but secretly, deeply, and silently wished to die. The only thing that gave us hope and strength was the new bond of an unconditional love between us. Being aware how injured and fragile we had become, we would try to be considerate of one another’s emotions, as if Ramy was around and expected that from everyone.

It seemed to me that Hassan and my children, who used to live in their own homes, felt unable to go back to their previous lives. The tragedy had brought us so much closer to each other. Without a word, we had started to live a new life at the place that was Ramy’s house.

On those bitter days, we would also have the company of many friends, who kindly tried not to leave us alone. Talking, every now and then, or just sitting without any conversation, people knew that their presence would somehow create warmth and hope. Lily, my niece, who accompanied me to Sydney and stayed with us for a month, would also try to thoughtfully bring some comfort to our family.

Ramy’s friends never forgot us either. Specially a few of them were so supportive, loving, and caring that became a part of our family. During those dark days and nights, for a long time, they would often come to our house. Respecting our silence, they would sit still and in deep grief for long hours. I know that we can’t ever thank them and everyone else, who helped us, enough for their compassion and unconditional love. All the care and support from every one throughout that period is appreciated forever in our hearts.

During that harsh period, I also met a lady who influenced and helped me afterwards. She was a stranger to me; but later I found out she was the mother of one of Ramy’s friends. On the gathering of Ramy’s Seventh Day Ceremony, she suddenly appeared, walked to me, and asked me to go with her on a private corner. I did so. Then she said: ‘Ramy is standing in front of you; his white clothes are sparkling; white light has covered him from head to toes.’

With those words, a vision came immediately into my mind that even now I can see my son like that on that occasion. The woman paused and continued, ‘Ramy looks very handsome and tall; he made me come this long way from my home, on the other side of Sydney, just to pass his message to you.’

Confused and silent, I listened to her. She continued: ‘Ramy is asking why you’re constantly apologising to him. He is saying that you have not done anything wrong. He is asking you to stop apologizing to him.’ The woman said and again continued: ‘Ramy says he loves you very deeply.’

By that woman’s remarks, I shivered and felt my son was aware of my all thoughts. Nobody, even my children, knew that I was constantly apologising to my son for having taken him to Iran. I felt responsible for what had happened to him. I was apologising to him for any disagreements or arguments that we had ever had.

Stunned, I didn’t say a word. I didn’t think of asking her to stay for dinner; I believe, I didn’t even thank her. After a while, I found myself still standing on that corner without remembering where that woman had gone.

At home, with a vision of my son under the flow of white light, I was thinking of some mystical events that had been kindly offered to me from the beyond after Ramy’s loss. Then I knew that even though my son had physically gone, his beautiful soul continues to live on in form of light. It was astonishing that on the same night, I received two peculiar phone calls that somehow reassured me that my son was around and aware of every ones emotions.

The first call was from one of my daughter’s friends: Doctor Kate - a beautiful, young woman who was deeply sad and disturbed by the tragedy. She said that after Ramy’s ceremony when she went home, she suddenly heard a sound coming from the roof of her room, as if somebody was trying to get in from above. When the noises faded away, she felt Ramy’s presence in her room. She had sensed Ramy approached her gently. Moving around her, then, in form of conscious energy, he covered her body for few minutes - like a blanket - to soothe and provide her a sense of ease and comfort. I believe that Dr Kate was trying to express her gratefulness for Ramy’s care and that extraordinary experience.

I thanked her for letting me know about that; since not everyone has enough courage to reveal such bizarre but exceptional happenings. At the same time, I was quite astonished, because Dr Kate was using the same terms and describing the same details and senses that I had experienced in the air craft, ten days earlier.

For the first time, then, I talked about my own experience. On the flight from Iran to Sydney, I heard a cracking sound coming from the plane’s ceiling. I sensed my son’s presence up there. I then felt him entering the aircraft and walking to me. Turning into a circle of clear light that was alive and full of love, he then cuddled me and - like a blanket - wrapped around my body. I told Dr Kate that it seemed as if, through an aura of divine love and spiritual presence, Ramy was trying to protect the ones who felt deeply hurt by the tragedy.

After that phone call, one of Ramy’s class-mate and very close friend called me. She, too, told exactly the same story. She had heard a sound coming from the roof of her room, followed by a sense that somebody entered there, approaching her. However, being so young, the same age as Ramy, she was frightened of the event, and had immediately run out of her room. She had then called me to talk about the bizarre experience.

I knew in my heart that she had also felt Ramy’s presence in her room. At the same time, since it had been too strange and unexpected, she felt scared and refused to have any spiritual contact with her friend. After that phone call, I thought to Ramy and asked him not to show up in that way to his friends; as they are too young to grasp his intention which was to show his love and ease their grief.

Afterwards, it seemed that, through signs, Ramy would make contact with my two close friends who have some spiritual belief. At the same time, my son continued to give direct messages through his own friend’s mum: the psychic lady, whom I met on Ramy’s ceremony.

That lady called me, a couple of weeks later, and said that Ramy was standing at her side and that he wouldn’t leave till she passes on his massage to me. She continued to say that Ramy was extremely frustrated as he believed all his efforts to make us aware of his presence around us was in vain. The lady stated that we were oblivious to his signs due to our overwhelming suffering.

At that moment, something sparkled on my mind: a secret was revealed! I finally understood that the strange feeling of being touched on my head, that I suddenly felt while talking to her, and that I had felt since the accident, belonged to my beloved son. I remembered the time back in Iran, when I would constantly pray and I would continuously feel a child’s fingertip gently caressing my head. I understood that after his divine flight, my sweet son had tried his best to show the awareness, love, and the immortality of one’s soul to me, to bring rays of hope into my broken heart. At that moment I thanked both: the psychic lady and my beautiful son.

After that phone call, I told the lady’s words to Ramy’s dad and siblings. Mona confessed that since the accident, she would sometimes get poked in between her shoulders. She thought that it was Ramy as they used to poke each other between the shoulder blades to tickle and tease each other. Maziar also said how he had seen Ramy’s sad stare through the eyes of a little boy in the shops. The little boy had gazed at him for a long time, without even a blink.

On the same night, Ramy’s dad had also felt somebody poking his shoulder so hard that it had waked him up. He had opened his eyes and seen Ramy for a fraction of a second saying: ‘Yes, it was me, Dad! I did it!’

As the days were passing, the psychic lady kindly came on a visit to our house. She asked me if it makes any sense to me that after Ramy’s divine flight she feels unable to iron her children’s clothes. She said that as soon as she starts ironing, she would plunge into such a state of emotional pain that she would burst in tears, have to walk away from ironing and sit down somewhere, to ease the sense of burning that she would suddenly feel in her heart.

Astonished once again that how she was getting my emotional suffering and the physical burning in my heart, I looked at the spiritual lady without a word and my heart burnt more. Nobody knew that from morning till night I was reproaching myself for not ironing Ramy’s clothes. When Ramy was nearly a teenage boy, I let him know how to iron. I told him to do his own ironing since it was the one household chore I had always hated. I would go as far as buying fabrics that did not require ironing.

Another night, the same lady called and told me that Ramy has a message for his dad. She said, Ramy is telling: ‘Dad, do not look down at the ground; I am not there. Look up! I am above the place, where my body rests.’

I asked her if Ramy had the same message for me. She confidently said, ‘No! Ramy knows that you are not looking for him down there.’ At this, for the first time, I revealed my feelings to the psychic lady and told that she and Ramy are right; since, I have no doubt that Ramy’s spirit is coming from the above to watch and touch us.

After the phone call, I asked Hassan where - at Ramy’s Garden – he would look for Ramy. He sorrowfully answered, ‘I look where he is, under the soil.’ I passed Ramy’s message to him.

At the same time, the conversation brought into my mind the powerful poem that Ramy’s devoted and loving friends had chosen and printed under his photo. On the heartbreaking day of his funeral, the touching lyrics and Ramy’s picture on the leaflet was handed to the people who had come to respect and farewell the beautiful young man’s body for the last time!

On the ‘Fortieth Day’ after Ramy’s funeral, we had another gathering to respect our Beautiful Ramy. On that sad day, once again, we received many flowers, poems written for Ramy and framed photographs of my son beside his friends given to us by his friends as a reminder to all of us of the beautiful times Ramy has had in his life. I also received a few young fruit trees including a peach tree. This was a surprise as I had thought of planting a peach tree in our garden for Ramy but had no spoken to anyone about.

All of these made us feel that our Ramy is somehow living with us. It seemed as if he would ask others to take care of his family, providing anything that we had secretly wished for it in our hearts.

After that gathering, my children, Maziar and Mona, who were terribly shaken by the tragedy, tried their best to create hope perhaps for themselves but surely for their dad and me. They told that they had organized a ten-day trip, in order, to escape the familiar environment that would remind us of the loss of our beloved Ramy. Few of Ramy’s friends did the same; they were, however, leaving Sydney for a long overseas trip, to ease their grief, I believe.

It was, in fact, after many years that we had decided to take a trip as an entire family. It was not, of course, a holiday trip. It was an escape, hoping to take refuge from our immense suffering by going to a different environment. At the airport, however, some of the most painful memories were devastatingly back. It hurt deeply, reminding us once again that our Sweet Little One was really gone. Over there, I felt my heart was going to burst till we got on the plane and it took off.

Later, on our journey to the tropical north-eastern Australia: Cairns, Cape Tribulation and surrounds, everywhere we went, we felt even worse, asking ourselves why Ramy is not with us. To ease our suffering, throughout the trip, we would carry Ramy’s photos everywhere. Perhaps to ease our pain, or perhaps for Ramy, each of us would often order his favourite food whenever we ate. During the nights, almost in silence, we would play scrabble, thinking Ramy could participate in the game by bringing words on our minds. In fact, we were all the time aware to do things or to visit places that we thought our beloved Ramy might like.

On one occasion, during a long walk around a tranquil lake, whose serene body would symbolize Ramy’s love and presence to us, we carried a rock for two hours or more. Holding the rock, sometimes each of us would put it over our hearts for a couple of minutes. Every now and then, we would pass the rock to one another with such profound love and care as if the beautiful, colourful rock was Ramy when he was a child. The rock had given us a sense of Ramy’s physical presence.

Around the area of one of the resorts that we had stayed, we visited George - a beautiful, large bird: cassowary. The bird had given us such strong sense of relating to Ramy that in the mornings or any possible time, without a word, we would stand at the path where we were told the bird might pass. We wanted to have a glimpse of the wild bird in order to connect with Ramy through him. Every time we saw George, he would stop walking, stare at us, and spend long minutes watching us. I would deeply believe that our beloved Ramy was trying to visit his family in any possible way in order to ease the devastating pain of separation.

Over there, my heart was also overflowing with care and tenderness towards the rare blue butterflies. Their beauty and innocence would strongly remind me of my beautiful Ramy and his infinite love, making me smile or cry.

In Cairns, one night we had dinner at a Japanese restaurant. Sitting around a low table, we were speaking in Persian, reminiscing. We talked about the time we lived in Japan and our sweet little Ramy who loved Japanese food. ‘Salaam,’ suddenly, I heard. Turning back, I saw a beautiful young woman seated with her ten-year-old son at the next table. We smiled at each other, and I invited her to join us. We introduced ourselves and she said her name was Mojgan. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, she asked me how many children I had.

It was the first time after Ramy that I was asked such a question. Bewildered, I didn’t know what to say. In silence, I looked at Maziar and Mona and saw a look of desperation in their eyes. I wasn’t sure what they expected to hear from me. I wasn’t sure what I had expected to hear from myself; but I knew that my eyes were already bloodshot and overflowing with tears. I looked back at Mojgan. She seemed very confused and uncomfortable by our reactions. After a while, I answered: ‘I have three children,’ before explaining about my third child’s absence.

Apologetically, she expressed her empathy and very kindly invited us to have dinner in her house on the following night. She said that she knew a wise Iranian lady who could help to ease our emotional pain.

In Mojgan’s home, we met Miss Rophia, the famous Iranian actress, who was once called the most beautiful woman in Iran. Aged, she was stylish, still extremely pretty, and very wise and understanding.

After dinner, we talked a lot about Ramy and the immense suffering that we went through by his divine flight.

Lady Rophia, had kept Ramy’s photo within her hands. Looking at him tenderly, she talked about life, death, afterlife, and the purpose of each stage. Late at night, we thanked Mojgan for her sincerity, hospitality, and her kind effort to help us.

Giving a lift to lady Rophia, she nicely invited us to have some tea with her. Inside her neat and lovely home, which was filled with roses, I saw a thick book of her own hand-written poetry in Persian. Reading some of them, I found out that not only had she once been a famous actress, but also a philosopher and a poet in exile.

Going back to the resort, I thought Ramy had possibly arranged the nice and unforgettable visit for us on that corner of the world. At the same time, I was quite impressed that those two amazing ladies, without knowing any of us, tried their best to bring hope into our broken hearts. The treasure of their compassion and kind-heartedness seemed to me as the essence of humanity: something that makes life worthwhile.

At the end of our trip, we travelled back to Sydney. I had never thought without Ramy what I was going to do or how to live on my own. But I was not left alone; as before, every one stayed with me in the same house. Spending our times together, still neither had we any desire nor enough strength to start a normal life or go back to work. My children, both doctors, told me that their minds had badly been affected and shattered by the tragedy and that they could not trust their own judgement at work. I knew what they meant. I could see that my own strength, alertness, and concentration had been exchanged with weakness, distraction, lack of energy, and forgetfulness.

Submerged in a sense of nothingness, I even felt I had lost my knowledge in any subject that I knew it well earlier. It looked horrible, but I could see that I was not fluent and eloquent - as I had always been - in my mother tongue, Persian.

I also felt unable to write anything in English. It seemed to me I had badly forgotten the language, as if all the knowledge that I had gained throughout the years of education, studying, and research was totally wiped out and gone from my mind.

My brain seemed to me as a blank space; yet, it was full of torturing and the most painful memories related to Ramy’s accident and his loss. All the time, those killing memories were moving in front of my eyes, giving me a sense of dizziness and fall into a dark and bottomless well.

I had totally lost my enthusiasm toward my academic work. The writing of an autobiography, that I had intended to finish and submit for a higher degree to Macquarie University, now seemed meaningless and vain to me.

I felt like an illiterate person, who had even lost all inherent insight. My thoughts could not go further than what was in front of my eyes. I had even lost my ability to read a book; even though, reading had always been my best hobby in life.

The only thing that had occupied my being was a desire to die and to get rid of this world of material. I knew that the other members of my family felt the same. We would sometimes talk about that. Further, I could see it in every one’s eyes. Yet I didn’t want to see anything hurt Maziar and Mona. So with so much despair in my soul and the burning pain in my heart I tried to be supportive of my two children.

Yet, it was a time when the minutes seemed like centuries and nothing could provide us any sense of relief. We no longer had the desire to turn on the TV or radio. In a home where its every corner had constantly felt the lively beats of music with Ramy’s presence, the sound of music was not heard anymore. The only thing that we would do, if there were no guests in the house, was to take a seat, stare somewhere, and stay completely still. It seemed with our beloved Ramy, we had all gone.

Then, one day, Mona told us she could not stay in Sydney without Ramy and not long after she went on an overseas trip. Without her, the three of us felt completely miserable. Bringing a small change into our lives, one night I suggested that we sometimes go for a walk. I chose nights because it would remind me of my nightly long walks with Ramy and his little dog, Sultan. Further, I felt uncomfortable and scared to go out in day light.

One night when we had gone for the walk in a nearly dark alley, I felt my heart was bursting. I suggested that we should talk about Ramy; but Maziar and Hassan didn’t say a word. I told them if you don’t say anything I would run. Maziar said that he would then return home; Hassan added that everyone is mourning in his own way.

Going half a kilometre along the alley, finally we went back home and as usual we sat without a word. I was shivering, and Maziar was very pale. I went into my room and took two delicate small rugs that were given to me as a gift on the last night before I left Iran. I was told they could help me with my emotional pain because they were blessed with prayer during the pilgrimage in Mecca. I put one of the rugs on Maziar’s shoulders. Indifferent, he did not say anything. Yet, I felt he just wanted to do me a favour: not to disagree with me or my belief. Then I covered my own shoulders with the other rug. We were so desperate, so miserable!

During this time, it seemed that we were in the midst of two forces. There was a lot of negative energy around us. At the same time, the positive, helpful energy would appear as incredible phone calls from all over the world, even by people who had lost contact with me for decades. By each phone call, I would also hear a soft, quick, and constant buzz in the phone. I knew then that Ramy was also on the line, listening and giving sign.

Yet, despite all the support, I felt so terribly old as if I was more than one hundred years old, weak, feeble, completely exhausted, vain. One day, I lost consciousness, as I walked down the corridor, and fell down. Minutes later, I found myself lying on the hard floor with my face on the floor and my arms at my sides. Delirious and confused, I struggled to sit up. I then stood up and walked to the living- room, sat on the sofa and started crying loudly: my whole body and soul was in pain.

Then suddenly the phone started ringing. Weeping uncontrollably, I felt embarrassed to answer it. But the phone would go to message bank and start ringing again. Finally, I picked it up and heard Maziar’s voice. He asked me how I was.

I told him what had happened to me, but I didn’t mention that the left side of my face was black and swollen with a bump as big as a ping pong ball above my left eye. Fortunately, the following CT scan showed no internal bleeding. The doctor said that my deep sorrow had caused me to lose consciousness and to fall down.

Strangely, around the same time, I received a few phone calls from different parts of the world. Everyone would ask me how I was, because on their dreams Ramy was very sad and concerned about my health.

Lily, my niece called me from Germany. She told that on a dream Ramy was very worried about me and that he seriously wanted her to call and ask me to read the chapter of ‘Facing Suffering’ in The Art of Happiness. Lily told that on the dream, she had laughed and told Ramy that she knew she was just dreaming. But Ramy had told her: ‘It is not just a dream; I am here with you, and I put a mark on your arm in order in the morning you remember and believe me and call my mum and pass my message to her.’

In the morning, however, Lily had forgotten the whole thing; but as soon as she had seen two black spots on her arm, where Ramy had touched on the dream, the details were back to her and made her call me immediately.

The psychic lady called me, too. As usual, she said that Ramy was there in front of her. She said that she didn’t know why, but Ramy was very worried about me. When I told her about the incident, she said that then she understood why Ramy was so concerned. Then she continued and said that it was my own desperate soul - I interpreted it as my desperate subconscious mind - that had decided to make me fall down unconscious; because during those short minutes I had provided the opportunity for my soul to visit my son.

My recovery was afterwards very slow. It took nearly three months till the inflammation and blackness gradually disappeared. Yet I had the bump on my forehead for a long time; even now after six years, I could still feel its trace above my left eye when I touch my forehead.

In that period, even though, we would constantly receive love and support from many people, still the negative energy hung around us. During the first three years after Ramy’s flight, I could feel and observe the vicious forces of negativity and danger around. Our fragility and weakness in the first 12 months made it particularly intense.

One day I softly took a glass from the kitchen cabinet. Suddenly, just in front of my eyes, the glass shattered into small pieces and scattered around. I felt my face and especially my eyes were saved from a bad injury. It seemed, as if an angelic hand had turned the angle of the broken glasses away from my face, while the sharp pieces had sprung among my hair.

Another time, one midnight, I heard Sultan bark hard. I walked to the veranda to see what had disturbed that little dog. In the light of the bulbs, I saw nothing around. Everywhere was quiet and peaceful. But the dog was barking madly. I looked at the direction of Sultan’s big eyes. A tall man in dark, seemingly velvet clothes and a large, wide-brimmed, black hat was standing behind a light pole in front of our house. He was doing something. I thought he was placing an ad for something on the pole. But he started to suddenly and gradually slide down.

I could see his dark shadow was moving downward; but it was as if his body was disappearing reaching to the ground. With horror, I called Maziar. He immediately came to me. Panic-stricken, I told him what I had seen. Maziar, who always tries to reasonably solve any problem, told me it was surely a possum. I reassured him that I had not seen a possum or anything else under the light pole or on the lawn. I told him what Sultan and I saw was a dark shadow, a scary phantom.

Again, two nights later, I was scared badly. It happened that after returning from a short walk around our house, I saw two huge, dark birds with their almost one metre wings spread out. Very close to our house, they were sitting on the asphalt street on a dark spot under a tree canopy. I tried to ignore their odd shapes and presence. Walking home, I went into my bed-room and suddenly I heard the sinister sound of the mysterious birds’ breathing. It sounded so heavy and unpleasant as if it was coming from the heart of darkness. It seemed hellish to me. I avoided sharing the horrible feeling that I had got to Maziar or his dad. To carry that heavy burden of fear over my own heart - not to weaken others - seemed to me vital for keeping the safety of my family and it was the most essential thing to me.

To ease my soul, however, I took the Koran that belongs to my late mother. I walked, then, to the veranda. Swearing the ominous birds to the Koran, I asked them to leave us and never come back. As if the birds understood me, they instantly left the ground, flew away, and disappeared in the dark. Still with a heavy heart, I walked inside and called my cousin in Iran.

Crying uncontrollably, I revealed my horror of what I had seen and desperately asked her to go to the Holy Shrine to pray for us. I even suggested that I pay to have a sheep sacrificed; even though, before Ramy’s loss I would only donate money to charity and disagreed with the idea of a sacrifice.

My cousin listened to me patiently, and then expressed her deep empathy, and added that it was the ‘evil eye’ that caused Ramy’s loss and it was still following me. Cursing the bad eyes, she prayed and asked God to burst those jealous eyes and to send their negative energy back to their owners. It was a great relief when my cousin promised me to immediately do what I wanted and let me pay for the expenses later. I was especially worried for this was a time when my daughter was on her way home after spending months in Europe and China.

Not before long, Mona’s arrival brought us hope and happiness. Afterwards, I tried to read books. Even though, I have always been a fast reader, then I could read a few lines or one page at the time. Further my mind was so shattered, confused, and dead that sometimes I had to go back to read some sentences or words again and again, in order, to grasp the meaning. It took a long time till I could gradually read more.

I also found it easier to read bits from multiple books rather than sticking to a single one. I generally had trouble focusing. Giving my attention to anything would hurt me profoundly. To survive, I think, I had to let my mind go wandering around like the clusters of scattered clouds.

There were two books that my nephew, Nima, had put into my suitcase before I left Iran. Embraced by the Light, written by Betty J. Eadie, was the first book that I read. At the end of its last chapter, I concluded that Betty was back from her journey to the Other Side to help people like me. Her words would create hope, reassuring that dying is not the end of one’s life. The other book was Life after Death, by J. P. Vaswani. Talking about the immortality of one’s soul, the Indian writer says dying is like going from one room into another room. Vaswani’s words and Betty’s story were immensely helpful: both inspiring.

Seeking solace in reading, soon a poetry book took my attention. It was ‘Divan of Hafez,’ whose marvellous poems touched my soul. This poetry book can be seen in most Iranian’s homes. People would recite the lyrics not only for their breathtaking beauty, but to consult the poet and seek his advice and ask for direction when in doubt about their endeavours. Even the poet’s shrine in Shiraz is the place of pilgrimage for many people, especially those who are in quest of the truth of existence and believe in mysticism, metaphysics, and the world beyond.

Hafez’s poetry book soon became my companion, my friend, my guru and sage. I would take it with me everywhere. I would put it under my pillow at nights. I would usually go to Ramy’s Garden and read poems to Ramy, who was very keen on poetry and had written many poems himself. Day and night, I would close my eyes and send my prayers to the poet and desperately ask him to let me and my son communicate with each other through his poems.

Reading the chosen poem, then, it seemed to me that not the poet but Ramy was actually talking to me. A particular poem would come up nearly every day when I would randomly pick a page and open the book, having asked Ramy to give me a message. This poem starts saying: Last night, at dawn, I was saved from the heartache of this life/ In that darkness, I was given the nectar of immortal life.

Below, are this and two other poems - have deeply touched me - translated. (Hafez. Divan of Hafez. Trans. Henry Wilberforce Clarke: 1891. Ed Salehe Salehpour. Tehran:Farhagsarai Mir-Dashti, 1376.)

That in respect to that violence and tyranny, me, patience and endurance they gave.

The above lyrics would make me smile and cry. Our beautiful Ramy had flown away at dawn.

The next lyrics - to me - were addressing my son as The Bird of Happiness. It would also convey the powerful massage that an exalted being with so much inner and outer beauty does not belong to this world of matter and anguish, but to the dimension of euphoria:

The following lyrics are portraying the pain of our beloved son’s loss. We decided to put the first line of the poem, in Persian, on the head-stone of Ramy’s Garden:

Trying to soothe myself with Hafez’s lyrics, I also turned to the 13th-century Persian Sufi poet, Rumi, Molana Jalaladdin Muhammad Rumi. I had recited some of Rumi’s poems during my school years. The same poems, of great beauty and insight, would touch me at a profound level now. The opening poem - so deep and startling in Persian - can bring tears into people’s eyes (Masnavi, Vol. 1, 1-18, translated by Huseyin Bingul). The poem would make me cry; especially, when I remembered my mother who would every now and then recite that poem and sigh. Rumi is talking about the pain of separation throughout the lyrics. It is said that he is referring to our separation from God; but to most people it represents their personal pain and to me the separation from my son.

Feeling a deep connection to lyrics of these two great Persian poets, for a long time I would thankfully refer to their poetry books. Even now, writing, I am grateful to Hafez and Molana, who brought rays of light into my heart.

Then I told my children to do the same, to start living their normal lives, to accept what had happened and to learn to live with it.

I was particularly worried about Maziar who had been studying for his final intensive care speciality exam prior to the accident and had now put it all aside. In fact, it was the night before his exam in Melbourne that he had gotten the news about the accident and had immediately caught the first flight back to Sydney.

I told Maziar that staying away from his medical job for too long might result in him forgetting all the knowledge and skills he had gained through hard work and intense studying. Drowning in despair, however, he would tell me that he had lost all enthusiasm in life to do anything. I argued with him that his decision neither was right nor fair to Ramy as he would make his brother indirectly responsible for ruining his future.

It was a relief to me when Maziar finally changed his mind and went back to work around half a year after the tragedy. After another year, he also started to study for his exam again and got through at first attempt. He stayed with us for nearly two years before moving out and starting to live his own life.

Mona, who had passed her speciality exam before Ramy’s accident, also took a year off her nephrology training and stayed with us.

To create a family environment for our children and to share the grief of having lost our Beautiful Ramy, Hassan and I decided to move into the same house and live like two friends. I knew that it would give peace of mind and security to Maziar and Mona. We all would sense that that core of love and care between us was created through Ramy’s love and passion.

In fact, the impact of Ramy’s divine flight on us and even many of his friends is undeniable. He positively and fundamentally changed his family and some of his own friends’ lives. Few of them personally and proudly told me that they had decided to continue on with their studies just because of Ramy’s desire for them to have tertiary education and a better life.

In particular, Ramy profoundly influenced his family’s views towards the life. So without his physical presence, we all wanted to live in a way that our beloved Ramy liked us to live. He often told others and one night - only a few weeks before I left for Iran - to me: ‘Mummy, when I go, you and Dad won’t live in different homes.’ His remark, at the time, had made me panic. Masking my unknown fear with anger, however, I hid my real emotion not only from my Beautiful Ramy but also from myself. Instead of asking my sweet son where he meant to go to, I told him not to interfere with my life. I can never forget his innocent face at that moment. Without another word, he kept staring at me with those beautiful, big, sad, brown eyes and a mysterious smile on the corner of his mouth.

Did he know that his life was short? I have no answer to that; but I feel that he had foreseen something. But I do not understand why he would always tell me that he would make me a grandmother with his “seven children”.

Did he ever know that he was The Blue Bird in our lives? If he knew, how could he leave his family, or even his friends?

Yes, our Beautiful Ramy, you have always been the same ‘Bluebird of Happiness’; the bird so sought after by a girl called Mytyl and her brother Tyltyl in a book by the Belgian author, Maurice Maeterlinck, who warns his readers to find the “Blue Bird” in the corner of their own homes. Perhaps we hadn’t clearly explored our hearts to find our “Blue Bird”, and consequently had lost it only to realize his absence.

So, is he really gone? Totally gone? Is dying the ultimate end of one’s existence? ‘No!’ I say: ‘No.’ Even though, at the end of these worldly days there is no cure to the pain of separation, it brightens one’s heart to believe in dying there is a kind of transcendent transformation.

I died as a mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I was Man.

Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?
Yet once more I shall die as Man, to soar
With angels blest; but even from angelhood
I must pass on: all except God doth perish.
When I have sacrificed my angel-soul,
I shall become what no mind ever conceived.

Oh, let me not exist! for Non-existence
Proclaims in organ tones, ‘To Him we shall return.’

I believe my Beautiful Ramy is in another dimension! And he is still so kind, so considerate, so loving and caring!

On the sixth year after his physical absence, my son could easily pass a wonderful message to me: ‘Happy Birthday! I love you!’ He did it through the birthday balloon I had bought for him two weeks earlier, on the day of his twenty eights birthday.

That balloon was still floating in the living-room, above Ramy’s photo, when I decided to sleep and walked towards my bed-room. It was midnight and everywhere was very quiet. As I walked along the corridor, I suddenly felt I was not alone; I sensed as if somebody or something was following me.

I stayed motionless before turning back at once. I saw Ramy’s big birthday balloon in the air with the words ‘I Love You,’ and ‘Happy Birthday,’ written on it. Like a child going after her mother, the balloon was silently following me. Under my bewildered gaze, however, it rose up quickly and floated all the way to the ceiling.

In awe, I asked myself how is it possible for the balloon to move all the way across the living-room to the door; how it could sensibly lower itself to pass the door and then to go up again, floating in the air and following me along the corridor. It was suddenly revealed to me: I felt it all was done by Ramy.

Talking to him with love, admiration, and gratitude, I walked backward, again towards my room. Staring at the balloon, I saw it come down once more and started to follow me, step by step. At a moment that I hesitated to enter my room - as if the balloon had read my mind - it immediately turned back and headed towards Ramy’s room. At the door, it carefully lowered itself and passed through the door into the room.

This time, I chased the balloon and saw it was exploring every corner of my son’s room. Moving all around, it seemed as if an invisible hand had grasped the tail of the balloon to conduct it wherever he wanted to.

I was quite sure that Ramy was there and tried to communicate with me. Happy and anxious, I asked him to somehow tell me what the reason was for all his efforts on that night and what he exactly wanted to say to me.

In the morning, I was woken up by an overseas phone call: ‘Happy Birthday,’ were the first words I heard. On the line was one of my best friends – a lovely lady whom was cherished by Ramy when he was a little boy. I first met her when we lived in Japan. We would often talk on the phone, however, it was the first time in twenty-four years that she had called to wish me a happy birthday.

Living now in Canada, she explained once in Japan I had mentioned that I was born on Persian New Year and that it had popped into her mind and that she had decided to surprise me. This seemed astonishing because neither at midnight nor in the morning had I any thoughts that it was my birthday.

Thanking my friend, then, I excitedly told the story about the charming balloon and my odd request from my son and his unexpected reply to me through her. Talking a lot about Ramy, then, both my friend and I agreed that it was Ramy who had made her call me on that day.

In fact, Ramy succeeded to pass his message of ‘Love,’ and ‘Happy Birthday’ with sophistication, not only through written words on the balloon but, artistically and directly, through a loving voice. And he did this exactly on the day I was born; while, I myself was oblivious to it. Ramy made me very proud of him. His attempt filled my heart with deep happiness, gratitude, and hope.

Yes, I believe in immortality of one’s soul! I believe in power of love, especially the pure and supreme love between a mother and her child. Ramy and I are connected through the divine love. It is love that makes the heart of the universe beat.

Page Three:

“Once upon a time, there was a happy rabbit, beautiful, white, and wise. He had big, dark, enchanting eyes, and it was his ambition to live a modest and affectionate life in a society full of freedom, equality, justice, and peace. The rabbit would snatch a carrot from the local grocer each day, but one day the people of the town chased him to the edge of a mountain. They tried to catch the happy rabbit; but it jumped down the precipice. People found his beautiful, motionless body amongst the mountains. People cried. They regretted what they had done. It was such a sad time; but the rabbit was gone.”

Not exactly Ramy’s words, but the same story about a happy rabbit written by Ramy when he was in year three at Lane Cove Public Primary School. His teacher praised him for the powerful narrative, and Rami proudly asked me to read it. The story made me cry.

‘Don’t you like it, Mum? Why you are in tears? What’s wrong with my tale?’ My son asked me. I replied that the story was very beautiful but it was too sad. Without knowing why, I felt the rabbit’s tale hurt me deeply. It had somehow touched the depth of both my soul and heart. I felt scared and I never read it again. Trying to forget about the rabbit’s life, I wished my son had never written that tale, still not knowing why.

After passing of so many years, now, I see resemblances between the rabbit and my beautiful Ramy. It seems to me that the symbolic massage of the story was about my little boy himself. Now I feel that at that time, my subconscious mind compared Ramy’s beauty, his silent innocence, and his rare happiness to the rabbit. Similar to the character of his tale, my little boy would always jump and bounce around and amuse himself in the wonderful world of his imagination.

It’s devastating that I can not watch anymore those bounces; neither can I hear Rami’s loud, passionate voice in Aussie, Persian, or mostly Wog accents, when he used to talk to his countless friends, sometimes on the home phone and his mobile at the same time. It’s terribly painful that I am deprived of hearing Ramy’s laughter in the house. I can no longer hear the loud music - in Persian, Turkish, Arabic, and Western – filling the rooms when Ramy was at home. Ramy’s loss brought a deep silence and unmeasurable emptiness to the house. It seems to me that the rooms now try to share their silent anguish with the injured hearts of Ramy’s family.

I can’t see Ramy around; yet I find hope that I can imagine him and can listen to my Singing Bird’s words in my mind. Watching Ramy in his photos brings some warmth to my heart, too. I love my son’s different poses in his photos: each telling a story, making me both smile and cry.

In an enlarged photo, Ramy has a sad and enigmatic smile on the left corner of his lovely mouth. His attractive, big, dark brown eyes have a mysterious look. It seems those seductive yet innocent eyes are talking, are blaming, are reproaching. Above all, the eyes are reflecting an ocean of love which is dyed with deep sadness. The eyes are telling, ‘Mum, I am seeing the beyond; I’m so deeply sorry, but I’ll be soon gone!’ It shattered my being when, my daughter, Mona revealed the last message that Ramy sent to her, from an airport on his way to Iran, was: ‘I’ll be soon gone!’

It seems that prior to his divine flight, Ramy had sensed his painful separation from his family and friends. It could be seen in his eyes in the photo. Piercing my heart, the eyes make me cry (on the copy of this photo, on Ramy’s grave, a drop of tear can be clearly seen under his left eye). Watching the sorrow in Ramy’s eyes, I always ask myself why Rami looks so sad at a time when he should have been very happy. I am wondering if my beautiful son had subconsciously known that his photo was going to be placed on his resting place. I am wondering, too, that even it was my awareness of the horrible, oncoming reality that had brought insomnia to me, night after night, year after year; whilst I felt terribly scared and sensed strongly the danger of death every time I wanted to go to Iran.

Happy with his photo, taken by a professional for the purpose of modelling, with the highlight of his dyed, Lebanese style hair-cut, Ramy asked me to hang the picture on the wall of the living room. His wish was not, however, granted. First I told him that there were many pictures on the walls. Then I asked him to find a suitable silver frame for the photo. And finally, I forgot about it and my Rami’s little wish (when Ramy and I, dead and half dead, were waiting for seventeen days in Iran to return back home to Sydney, this special photo was enlarged - without my knowing or permission - and went up on the wall in a silver frame. It seems, even though gone, Ramy is still influential to do whatever he likes).

Yet, to reminiscence all these, I feel such an inexpressible pain of regret, remorse, and guilt beside the devastating pain of Ramy’s loss. I am, I will always be, in pain for refusing then to hang that photo on the wall. This regret emerges from my belief that by fulfilling Ramy’s wish, the destiny could have been changed and Ramy would be alive today. Deep down, however, I know that I somehow avoided to do what Ramy asked me because – without knowing why – the photo had deeply scared me (Ramy’s sister, Mona says that she was horrified by the beautiful photo at the first instance. The photo reminded her of the martyrs, whose photos were exhibited at Tehran’s street, during the war between Iran and Iraq).

The same photo with a slightly different look makes me smile. There, the same blue background still reminds me of Ramy’s flight into the azure sky. Only Ramy’s enchanting eyes are smiling. Like two glittery stars, the eyes are telling me, ‘Mum, I am gone. There is no more pain, no more fear. I am happy now: don’t worry, Mum!’ We decided to put this photo in porcelain on Ramy’s head-stone. We thought Ramy’s friends should see his sweet smile in his attractive eyes: Ramy was not only a beloved son to us, but he belonged so much to his friends as well.

Looking at Ramy’s other photos, I smile and feel proud of my son’s golden heart. I like to look at Ramy’s loving and protective arms stretching around his friends. No matter if they were boys or girls, Ramy loved his friends from the bottom of his heart. In a poem, Premonition, he says: I’ll do anything to save my friends/ My life leans on the ones I love/ From the ground below and the sky above. To those who know Ramy, Ramy has been the Fountain of Love.

Looking at Ramy in another photo, I both cry and smile. Here, Ramy is having one of his big giggles. With the palm and fingers cupping on his nose and forehead, Ramy is showing the row of his nice teeth. ‘The structure of your face is so perfect; you have such a beautiful face.’ A dentist told him once. Knowing that that beautiful face with the happy laughter and the raw of lovely teeth are gone, then, I can’t stop tears running down my face.

Yes! It is somehow Ramy’s mouth with his beautiful teeth that would always remind me of the rabbit, whose tale pierced my soul many years ago. Watching my son in a childhood photo, I love so much his upper newly got teeth. Those precious pearls are to me like the purest drops of rain in a desert. Rami got his permanent teeth two years earlier than its usual time. He was very young; so I was careful to keep his teeth clean and sound. At the time, it happened often that Ramtin slept on the couch. Before taking him to his bed, I would complain that he had again not washed his mouth. It was so funny when my sleepy Ramtin reluctantly let me brush his teeth with his head on my knees. Being annoyed by me, then, with closed eyes he would make strange and funny faces and gestures.

Thinking to all these precious memories, I like to look at the photo, when my Rami is only six. He is in a navy jacket over a pale blue shirt with a white ribbon. His soft, brown hair has come down to his small ears and covered his forehead. Ramy would only honour me to cut his hair: it began from his babyhood till the beginning of his teens.

In this photo, Rami’s big, dark eyes are as usual enchanting, capturing my heart with the deepest emotion and love (I used to call him chavrash, a term that means the black-eyed one). In the photo, I like his round, beautiful nose and his red laughing lips, as with a half open mouth and the sweetest smile, Rami shows his two newly got teeth. Those precious white pearls in the picture remind me of the rabbit and the story of his life.

It is again the sparkles on Ramy’s teeth that could take me on the most painful journey in my life. A flashback would harshly grab me, drag me, and violently drop me at my home town, a small, borderline city in the north-east of Iran. There I see myself shattered, miserable, nearly dead, standing in a well lit room. It was in that silent room, at the quiet cemetery of the town, on that sunny day, that first I found my beautiful Ramy, lying on a narrow bed. The long bed was drawn out of a big box on the left corner of the room. A young woman had pulled the three beds out one by one. They were empty. My Ramy was on the fourth one. I wished I could deny seeing that beautiful, tall, young man sleeping there. But it was my Ramy, still neat and elegant. In his pale blue jeans, and green jacket, he had calmly slept there.

I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. It was cold and white. I kissed his hair. It smelled of nicest gels, the sweet smell of frosty fruits. I kissed his cheeks. As if he was climbing the mountains, his cheeks were amazingly pink like fresh scented roses. I aimed to kiss my Little Prince from head to toe. I reached his ankles: the feet in snowy white and grey socks were out of my reach. I had to crawl into the box to kiss his soles. I didn’t. I knew that then everyone would think I had gone mad, and that I would not be allowed to spend time with my baby. I didn’t cry; nor did I scream. I felt like a wanderer or a stranger, lost in nowhere in the dark. I felt like an injured, dying animal with my dead baby left in the wild.

Unable to kiss Ramy’s feet, I kissed again and again his soft, beautiful hands (Mona and I would always kiss Ramy’s hands, telling him how his hands were lovely and soft. Sitting proudly with an upright head and looking from the corner of his eyes to each of us, Ramy would then only give us his sweet smile). Turning around the small bed, I felt my boundless love was rising like the blaze of fire from my burning heart to warm the frozen body of my son; but the Little Prince was too cold: he was gone (he had gone three days earlier. I was not strong enough to take the trip to his place and also I was not sure that his body was whole. I didn’t dare go see him, till I heard he looked well. On that horrible day, later, and even now, I question if he was completely gone when he was put there and I was cruelly driven past the town, unaware of my Ramy’s body lying in the morgue. He was taken directly from the scene of the accident there).

Holding my icy baby within my shivering arms, I stared at his face. His eyes were closed, with curly, dark, long eyelashes. His mouth was half open with lips in colour of red roses. I felt he wanted to talk. His shiny, two upper teeth were like the most precious white shells holding one pale drop of Ramy’s blood like a pink pearl. It was devastating: I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Shattered, I looked at the sunshine for a hope or a sign. I had seen Ramy as purest light when on the first day, at the hospital, I was officially told that Ramy was gone. Prior to that moment as hard as I tried to visualize my son, during the few terribly painful and devastating hours that I was on the road to Mashad and then at the hospital, Ramy’s image was totally wiped out of my mind. It was like I had never had or seen him in my life.

During those hours, I could only see the last image of Ramy that I had in my mind before sleeping, on my brother’s farm. Then, around three hours before the accident, as it was my habit, I prayed for my children. But I got an image of Ramy that pounded my mind. I saw Ramy in dark clothes, very dark skin, lying straight and motionless on a long and narrow board (completely shocked, instead of his beautiful, white, tanned skin, I saw Ramy with the same dark skin in Sydney, after having the chemicals in his body). The image gave me nausea and a strong physical pain. I wanted to scream, to yell, to escape to the mountains: but I remained silent in my bed.

I didn’t have any mobile with me to call Ramy. I didn’t let me to wake my brother and his wife, who lost their beautiful son Mani at the same accident. I thought it was completely unreasonable to make a fuss and to shame my son in front of everyone by calling him at midnight. Neither wanted I to create an image of myself as a crazy, superstitious woman.

I tried to calm my mind. Even though I had earlier saved lives by taking action after having a premonition, at that night I ignored the warning. In fact, as I believe now, I was so drowned in the material world that I didn’t get the depth of my metaphysical message to save my son. I didn’t do anything, but prayed and prayed to change the image, and finally gave up, and tried to sleep: I lost the precious hours.

My denial and ignorance at that night is now one of my biggest guilt, as if I have killed Ramy. I have also lost my faith, thinking god ignored my plea: my prayer and trust were all in vain. Soon after I slept, around four in the morning on a private and wide asphalt road that rarely sees any cars during a day, a monstrous truck was going to be there to instantly kill the small car’s irresponsible and sleepy driver (the car’s name is Pride – I suggest that the Iranian government should proudly call it Shame because each day people, especially the youth, are killed on the roads in this unreliable car). A few minutes later, after taking a few steps, my beautiful Ramy was taken from our world. My brother’s twenty-six-year old son, Mani, was taken to hospital, but after a week joined Ramy (the hosts, my step-brother’s two sons and his ten-year old grandson, survived).

On the first day of the accident, my brother, his wife, and me were called and informed about the accident early in the morning. It was nearly noon when I found out my beloved Ramy was gone. And it was only then that the nature, or god, or whoever was in charge, let me see my dear migrant bird as white light in front of my eyes. Like a lucid shiny cloud or a pristine fountain of light, my Ramy was in the air, moving above, rising to the skies. Only then a secret was shared with me: your beautiful son has transformed into divine light (earlier, once in Sydney and later in Mashad Air Port when Ramy arrived, I had seen a halo of light all around his body. On both occasions, I told Ramy about my vision and swore to god to him that I was not joking or anything like that. In return, Ramy gave me only a sweet smile, as if being covered in light was something very natural).

On the third day of the accident, standing in the morgue, at the cemetery of my home town, I had a devastating storm in my mind. On that shattering day, I had a monologue with Ramy. ‘My Little Baby, the Sun in the House, my Little Love, you have transformed into light,’ I whispered into Ramy’s ear in the room. Yet it couldn’t bring ease or warmth to my being. I damned repeatedly my own birth. Losing my faith, I wished to die. But I was alive. I had to take care of my Ramy: to do my best in the way that he would like.

‘You have a strong personality, Mum’, I remembered Ramy’s complement to me. ‘For today, did you say those words to me?’ I asked Ramy; but he was silent, looking like a saint. I kissed his innocent face. He was peaceful. I caressed his small, beautiful ears and again whispered into them: ‘I love you. Sun! Son! I love you more than my own life which is worthless to compare to yours. Please, I beg you, don’t worry if my heart is burning with the pain of your loss!’

Ramy, my baby, you are now sunshine. You are the moonlight. You are the sweetest breeze. You are the scent of the blossoms on almond trees. You are the songs of the beautiful birds. You are my koala, sleeping on eucalyptus trees. Gone, still, Ramy, you live in us; you are with us. You are the music: we listen to you. You are the air: we are breathing you. You are the sun: we feel your warmth. You give hope and inspire your family, your friends, and everyone who loves you. Ramy, you are our morning star.

Page Four:

Page Five:

‘No’, Ramy objects: ‘It is golden. I love that land with its green and violet shrubs

Page Six:

Today, after eight painful years, I looked back into the notes that I have taken during the first three years after our Beautiful Ramy’s divine flight. To write openly, or not to write!? It was a question for me. Thinking about it, even though these notes might sometimes look odd, I finally decided to reveal them with their exact dates. If one wants to judge the writer of these notes, however, should look at them as a work of art, dedicated to Ramy. I would also like to inform that, every now and then, I have used the term subconscious or subconscious mind throughout my writing, by which I don’t mean what Sigmund Freud, the father of psychoanalysis, has referred to, or as is used in modern psychology. To me the term ‘subconscious mind’ is a path of connection with all the reserved memories and awareness which do not belong to the world of matter and are unknown to us as a human being. I would also like to apologise to the reader if there is any mistake or repetition of some memories or remarks throughout my writing; as I find reviewing the text, that I have already written, causes me deep emotional pain. Further, I may occasionally add some messages from Ramy’s website to my writing.

Over there, in Iran, I wanted to buy a red Persian carpet to make our home cosier; but you left me before I could buy one. And now, here, I am walking on the green carpet around your grave with the streams of tears on my face.

Sitting in front of the flame of a candle next to Ramy’s photo, I am thinking what an immense catastrophe happened to us, to me. To stay at home, to try to go out, whatever I do or not to do, nothing can help me, as if nothing matters anymore. I miss you, Ramy. Please help me come to you! Take me with you! Take me with you!

Last night, from Italy, Mona called me. She said that in a dream she had seen Ramy as a spirit, but dressed in his usual outfit. She told me:

Mona was in doubt that what Ramy’s remark ‘Donkey Kong’ meant. I remembered the time when Ramy was ten years old and loved playing the ‘Super Nintendo’ game with his siblings. So I reminded Mona that Donkey Kong is the character of the game that the three of them used to play at home for long hours, when Ramy was a child. Thinking to that happy time, I sighed and told Mona, ‘Do you remember how then Ramy would so often save the character and win the game?’ ‘Alas!’ We both said, ‘In reality he couldn’t save his own life!’

In an elegant blue suit, suddenly, Ramy appeared in my home. He stood a meter away from everyone, with his back to the people and me in the living room. ‘It is not any one’s fault that I went; I myself wanted to go!’ Ramy said loudly. ‘Stop talking about me like this. Don’t talk behind my back. It was my own decision! I wanted to go! It was me who wanted to go!’ He said angrily and then walked away.

Around the same time, I was informed about another similar dream. One of Ramy’s friends called me. She told me about her dream, in which Ramy was angry, asking his friends to stop talking behind his back or arguing over him.

The psychic lady called me. She said: I meet Ramy. He is with his cousin, Mani. Together, they are very strong and happy. They are helping people. They don’t need their parents do anything for them. They both wants to see their loved ones are happy, and that Mani says the nine years old boy blames himself for what happened, do not blame.

She said, now Ramy’s arms are around you, cuddling, showing his love to his mum.

She said Ramy wants all the family be happy. He wants you live happy, to live your life for yourself. You are going to see him again.

She said Ramy wants me to keep going, to write my book, to let him help me, to open to ideas.

She said that Ramy and Mani both wants their loved ones be happy, to have peace, to accept what has happened, to be happy for everything in life, there is a reason for things, doing something to forget, to cook.

As a teenage boy, in his loose blue and yellow Simpson’s shirt and green pants, Ramy arrived into my room. Carrying many packages, he placed them on my bed and without a word turned to walk away. But I called him and asked him to come back for a hug. He returned and sat on the bed next to me. Soon, you arrived into my room and sat on the other side of Ramy. Then you and I both embraced Ramy, kissing his head, his hair, his face, his eyes, and his hands again, and again, and again. Nonstop! We knew that our Ramy was a spirit, but he himself was unaware of that.

Today was supposed to be a very happy day. Maziar and I had privately spoken to offer a big gift and a pleasant surprise to Ramy. But the universe changed everything.

Ramy, our Beautiful Singing Bird, so sadly, you deprived us of surprising you! It broke our heart!

No! I know that you are everywhere! I can’t say that we should necessarily come to a special place to visit you. You have proved to me that your pure and beautiful soul is always present everywhere!

One night you told me, ‘If you knew how lovely and comfortable is this place, all of you would want to come here as soon as possible!’ Or, the other time, when I felt very disturbed and asked you to help your family and me, I saw a flash of light that passed fast in front of my eyes and poured hope into my heart. You never ignore me!

In my yoga class, too, I asked you to help me calm my distressed emotions, and immediately I sensed a touch of tickling that made me laugh.

I can never forget the night when I was very sad, lying on the sofa with my eyes closed. Then I felt somebody caress my head and pass by. I opened my eyes and looked around to see who was the one that had lovingly patted my head. I saw nobody; so late at night, everyone in the house had obviously slept. And I knew that it was you. It, then, became clear to me that you can be present everywhere. Always! And you try to reassure us, the people who love you, of this, your beautiful presence, in any possible way!

My dear Ramtin, I want you know that whatever you asked me to tell your family I did and I will always do.

Always and always, we all love you and feel your beautiful and divine presence around ourselves!

We all are grateful that you let us feel your immense love, affection, and beauty. You give hope to us that a better place, where you are, is waiting for us!

Our Beautiful Ramy, one of your lovely friends unexpectedly arrived. Without a car, by bus, carrying heavy packages of salads, things for BBQ, and fine desserts, Taz came here. She told us that she wanted to celebrate the end of the Ramadan for you. We had more guests, your friends and mine.

With broken hearts, hidden tears, but lots of smiles, we all gathered around the small garden that we have made for you inside our garden. There, under the shade of the trees, we started to have a party for you. Feeling that you were amongst us, I was constantly asking myself why you did not have such parties when you were living in this world. It would then break my heart more and more, knowing that I can’t do anything anymore for you, knowing that you can’t have any party with us anymore!

Isn’t this true that the nature of human beings is mixed with negligence, by which sometimes we painfully regret that we have lost the opportunities and the right times to do things right. Can’t we be a little more devoted and gentle to be a better person?

My beautiful Ramy, were you aware of my thoughts, today? Were you sitting somewhere above all of us? Or, you were all the time just amongst us, experiencing everything through our souls and our hearts! I do not know. There was just the feeling that you were there and organizing the party. The loving and caring girl was chosen by you to be Tazia: humble, smart, and beautiful! The guests were those whom you really love. And you smiled sadly and thanked us, when we raised our glasses for you as we drank ‘Coca-Cola Zero’ and ‘V’ drinks!

And it was you, my sweet Ramy, who sent us a precious gift through another beautiful friend, Daniel and her caring mum. Today, they brought us a CD! And I believe that you persuaded them to come here. On such a special day, you made some of your much-loved people gather at your home, to talk about you and to watch the CD.

My sweet Ramy, your favourite nightclub has given this CD as a gift to the attractive girl who was your dance partner over there. Just before leaving the nightclub, when you are saying goodbye to your friend, lots of light is pouring on you, showing how sweet and handsome you are. Your lovely giggles then show your neat, white, pearl like teeth, as your beautiful eyes are full of life and wonders.

Seeing you under the light creates a surreal sense, as if you were already gone! The light is amazingly focussing on you! The light embraces you, showing how perfect, angelic, and pure you are. The amazing CD brings on one’s mind that even then, around the time before going to Iran, you had already started your journey within the Light. You, our beautiful Ramy, are then Embraced by the Light!

Thanks to the nightclub; thanks to Daniel and her mum, for handing the CD to Ramy’s family!

A caring friend of mine, Moti, called me and exclaimed that she had witnessed something wonderful yet unbelievably strange.

Thinking of Ramy and the purity of his soul while in the shower, she had asked him for a favour: ‘I wish to go on a pilgrimage to Mecca, but because of my health problem, I am doubtful as to whether I should take the trip. Please give me a sign if the journey is safe for me!’

Excitedly, my friend told me as soon as she had said those words the showerhead, which was high above her head, had turned upward and let the running water splash toward the ceiling for a while before turning down once again.

Then, my friend reminded me of Ramy’s flawless aura that was carrying kindness and grace. Three days before his flight to Iran, my friend told, Ramy had seen her walk down the street. Even though, Ramy was in a rush, to take a bus to go to his university for the exam, he had called her, run to her, cuddled her, and said good-bye. None of them knew that it was the final farewell. At this, my friend and I both cried painfully!

Late at night, I walked to my bedroom to sleep. Lying in bed, I closed my eyes and tried to be free of all thoughts. Soon, on my mind, I saw myself in my father’s favourite village. It was called Tarniq. As a child, in summertime, I would often go there on holidays or picnics with my big family; then, I was the youngest one among them.

Over there, in the realm of my imagination, I got out of my father’s jeep and walked to my parents and my siblings. They were happily talking to the village people, who were respectfully and lovingly welcoming them. Quietly, I approached them. I was not sure about my age. I was then both: a child and a woman as I am, at her latest fifties.

I was in my blue walking Asics shoes. The shoes reminded me of Ramy and the precious time I had spent with him, especially during the last two years of his life, when we would go for a long walk nearly every night. We would leave the house very late at night so that it would be too late for him to call his friends. So his time then belonged to me, and he knew how deeply I appreciated his beautiful presence, his sweet talks, and his brisk walks by my side, which were indeed bliss.

In the village, I left everyone and started running up to the slop of the mountain. There, on the top of the highland, I stayed and looked back, watching all around. The village and its infinite surroundings looked as yellow as gold, with a vineyard as green as a huge piece of emerald on its right side. Village houses nestled on the slope of the mountain above the fields of wheat. Further away from where my parents and siblings stood up, few village men rolled the hay of the harvested wheat into haystacks to be gathered and stored later.

However, I was not there to watch the landscape or the people. I turned back and walked to a gate in front of me. I was not sure if I had created it, or it was created for me; but it was there: a heavy, large, wooden gate, painted in deep turquoise. I approached the gate and stayed there for a while. The warm and soft sunshine embraced me. I felt very relax. My deep, deep sorrow was drifted away. Well aware, I felt both standing there in the village in Iran, being caressed by the sun and the breeze, and lying still in my bed in Sydney, with the streams of tears on my face.

Then I suddenly felt soft movements of caressing on my head. Happy, thoughtless, appreciative, I let those fingertips caress my forehead. I knew he was Ramy. Around ten minutes passed, and then suddenly a killing sense seized my heart. I wanted to see him, to watch my beautiful Ramy.

I opened the blue gate and passed through it into a new space: it was another world, another dimension. There was a sense of serenity over there. It wasn’t snowy, rainy, or cold; it wasn’t too bright, or too sunny, or hot. It was fine, just fine. Over there, everything was in harmony. The infinite landscape was covered with short, fresh, brilliant grass. Small, white, purple, and pink flowers were scattered on the grass. The branches of the trees were almost covered with blossoms. The air was fresh, scented, and very pleasant. Colourful, little birds were joyfully flying low in the air. Under that soft, pleasant light everything looked magnificent, wonderful, calm, and connected.

But, suddenly, deep pain, intense sorrow, and a horrible sense of longing grasped my whole being. I screamed: ‘Ramy, Ramy, Ramy!’

Then I saw him. He was standing on a small rock, covered with short grass. The rock was close to the white stone steps that were going up the hillside. I ran to Ramy, watching him in disbelief. He was in his stripped, white, and pink shirt. His pale blue jeans were nearly ripped around his white shoes.

I looked at him with admiration. He was tall, slim, and incredibly handsome. His big eyes were smiling at me. His enigmatic smile was on the corner of his mouth. I heard his silent words: ‘Mum, did you see what happened?!!!’ I didn’t reply. In front of him, I sat on the grass, crying and kissing his feet. He sat by my side, and helped me get up and climb up the path from there to the top of hillside. Over there, the landscape looked even more wonderful. It was flat, vast, and infinite. A wide stream was running on the left side of the landscape. Above the bed of the pure white water I could see the whitest mist.

Yet I was in an immense suffering. Lying on the grass, I yelled: ‘You are gone! Ramy? Ramy? My sweet Ramy! I miss you!’ I felt I was then a wild animal. I was like a wolf, an injured, dying wolf!

Ramy put his arms around me. ‘Mummy? Mum! Mum, calm down! I’m here. Do not cry. Come down!’ I looked at him. He was crying, too. His face was wet. His eyes were full of tears. Shaking by intense sorrow, we both wept painfully and loudly, as I knew the drops of my tears were silently rolling down over my face in the darkness of my bedroom. I sat next to him and took his soft hands in mine, kissing them again and again.

The pain of separation that we felt in our hearts was so devastating that we both decided to leave. Ramy accompanied me to the edge of the hill. We walked down to the gate. I took my beautiful baby into my arms and pressed him firmly on my chest, upon my heart. I kissed his hands, and we said good-bye. I opened the blue gate and walked out.

On the other side, the sun was shinning. Beyond the mountain, it seemed as though gold dust was sprinkling over the wheat fields and the infinite landscape. I saw the canopies of trees, in darker green, spread out on the far surrounds. In still agricultural society of the time, the trees would quench their thirst with the water from Qanat. The old, deep, connected manmade system of wells and tunnels in the countryside would offer the joy of shade and cool to the villagers, their playful kids, and the cattle in summertime.

I looked down at the village. My father and mother were still there. I saw my brothers and sisters. I vaguely saw Ramy and me among them. The village men and women were around us. There was a halo of felicity, happiness, and laughter in the air. Somebody was making bread in a clay tandoor. Bluish smoke was rising to the sky. It seemed a fine day; but I was far from everything and everyone. I had lost my time and place. I was lost!

I opened my eyes. I was in my bed. The room was dark. My face was washed with silent flood of tears. My heart was burning; my body was cold. So cold! As if I was dead! I felt dead. In the darkness, I looked for Ramy; but he was not there!

This morning I dreamed of being in a rural area. I vaguely felt I was in Iran. In a village! Short, clay walls were scattered around. Plenty of food was placed on the tops of the walls. It seemed to me like harvest home.

I looked at the vast landscape and then walked toward the simple farmhouses. Along my way, there was a thick wall of village women. They were all in grey and brown chadors, watching me and whispering about my Ramy who was gone.

I didn’t look at them at all. I felt embarrassed and ashamed because of the loss. Entering a simple room, I looked around. It was nearly a grocer’s shop with dried food in baskets on the floor. I walked to the front door and took a piece of bread with dried yogurt to eat.

Then I chose a piece of some fancy bread, called gutlameh (I loved eating that bread, which is similar to croissant, during my childhood when I was safe, happy, and whole within my big family). I tasted the bread. It seemed frozen and tasteless. I put it back in the basket. I had the feeling that the food and the place belonged to the wife of my stepbrother.

Then I saw my sister, Roohi. I asked her when should we go back? She answered, ‘On Monday he is coming back.’

I knew Ramy was not in this world; but I knew he would come back. There wasn’t any sense of sorrow or grief in me. There was just the profoundest sense of coldness and bitterness in my whole being.

I said to my sister, ‘So, I should go back to the city.’ I meant my hometown, Ghochan. I said, ‘On Monday, it is the fifth month that he is gone, and I should be there for him to welcome him,’ as I was seeing my beautiful, silent Ramy on my mind.

He had a faded smile, but his appearance was expressionless. I felt sadness. It was a silent, devastatingly deep sadness inside both Ramy and me.

When I woke up, I walked to the living room and talked about my dream to my children. Mona said this Friday is exactly the fifth month that our Ramy has gone. Maziar said since 22 weeks has passed from Ramy’s divine flight, this symbolizes Ramy’s age. I felt myself the number ‘5’ is special for Ramy. It is the number of his family, whom he dearly loved but had separated from.

I am trying to make myself busy in the kitchen, cooking, cleaning; but I am not able not to let my tears fall down. Drying my eyes, I walk into living room.

Ramy’s photo takes my attention. His innocent look with his meaningful smile pour huge bitterness into my heart. As if he himself is in front of me, I see how strikingly handsome he is in his dark formal suit on the night of his sister’s big party, which was around one year ago. This sweet image breaks my heart even more!

I look at Maziar. He is busy with his computer. Having a cold, he is constantly coughing. A faint steam is rising in the air from a glass of tea in front of him. Deep in thoughts, he is very quiet. Next to his hand there is a lonely piece of paper full of one word: ‘Ramy!’

I look at Mona. She is deep in thoughts, too. I know that she is thinking of her beloved Ramy.

I look again at Ramy’s picture. The house is empty of his lovely laughter. He would sometimes seem to me like a Noisy Miner. It has been because of him that I love these sweet little birds so much. I stare at Ramy’s other photo. His brown hair is dyed golden on the top of his head. That reminds me of graceful white Cockatoos with their golden crown above their heads. Should I seek my beautiful son in birds now? I ask myself, and answer, ‘Yes,’ and remember how lovingly birds come to me - sitting on my palm, on my head, even upon my heart - when I go to Ramy’s Garden.

I sit down and think that Ramy has gone; Mona, Maziar, their dad, and me are struggling with our emotional pain. I want to cry. Instead, I tell: Ramy was on a journey; now, he is at home!

Looking at Maz and Mona, I continue to say, ‘Do not lose hope! You will find the way of your lives.’

Walking to the kitchen, I make some tea for everyone and feel how deeply I love my children. Serving the tea, then, with a feeling of alienation and strangeness, I sit in a chair and write these words:

I wish to come! Come to you, my Beautiful, Little One! Yet, my precious, dear children, my daughter and my son need my presence and love.

My Ramy, I’ll come to you on a sunny day, when my children transfer the weight of their love to their own kids.

It’s Christmas Day! The devastating pain of his loss is even harder on this day!

After we arrived in Australia, Ramy was the one who really loved to celebrate Christmas. I ended up buying a Christmas tree, after I saw him make one out of green cardboard and place presents underneath. Not only the Christmas tree gave my little son a world of happiness, but also connected our hearts to the hearts of a nation who celebrate the Christmas.

Now, on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, thinking constantly of Ramy, we felt even more miserable and devastated at his loss. In fact, we no longer felt like celebrating anything without him. Yet, three days before Christmas, Mona decided that Ramy would have wanted us to celebrate Christmas. So she put up Ramy’s Christmas tree and bought presents for everyone, including Ramy’s friends, who would kindly and surely come to visit us.

Early in the afternoon, we drove to Ramy’s Garden, drank ‘Pepsi Max’ and ‘V’ energy drink and talked to him. Late in the afternoon, we returned home and soon after had some visitors, mostly Ramy’s friends.

There was lots of love, kisses, and hugs. And I thought of DR John F. Demartini. He had asked me if I had ever gotten so much love, kisses, and hugs throughout my life before Ramy’s flight, and that I should appreciate them because they are from Ramy. And I always carried those precious words within my heart.

As it was getting dark, we all walked down to the small garden that we have made for Ramy within the garden of our house. Over there, we opened the presents. Ramy also received plenty of presents from us, his friends, and even the neighbours.

Yet, that odd feeling of being with him and not being with him was too painful. Pretending to be happy, I could see traces of tears in everyone’s eyes. Not having Ramy around, as always stylish and smiling, was too hard, too hard! As if there was a need for some warmth to change that frozen air of sadness, suddenly, Ramy’s puppy snatched two soft toys, two little camels, which were very dear to Ramy, and now Mona would carry them with her everywhere. It was a funny scene when Sultan ran fast around Ramy’s small garden with the stolen toys between his teeth and Mona chased him, screaming to get the precious toys back.

The scene made every one laugh out loud. I was smiling and trying not to cry. I knew Ramy was there, trying to bring a little bit of fun and happiness to us. I felt I should appreciate that and try my best to make my beautiful son happy. I had seen how sad he would get whenever he saw me cry and how he would do anything to cheer me up.

It also wasn’t strange at all when later that night, a small ring-tailed possum jumped from a high branch of a tall tree to a lower one. Making lots of noises, the possum took everyone’s attention before jumping on the ground in front of us. It first ran and then stopped, turned back, and with those big beautiful eyes stared at us.

I softly told others that Ramy is using the possum. Nobody moved or talked. Even, strangely, Sultan who would always bark whenever he saw a possum, didn’t move or bark. He silently watched the possum, and I could feel it was with respect and love.

On those moments, I sensed Ramy’s presence. I heard his silent words in my mind. We had a conversation: it was just between the two of us. Each of us would say something and get a response. He was softly touching my head, too. Caressing my forehead, he tried to give a sense of ease and peace to me, reassuring me that he was not lost. It all made me feel grateful with my whole heart.

After ten minutes gazing at us, finally, the possum ran to a tree, climbed it, and vanished amongst the branches in front of our eyes. I looked at the sky. The shining stars were up there, twinkling. One of them seemed very bright. It reminded me of Ramy with the rainbow of light around him. I kissed the air and thanked my Ramy for being so loving, caring and nice. I looked at the candles, which were illuminating his garden, and whispered: ‘Merry Christmas, my beautiful son!’

I dreamt of Ramy, who was in company of seven young boys and girls. They were very happy, walking, talking, and laughing. They all were dressed nicely and neatly. I approached them, watching Ramy. He was in a fine blue shirt, blue jeans, and very nice shoes, walking in front of the group.

Seeing me, they stopped. I walked to Ramy and took his hand in mine. It was lovely and soft. I placed my other hand on his shoulder and told him, ‘Your friends and you are so elegant, but you look indeed above everyone!’ Without a word, Ramy looked at me and kept all the time his sweet smile. But his friends looked amused with my words. Boys and girls, specially a blond girl with short, smooth hair, laughed joyfully.

I kept Ramy’s hand in mine for five minutes, watching him with admiration, before I woke up and felt lots of hope and a good sensation have filled my heart. The dream made me smile and think that not only Ramy is in a good place but he has also made friendship with so many boys and girls, who are so happy in each other’s company.

It was dawn and the first thing came into my mind was calling Ramy’s mum. I know that even people’s dream about Ramy is now important to you.

It was nine thirty in the morning when I woke up and walked to the living room. With a horrible sense of loneliness and exhaustion, I sat on a sofa before going back to my bedroom again. In quest of some solace, lying in bed, I took Ramy’s shirt and pressed it over my heart. I closed my eyes. Half awake, half sleeping, I found myself in a vast, lush garden.

It was around sunset. I was looking everywhere in the garden for Ramy. After a while, I saw him. He was walking to me, accompanied by a girl whose face was quite familiar; yet, I didn’t have any idea where I had met her. The girl was the same age as Ramy: both twelve years old.

Approaching, they stayed in front of me. I watched my son with love and admiration. ‘Where have you been, my sweetheart? I was looking for you!’ I asked. ‘We were swimming in the pool,’ the girl answered (she mentioned the name of the pool but I forgot it).

Ramy was silent; yet, on my mind, I could see him swim with the girl in a corner of an enormous pool. It was on the far left side of the garden and looked like natural pools. They were a wonderful source of water for irrigation in the villages that were under my father supervision around my hometown. Then I was a child, living till my early teens in Ghochan and going to the villages on a family picnic.

The girl looked very sweet. She told me that after swimming she did her prayer over there, too. I smiled and looked at Ramy. He was very quiet and seemed he was now around fifteen years old. Smilingly and tenderly, I asked him, ‘Perhaps you didn’t know the prayer and you felt embarrassed.’

My dear Ramy smiled but said nothing. I smiled back and felt how precious he is. He was around seventeen, when I took him dearly into my arms and felt a profound sense of bliss filling my heart. Just then, for a fraction of second, it seemed to me that I was only holding Ramy’s clothes, not Ramy. Before sensing any bitterness, however, I was reassured that I was indeed hugging Ramy. I could feel the pleasant warmth of his body. I could sense how lovely and soft were Ramy’s chest, arms, and his shoulders within my arms. It was a blessing!

With a sense of content, delight, and fulfilment, I kept pressing my beloved Ramy on my heart and my chest. At the same time, I felt Ramy was a kid, becoming twelve, fifteen, seventeen, nineteen, and finally the age that he should be: an attractive twenty-two years old man. On those moments, I felt the profound beauty and grace of pure love between a mother and a child. It was divine love! It was a blessing!

Just, then, the phone started ringing; it woke me up. I looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to ten in the morning. My heart was overflying with joy and appreciation, still sensing vividly Ramy’s sweet presence close to me. Now I also knew who the pretty girl in my dream was. Ramy and I would always talk about her after watching one of Harry Potter’s movies. She was one of our favourite characters: Hermione, Emma Watson!

Answering the phone, I felt happy, because a close and spiritual friend was calling me from Canada. I excitedly told her about my dream; Mahvash apologized to me and regretted to have interrupted it. But I assured her that it was Ramy who wanted, through her, to wake me up on that special moment. Being wide awake, when my whole being could sense Ramy’s presence, in his different ages, with the warmth and softness of his dear body, was essential at that moment. Otherwise, I told my friend, with my sleepless nights and having sleeping pills, I might slip into a deeper level of sleeping and forget it all; while now I could feel and carry within my heart the beauty, the bliss, and that profound sense of fulfilment of embracing my son after such a long time.

In the following weeks, the beautiful dream remained so real, so vivid, so sensible and accessible to me that at any second I could feel my beautiful son was still within my arms. Then and later, I thought it was not just a sweet dream; but it was a great and precious gift, given to Ramy and me through a mystic source.

Ramy himself was aware of that. So, in complete silence, he let me hold him and see him grow within my arms to become such a wonderful young man. Even, in dream worlds, time is sometimes too precious to be wasted on words. You have just to feel the moments!

This is the end of 2006, an ominous year for us with the loss of our beautiful Ramy. I do not intend to describe how much in our privacy we wept quietly, or loudly, or even aggressively, as we would curse the life. I want, however, to talk about some events that could happen in any cemetery to help to some degree the people who feel shattered by the loss of their loved one.

A cemetery has its own environment with its own community. The people, who go over there to show respect and love to the separated loved one, have almost gained some modesty and some degree of purity within their souls. They care about others who are in tears or emotional pain. Cemetery not only has a family of its own, it seems that it also has a sense of understanding the grief, and somehow tries to be helpful in any possible way.

It has happened to me that whenever I am sitting at the foot of Ramy’s resting place and weeping, suddenly a familiar person – as if she was called – or a completely stranger would show up, cuddling, talking, sharing my sorrow, or even crying with me and trying to ease the horrible sense of grief that has seized my being. Many times, a few Greek mothers have approached me. Sitting supportively next to me, they would recommend that I should not be in tears, with which I would put damage on my eyes; while, my beloved son for his sleeping would get a blanket which is wet with my tears.

When strangers try to give me comfort or take care of me in the cemetery, it pours hope and warmth into my heart. One late evening, when I was desperately and aimlessly walking around Ramy’s Garden, I saw a couple standing further away. Wondering that I was not the only one to stay so late over there, I appreciated their presence in my heart; it was giving a sense of connection to me.

Just when it was getting indeed dark, they walked to me, talking and expressing their sympathy. Curious, I asked why they stayed so late over there. In astonishment, then, I realized that they were there just for my sake.

The lady told me that she and her husband couldn’t leave me alone in a dark cemetery. Being very considerate, with kindness, then, they reminded me that it was around seven o’clock and the gate would be soon closed. I thanked them from the bottom of my heart. In their affectionate company, then, I walked to my car. They only left when they saw me leaving.

Not always, however, there are people around to remind the person of the time. And when one is in immense sorrow, the time is not anymore important. On few occasions, it has happened that I have totally forgotten about the hours. Staying very long in the cemetery, oblivious that the night is falling, I found out the gate was locked and I was by myself over there in the dark (this has happened to many people whose emotional pain of loss overshadows everything else in their lives). So leaving my car over there and thinking how to get out from the cemetery, I found a round open circle on the gate, which was luckily as wide as my size. That let me jump out on the other side to go home by a taxi.

In another very late evening, something – supernatural – happened to me. After tidying up Ramy’s flowers, I walked in the dark to the tap water to wash my mud–covered hands. Then I realised that to get the soap out of the locked car I needed to get the car’s key out of my jacket’s pocket with my dirty hands.

As soon as, the thought crossed my mind, I heard a sound that echoed in the heavy silence of the cemetery at night. It followed immediately by some strong light, which appeared to focus on me. I stood up straight to see whose car was coming to the cemetery so late. After a while, however, I realized that the dazzling light was from my own car, which was parked in a fair distance from me. I knew then that the sound I had heard was from my car’s doors – unlocked automatically.

Even though, the incident looked too bizarre, happiness filled my heart. I knew that but me nobody else was there; so, I thanked Ramy aloud, believing he had unlocked the doors. Feeling Ramy’s caring presence around me, I forgot my immense sorrow for a while. Running to my car, I grabbed the soap and smilingly walked back to the tap and washed my hands before leaving for home.

Few days ago when Ramy’s dad was seated behind his desk at work, he heard his mobile phone ring. Before Hassan could answer, however, the phone was silent with Ramy’s name on the screen. This mystic incident has happened before, too; while Ramy’s phone is on his desk, disconnected and flat.

We had a few guests. Amongst them there was a young lady who looked very concerned about me. When I told her that I would usually communicate with Ramy through the flame of a candle, she looked at me with sad eyes. I felt that somehow she became very worried about me; yet, she was trying to be polite and not to express her disagreement to what I had told her.

Standing on a corner of the living room and speaking, then, I asked her to watch the flame of the candle that was burning in front of Ramy’s photo. It was on a small table on the far opposite side of the room.

‘Ramy, are you here?’ I asked. The absolutely still flame of the candle suddenly jumped up by my question and then frantically moved to the right and left, before becoming again steady. Then I asked other questions, and I received yes or no answers through the movements of the flame.

With open mouth and widened eyes, the lady looked at me and laughed with content as she was expressing her happiness about what she had seen. Deep in thoughts, after a while, she told me, ‘You are right! Your son is around all of you. He is around his loved ones, only invisible to you!’

Wondered, then, she asked me, ‘So, why you are so sad? Knowing he is around, why you cannot battle your sorrow? Why you’re grieving when you know he is not really gone anywhere?’ With lots of emotional pain in my soul and physical ache of burning in my heart, I just looked at her.

Yes, I can feel Ramy’s presence around. But I terribly need to see him, to hear his voice, to touch him, to kiss his hands. I desperately need to talk to him directly, not through the flame of a candle.

I woke up earlier in the morning. Ramy was painfully on my mind. My heart was burning at his loss. I stayed in bed, thinking of my sweet son. It seemed, I went into sleeping again, still thinking of Ramy, wandering all around, looking everywhere for him.

Then I found myself in a very vast plain, which was covered with a dazzling white light. Like an invisible tall dome, the light was connecting the earth to the sky. Still, looking for Ramy, in the middle of the plain, I saw an aluminium bed. The narrow bed, like a simple board, was placed on the ground. I walked to it and saw a body within a white plastic bag over it. I knew that was Ramy.

I sat down next to it. Without any sorrow or grief, I opened the zipper. Ramy’s beautiful face with a reflection of pink light appeared in front of my eyes. I looked at him and suddenly thought something is not quite right. Ramy was not inside a bag; he was sleeping in a white bed in a room full of sunshine, I told myself. I walked away from the bed and started to look for my own Ramy once again.

However, suddenly, I saw myself lying down in the same white bed. With a profound sense of comfort, relief, and happiness, I was looking at the sky. It was deep, vast, pale blue, peaceful and very beautiful!

But, then, a dark bird, similar to a crow, flew high above my head and died in the air and its motionless body started to fall down towards me. I thought the body of the dead bird would land on me, but in the middle of the air it was transformed into a big pink rose at the centre of a circle of many smaller roses. Slowly, softly, and lightly, like feathers, then, the roses fell down, as streams of other scented, pale pink roses were from all around joining them, all coming to me.

Like my sleeping Ramy’s beautiful face, I thought, the roses were lightly and pleasantly pink. And, as if I had no worries, no thoughts, no sorrow in the world, I sensed I was showered with rainbows of perfumed pink roses as they were softly falling over me, covering me!

My sweetheart, how can I ever thank you enough? From your early childhood you have always been very considerate of me. So, it is no wonder that you still try to give me your love and support. I am so grateful that through some people’s unexpected visits or phone calls you try to stop my weeping whenever it is too intense.

At times, being at the side of your garden in Macquarie Park, when an immense sorrow attack seizes my soul, one of your lovely friends would suddenly come on a visit over there. At home, when I feel my heart is bursting with grief, somebody would call me, giving me hope. And I believe that you arrange these things just to help me. No matter what time it is or where in the world a friend or relative of mine lives, you persuade people to call me when I am desperate to share the pain of your separation with somebody.

Receiving these supportive phone calls couldn’t be just a coincident. In particular, when you make me feel your beautiful presence on the phone by creating that fast, constant, beeping sound in the background of my conversation with others. The sound tells me that you are on the phone, too, listening and somehow participating in the conversation. I know that it is your way to stop my painful weeping. You do not like to see me with red and dejected eyes.

My beautiful Ramy, your signs, your awareness, and your sweet interaction through the phone calls pour light into my heart. I love it so much when sometimes in the middle of a conversation you bring a soft and lovely music on the phone as I am talking about you. All these make me feel an angel is around me all the time, taking care of me. And I am well aware that this angel is you, my beautiful Ramy who are conscious of my emotions and thoughts.

Thank you Ramy for your tireless efforts to show your wonderful support and offer your deep love to the people whom you love and care for.

Wherever I go, wherever I look, I see emptiness! Our home is painfully empty of you and your lovely voice! Yet, my sweet son, you and I have never stopped talking to one another. As our silent conversations through the flame of candles give warmth to my frozen heart.

On the occasions, I can sense the spiritual connection between you and me. I can feel you stare at me with those beautiful eyes! I can even see you smile! Yet, last night you did indeed something magical!

It was two in the morning, when I kissed your photo, said goodnight to you, and put out the flame of the small candle, in front of your photo. Then, I saw the air was suddenly filled with a heap of dense and bluish smoke, rising from the candle.

Going up into the air, like a work of art, the smoke created the most beautiful patterns. Dancing in the air, the rings of smoke gently moved around the room. Without fading or breaking, the floated rings and patterns of bluish smoke mysteriously stayed dense and strong almost for fifteen minutes.

Bewildered, Maziar and I told one another: ‘This is Ramy!’ That poured joy into our hearts. Unable to move, with wide-open eyes, we let the smoke embrace us as we felt your beautiful presence through that artistic and mystic connection.

Most of the times, I have a feeling of nausea. I hate to live. But I can’t leave. It is so painful when I receive so many letters for you, my beautiful son, with your name, Ramtin Razavian, on the envelope. Why did you change your name? I feel so responsible for being your witness.

My sweetheart, how it happened that you made me sign for the important things in your life? I signed the form of changing your name – was that for a new life? And I had to sign the certificate of your divine flight – was it for another new life? How did you choose me? Was it just because of your precious love and trust towards me?

Why you didn’t ask me to give my life for you? Why did you leave? Why not me, but you!!! Where are you now, my dear Ramy? My sweet Ramtin! Alas! You are gone! Alas! I can’t do anything, anymore for you! Alas!

Late at night, I walked to my room to sleep. In my bed, I took Ramy’s shirt into my arms and thought of him with both deep love and extreme sorrow, as I kept his shirt over my burning heart. Then, suddenly, I felt my son’s presence in the room. The feeling was so intense that I tried even not to blink. Soon after, I sensed Ramy’s heart beat, as if the shirt had Ramy’s heart within: to convey that he was not far away but just being there with his sweetness, love and affection.

Today, once again so tirelessly, you made your loved ones realize the immortality and awareness of one’s soul afterlife!

At dawn we woke up with the chorus of some birds. It seemed with the first rays of the sun, a big group of Cockatoos flew off to come to us. It was a wonderful sight to watch the performance of the birds in that silvery blue sky. In a flock of one hundred or more, the white birds were flying upon our house and above the tall eucalyptus trees. Like exquisite flakes of the whitest snow then the birds flew downward and landed on the trees, on the grass, and all over our garden and yard. Stunned, we said: ‘Ramy and his friends are here! They are here to celebrate Ramy’s Birthday with us!

White birds with their magnificent golden crowns poured joy and love into our hearts. Watching them with sadness and delight both, we were reminded of Ramy’s Birth and oncoming spring in Iran. When scented white flowers appear on the horizon, making the distant landscapes magical.

Our beautiful Ramy, you are aware of immense pain and sorrow in our hearts on the day of your Birth. So, through the birds and in company of your new acquaintances, you tried to celebrate your Birthday with your family first, before continuing it with your friends.

We did the same. Welcoming you in the early morning, later on the day we spent our times with your loving friends, who gradually joined us. Celebrating your Birthday, everyone stayed till well passed midnight, as you like. Seeking solace, it seemed your family and your friends needed each other’s company and presence to ease the pain of your loss.

In the late afternoon we drove to your garden and gave you some gifts: flowers, candles, prayers, streams of tears and our love! Heartbreakingly, with smiles but not without tears, we sang: ‘Happy Birthday, Ramy!’ One of your poems was then recited; it touched our hearts. At the age of sixteen, you have strongly defined the profoundest aspects of Love – blessing, but also a pain!

Yes, love is indeed a blessing; but can it also be a knife! Ramy, it’s the sacred fire of your love that is continuously giving hope and warmth to us! The same fire is, however, burning our hearts, days and nights, as our hearts pay the cost!

On your Birthday, we all tried not to think or to mention how short was your life, but thanking you and celebrating the day that you Blue Bird of Happiness came into our lives! Thank you, Ramy, for your efforts to communicate with the people whom you love. I felt the constant, gentle touch of your fingertips on my head and forehead, caressing me on your Birthday! Thank you for your love! So sweet, so wonderful, you are!

How sometimes there is an invasion of unwanted memories! Sitting motionless in a chair, my mind took me back to more than twenty- three years ago. On such a day, my Ramy was only three days old. Then we were living in Tehran. Celebrating the new- born baby boy’s arrival into our lives, we were also getting ready to celebrate the Persian New Year, which would be in the following week, the beginning of Spring.

From nowhere, then, I found myself in Iran again. It was, however, a different time and place. At my side was my 22-year-old Ramy who had arrived from Sydney three days ago. Still jetlagged and exhausted, he was desperately looking for a travel adaptor to recharge his mobile phone in Iran to take photos. I didn’t tell him I had one; instead, I recommended that he should buy one. He did so. And looked at me with astonishment when he saw mine. I felt a bit embarrassed seeing his inquiring eyes. I remained, however, silent. I couldn’t explain to him that it was because of a kind of strange sense of obsession that I wanted to keep my adaptor in my suitcase and accessible, and not to share. The memory hurts me deeply now; even though, I remembered that Ramy had lots of fun and looked very happy that he had haggled to buy the adaptor.

To help myself, I left the house and drove to Macquarie Park, to Ramy’s Garden. Over there I talked to him; I wept and kissed the pink roses that I had put there for his birthday three days earlier. Meditatively, sitting on the grass, then, I closed my eyes and tried to see my sweet son on my mind. As I kissed him from head to toes, then, I apologized to him for all my failures. I told him that I am only a mortal human being with the mankind’s naivety, ignorance, and weakness. I apologized to him for my imperfection and cried; but then I felt Ramy’s precious presence at my side. He was touching my head and caressing my forehead tenderly. In complete silence, he was giving me hope and courage.

After an hour, I opened my eyes and looked around. The cemetery was very quiet. No body was around, but birds: a few green and orange lorikeets, one black and white crow, and a flock of grey noisy miners. Further away, I saw a woman park her car, walking to a grave, and leaving soon.

Sitting alone over there, I felt the breeze was embracing the birds, Ramy’s Garden, and me. Between the flowers, I saw Ramy’s photo with the drop of one tear below his right eye. ‘He is crying,’ I thought. It broke my heart. I looked at a few small objects like gnomes, glass butterflies and birds. I saw the bottles of ‘V’ drink and Pepsi-Max between the flowers. Over there, everything looked childish. ‘He was a kid,’ I thought, ‘sleeping here so innocently,’ I said and cried.

After a while, I stood up and walked along the pathway to the water supply to bring some water. Two noisy miners followed me and soon one of them sat on a grave’s head stone on my way. The other one took the next head stone. They were not making any noises anymore; but I could see the soundless movements of their beaks as they were staring at me. That made me stay there and then walk to them.

My beautiful son had once explained to me that those cute miners would sometimes communicate to each other through the silent movements of their beaks. And now I had a feeling that the birds tried to communicate with me. Approaching and staying just in front of the birds, I saw none of them move a bit, nor were they scared from me the least.

I whispered to the closest bird, ‘This is you, my sweet Ramy, and that one is your favourite cousin, Mani.’ Staring into bird’s dark eyes, I continued, ‘Am I right? Is it you, my beautiful son? With those beautiful dark eyes! Is it you?’ The bird’s beak was then wide opened and shut a few times, as I got on my mind the message: ‘Yes, Mum, I am here!’

I stood close to that bird and we had an odd but loving conversation for around twenty minutes or so. I was telling something aloud, not to the bird but to my son. As soon as I stopped talking, it was the bird’s turn to answer me or to tell me something by the silent movements of its beak, before stopping with sensitivity for my turn to say something or to reply him. At the same time, I would receive Ramy’s remarks on my mind.

Ramy and I talked about whatever would come into our attentions. I received several main messages. He wanted the people who love him, especially his friends, his brother, his sister, his dad, and me, to be happy. He implied that it was unlike me to be so weak, and that I should remember he had always told me I have a strong personality. He reassured me that I will meet him again. He conveyed that my happiness makes him happy, as much as my sadness makes him sad!

That mystical conversation poured light into my heart. A few times, I stretched my arm to let the bird sit on my palm; but it didn’t. I decided, finally, to caress its soft wings. The bird stepped a little back. Still staring at me, its beak moved a few times and then flew away. The other bird, that was all the time watching us so quietly and patiently, followed the talking one. Flying high in the sky, they turned towards a tall eucalyptus tree and disappeared among its boughs and leaves.

Minutes later, I got into my car. Nobody was around; I turned the radio on and let the music be loud. If we like the music in this world, I thought, we love it on the other side, too. Yet, I felt extreme grief. Desperate for a bit of comfort, the music helped me take refuge in a fantasy world in which the painful reality, that time and place were vanished.

I saw myself look at a group of dancers, who were harmoniously whirling in the air, rising up and coming down. Below the feet of the dancers, there was a wonderful lake, overflowing with serine blue water. It looked like One Thousand and One Nights. I did not know where I was. Was I a happy child listening to one of those stories?!! Ramy and Mani were among the dancers. The two of them were fortunate Princes of the time.

I opened my eyes when I felt Ramy is with me. Standing there, just the same as he was, my beautiful son was touching my forehead, lovingly. So intensely, feeling his presence, I appreciated it with my whole heart. I reminded him and me that it is the beauty of the souls that could be connected wherever they are! Dead or alive! It doesn’t matter! We are connected through the power of love! We both smiled!

At the same time, hearing the repetition of ‘In Summer Land,’ through the song, reminded me of the beauty of summertimes throughout my life. I felt calm. As if I had no worries in the world: I felt whole. I saw myself being on a mystical journey from my beautiful early childhood and later on in summer land, in summertime! I saw myself not shivering anymore. Nothing was frozen, bitter, or cold.

Back home, I still felt calm. But, then, I saw a letter on the dinning table. It was from the bank that Ramy had his account with. The words on the envelope first took my attention and then struck me like thunder. I felt nauseous and dizzy. Somersaulting into an abyss of deep despair, I sat like a statue, frozen again, unable even to weep. After all, I knew that I could never believe these words can be related to Ramy: ‘The Estate of Mr Ramy Razavian Deceased’

You and I were standing under the shade of the trees, when Ramy appeared there. I knew that he was gone; yet, I told you, ‘Look! Look at him. Ramy is here! Now, be happy!’ You answered me, ‘It’s useless! I know he’s gone. This is his spirit. But he himself is unaware of that!’

Then Ramy walked the steps up to go inside the building; while, you and I were watching him with admiration. Ramy looked very tall and strikingly handsome. He was in a white jumper and grey tracksuit. His feet were very white, pure, thin, and small.

There were two or three fireplaces on the floor in the yard with a nice, warm, cosy, and beautiful fire within. There were some guests inside the home. Yet, you were not concerned about anything but grieving that Ramy was gone.

Standing at the side of Ramy’s Garden, Hassan and I talked about Ramy’s last drawing and we both wept painfully. We asked ourselves what our son wanted to say. What was his last message by the portrayal of that lonely, scary, sad skeleton? We really wanted to know what Ramy wanted to say? We asked ourselves, and couldn’t find any reply. Why the skeleton looks tortured and miserable? Can’t the skeleton be thoughtless and happy? Can’t a skeleton just walk freely around?

Ramy, our sweet Ramy, what did you really want to tell by that drawing? I wish we could get an answer.

Desperate to get an answer, (years later) one night, my friend Mariam called me. Out of nowhere, she suddenly talked about Ramy’s drawing. Like many others, she believes that Ramy was too good for this world. She said Ramy’s soul was elevated and he was too perfect to live in this dimension of matter, anger, cruelty, and greed. So he indeed wanted to leave. And that skeleton, in the drawing, is portraying the image that Ramy had of himself in this world of matter.

Another night, around the same time, in sheer desperation, I thought of Ramy and his drawing. In a state of trance, I saw him in my mind with his smile. Childlike and sweet, staring at me, he told, I just drew a picture. Then I wanted to give a name to it. So, I wrote my name there. Then I thought if something happens to me what are you going to do? I realized you will weep endlessly, because you love me! Then I sketched you!

Tonight, Maziar and I walked for a long time along the quiet streets, talking about Ramy all the time. We returned home at three in the morning; yet, the pain of Ramy’s loss was horribly within our hearts. In sheer desperation, then, I turned to Hafez’s poetry book, asking the great poet for an advice. When I randomly picked a page, I was amazed that like many times before it opened on a particular poem: ‘Last night, at morning time, me freedom from grief, they gave. / And, in that darkness of night, me the water-of-life they gave.’

Thinking of Ramy who left us at dawn, I recited the rest of the lyrics: ‘It was a morning, how auspicious! / And a moment how joyous! / . . . That me, freedom from the bond of Time’s grief they gave.’

Like rays of sunshine in a dark stormy day, the lyrics poured some light into my heart. Afterwards, Maziar and I talked a lot about life, death, and afterlife, trying to somehow ease a bit the devastating pain of Ramy’s loss.

Sitting silent for a while, then, I told that not without Ramy life is the same; but it seems painful, unbearable, and harsh. To survive, we have to erase from our minds that Ramy and I travelled to Iran. We have to clear our thoughts of losing our beautiful Ramy. We should think of him only with love, and believing that our Bird of Happiness is differently living with us and far from us both! I added that Hafez says:

To help that exalted soul fulfil his wishes, I told, we have to accept what has happened and try to live with it. Since, we cannot change that horrible incident, we have to create some good or positive targets in our lives and follow them.

Otherwise, by living in this state of deep deep despair, we take away the happiness of Ramy’s soul. After Ramy’s loss, I know that we all lost the will to live; but this only can ruin Ramy’s life after his divine flight. Further, it is indeed unfair to make that innocent child responsible for our immense suffering. We need to be fair, to fight with our emotional pain and try to soothe our sorrow and live properly as much as we can. And this is for Ramy’s sake.

It was dawn and birds had started to sing when we decided to sleep. We hoped to have Ramy in our dreams.

A friend of Ramy and mine accompanied me to Ramy’s Garden. It was late in the evening. The area was nearly dark. We listened to the above lyrics of a CD and let the music be loud. We thought that Ramy would love it. My friend, however, said it seemed Ramy was telling her, ‘It’s not my type of music, mate.’ My friend and I both laughed and then wept painfully.

When we returned home, a friend of Ramy was there. Talking about music, she said that once she had told Ramy how she loves rap music, and Ramy had said: ‘You can’t believe it. My mum loves it, too! Mum is cool.’ It made me cry again, remembering how Ramy loved and let the beat of loud music fill every corner of the house, as he and I would enjoy listening to it!

Ramy loved studying Law and Psychology. He intended to eventually enter International Law and possibly work in the United Nations. He was quite nervous about the first year subject Jurisprudence. It is meant to be a very dry and difficult subject. He was nervous that he, like some fellow students, may not pass this subjects. He sat the examination for Jurisprudence and Psychopathology prior to leaving for Iran, where he lost his precious life. He achieved a grade of high distinction in both these subjects, but only found out about his achievement in one of these subjects prior to the fatal accident.

He was awarded the Trevor Martin Prize for Jurisprudence on 17 April 2007. Sadly, he was not here to celebrate his achievement. His family attended the ceremony and received the award on his behalf. The staff of Division of Law, were incredibly kind and caring towards Ramy's family.

Both sad and wonderful! This evening, an hour before going to the university for the Presentation of the Trevor Martin Memorial Prize for Jurisprudence to Ramy, I went to his garden. Over there, in tears and deep pain, I placed some flowers for my beloved son, as my whole being was burning with a desire that Ramy could be with us for the night to personally receive his prize. Just then I heard a soft sound, and soon I felt the weight of a big bird sitting on my head.

It was a white Cockatoo, who had directly landed on my head. Standing there quiet, I remained motionless, as my heart was filled with joy, appreciation, and amazement. I whispered, ‘Thank you, Ramy! Is it you!?’ Just then the bird softly moved down over my right shoulder. I could feel the touch of its soft feathers next to my cheek, before it walked gently and directly towards my heart. The beautiful Cockatoo remained there for a while, as he was clinging on my cardigan with its claws, watching me.

I was not weeping anymore but appreciating the loving presence of the bird. Soon after, the beautiful Cockatoo flew down and sat on the grass, in front of me. We stared into one another’s eyes. In complete silence, I could feel an aura of pure love, encircling the three of us: the bird, Ramy and me!

Congrats on the award my dear. I am so very very proud of you & only hope I can one day achieve a fraction of what you achieve in this short time.

Last night was the award winning ceremony in which Ramy would have been awarded the top award for one of his law subjects, Jurisprudence. To me, this ceremony was like Ramy’s graduation ceremony. I could see Ramy in his graduation outfit, receiving his Law - Psychology degree. I visualised him collecting his degree from Professor Croucher, head of the Faculty of Law.

She would always speak of how she personally knew Ramy because, unlike other students, Ramy would not hesitate to directly knock on her door when he needed to discuss an important matter. She would talk about how he was always surrounded by a dozen friends who would patiently wait outside for him, when Ramy was leaving and she could see them through the half open door.

In the ceremony, Maziar, Mona, Hassan, and I (with Ramy’s enlarged photo) were all there, smilingly but full of tears in our eyes. I recognised few of the professors as soon as I walked in, purely based on Ramy’s descriptions. This made my heart ache. I remembered how he would come home from university and excitedly describe his professors with a sense of sincerity, appreciation, and humour. It also made me smile with admiration and pride.

Last night, it was sad, very sad, but, ‘Our Beautiful Ramy, you made all of us feel so proud of you! And I know that wherever you are, you will keep your great personality and your friendly approach to everyone. I know that your sweetness and your pure nature will be with you forever. No matter where you are! You are always uniquely Ramy and will be remembered with love!’

Tonight we stayed at home, welcoming Ramy’s friends who wanted to celebrate Ramy’s achievement with us. We had dinner, drank Coke Zero for Ramy, and talked about him and his exceptional personality: having wisdom and wit both. Everyone had a story to recall and make others laugh. We intended not to be in tears but to celebrate the night. We said: ‘It is Ramy’s Night!’

It seemed to me that for the first time after Ramy’s divine flight his friends and his family were loudly laughing in our home, as if our sweet Ramy himself was sitting next to us, reminding his funniest memories and remarks.

At midnight, however, when Ramy’s friends were leaving, I wondered how it was possible that we could laugh despite the situation. As this thought crossed my mind, I saw Mona walk to the dinning table and picked out one of the many envelopes delivered in the mail that day. She ripped it open and passed one yellow leaflet on to me. On it, four lines stood out on my first glance: ‘But when you laugh / and sing in glad delight, / My soul is lifted / upwards to the height,’

Receiving an immediate reply to my inner thoughts stunned me; I couldn’t believe my eyes, seeing that a poem appropriate for the moment had been earlier posted to me from Melbourne. At the end of the poem, I found only these words: ‘With love, to you Shahin, from Cynthia.’

Reading then the whole poem, I felt both: grateful to my caring friend, Cynthia, and hopeful to my sweet son, Ramy. It all made me get the impression that through his loving nature, and a kind of awareness that belongs to the beyond, Ramy is taking care of everything in advance, to support his loved ones in any possible way.

It was late, very late, but I was still there, around Ramy’s Garden. It was dark. Before leaving for home, I turned the music loud. I knew nobody was around. I felt Ramy was just next to me; we both were listening to the music: ‘Nobody cries, I’m alive; Nobody dies,’ I heard the words in the song and asked my son how he could give such precise answer to my painful thoughts to make me calm.

I lit a candle. Its flame jumped up, over and over, smouldering. I considered it as a sign from my son and thought that my beloved Ramy wants to visit me. I sat down. I closed my eyes, and cleared my mind of all thoughts, feeling relax. I flew to the village of my dreams. I saw me in the front of a wooden old gate. I looked back. On the slop of the mountain, the village was stretching under my eyes. It was quiet, happy, and very beautiful. The landscape beyond that was vast, serene, and golden. I gazed out, further, the scattered heaps of green trees indicated that other villages were nestling under their canopies.

Turning my head, and arriving at the gate, I walked into my spiritual world. Over there, I saw orchards of almond trees. They were in full bloom, filling the air with sweet, pleasant scents. Short or tall trees were scattered around. Somewhere, there were clusters of grapes in yellow, green, or red; they were hanging from the branches of vine trees. Some branches rose high, curling and hanging from some other trees. I saw all around. Ramy was not there.

I took the pathway to go up at the top of the green hill that looked like fantastic pieces of emerald within the rocks. Yet, I felt sad. My beautiful Ramy was not there. I stopped walking, thinking where I could find him. Just then, suddenly, my beautiful son jumped in front of me.

‘Ramy, you scared me! Don’t you think I could have a heart attack!’ Laughing with happiness, I told him and felt nothing was changed. It was exactly like the occasions when that rare, rare, beautiful bird liked to play that game with me.

I took his soft hands in mine; I pressed and kissed them, as a sense of deep happiness filled my heart. Climbing the hill, soon we were over its top: an infinite flat landscape, smooth, dreamy, beautiful! Walking, we approached a brown, wooden bench, which was surrounded with small delicate flowers in white, pink, and purple.

Ramy sat down in the bench. I sat on the ground, covered by a thick carpet of short grass. I put my arms around Ramy’s legs and leaned my head on his knees. As usual, he was in his blue jeans.

‘No! Please let me sit here. Let me kiss your feet. Let me feel free.’ I said and burst into tears.

‘I miss you, my sweetheart. Further, I was not the perfect mother for you. Many times I behaved selfishly.’ I cried louder.

‘Mum, don’t say that. I wasn’t perfect, too. Sometimes I hurt you, too; especially, when I disagreed with what you believe was better for me to do.’

‘Do you remember even we didn’t spend enough time together in the last ten days that we had, and it was for the rest of my life.’ Ramy fell silent, caressing my head.

‘You were busy, seeing friends. I was busy, going shopping. I wanted to buy a red Persian carpet. You asked me to buy a white one,’ I told Ramy and burst into tears again, ‘I told you that if you prefer a white one you can have it later, at your own home, because you have the future in front of you, and I have a limited time.’ I told and burst into tears again. Crying loudly, I told, ‘It was you who had a limited time!’ I wept loudly and painfully.

Looking up, I saw Ramy cry silently. Yet, he helped me to get up. I kissed his shoulders and chest. I looked again into his dark brown eyes. I wiped his tears and told, ‘Ramy, don’t cry. If I’m weeping that’s because I feel as weak as a child.’ I continued to say, ‘Consider me now as your child. Ramy, you are my parents. Don’t cry. Be strong! Give me lesson of strength!’

I saw him smile. It brought light into my heart. I laughed and felt happy. I loved that sweet smile; it belonged to Ramy, showing his happiness or sadness, showing his love or bitterness, showing his uniqueness.

I put my left palm on his forehead, my right palm on his heart, staring into those beautiful eyes, I asked, ‘Which one killed you?’

I burst into tears, ‘And you were lost. You did not know where you were afterward. You could not understand why everything seemed so weird to you. I’m sure, then, you felt you were in a terrible nightmare, without being able to awaken yourself!’

‘Did you realize that you were dead when I told you and took your beautiful frozen body into my arms and asked you do not be scared?’

What a hard time we had. What a horrible, painful time! How can I ever forget those days? How can you forget? I wept loudly, hearing the echo of my crying everywhere.

I smiled, ‘Ok! Ok! I shouldn’t sadden you with my tears.’ I said and continued, ‘I am sure that later when I was praying for your body to leave Iran whole and untouched, you knew that it was not anymore a nightmare, that you had crossed the invisible threshold of this world into another world.’

‘I could feel that you were touching my head, caressing my forehead all the time, as I was praying nonstop.’ I told Ramy and saw him smile proudly, with his head slightly up. I laughed and thanked him.

‘Ramy, my beautiful Ramy, however, I was then submerged in such intense pain, disbelieve, and yearning that I was unable to understand it was you who was touching my head. I was so shattered and lost that could not think of anything other than your innocent soul can help me take your beautiful body whole out of Iran to Australia. I could not understand that it was you who was standing at my side and trying to give me love, support, and comfort. Yet, I am so grateful! So grateful! You wanted to tell me that you were just next to me.

I saw his charming smile again. So innocent, so childish, so proud, the smile made me cry.

In weeping, Ramy joined me. The two of us were crying painfully. ‘I’m sorry, my dear little boy, I always make you sad.’ I wiped Ramy’s tears and continued telling him, ‘Now, these terrible memories are not anymore important. The most important thing is that I love you, that you love me.’ I sighed and added, ‘Your sister, your brother, your dad, and all your friends love you, and you love them. Everyone who knows you is so proud of you and your golden heart.’ He smiled, in tears.

‘Mum, write down! Write down about me! Mummy, write down about what happened! Promise! Please, promise me!’

I kissed Ramy’s face, his head and his hands. He accompanied me down to the gate. In front of the pale blue gate, he let a blue bird sit on his index finger and, then, he approached me.

‘Mum, I can still see when you catch a Lorikeet just to kiss it.’ I recaptured the moments. It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in late spring. Sitting on the veranda, Ramy and I were watching a Lorikeet that sat on my palm to eat apple. The beauty and splendour of the bird made me suddenly grab it to kiss. The bird was frightened, screaming for his freedom. Ramy, who was still a child, was screaming that I was cruel and made the bird scared to death. Though I let the bird fly soon, every now and then, Ramy would laugh and blame me about my desire of kissing a bird.

‘Now, take it, Mum!’ He told me and put the blue bird on my shoulder. I softly picked the bird up and kissed it many times. This bird seemed being partly Ramy or his new world. Or was it somehow just the embodiment of my beautiful Ramy? The bird was not screaming or frightened, but could feel the depth of my love that was pouring through my heart on him, on Ramy, and the surroundings. I could sense the same feeling: there was a sense of connection and divine love all around.

‘Ramy, I love you with my whole heart, and my whole soul, and my all cells.’ I told him, as the sadness I felt at his loss made streams of tears wash my face. Watching him with love, pain, and regret, a devastating yearning that was killing me burnt my heart. Now we hardly spoke. He was quiet and somehow sad, having blue birds all over his body from head to toes. We opened the heavy blue gate. In silence, he stood close to the gate and waved goodbye, as I walked away from him.

I opened my eyes. I took a pen and began to write, before going to Ramy’s Garden. Over there, different birds were waiting for me to sit on my palms, my head, and my heart!

I dreamt of being in a big house, which was pleasantly full of sunlight, furnished nicely, and its floor was covered with finest blue and red Persian carpets. Yet, I was extremely sorrowful, thinking of Ramy. Then, suddenly, two kids arrived: a boy around two and a girl around four years old. The two of them were beautiful, neat, and sweet. Their presence poured joy and happiness into my heart. Without knowing who they are, I felt that I have to get the best care of them and shouldn’t neglect them even for a second.

Standing around the cute kids, I watched them with love, wonder, and admiration, and would give them whatever they needed or wanted. When I offered some food to them, they ate with a look of appreciation, and that made me feel very happy. The beauty and loveliness of the two kids reminded me of Maziar and Mona when they were at the same age.

Later in the afternoon, I felt the cute boy and beautiful girl wanted to go to their parents. I knew where was their home; it was very close to mine, along the same street where I was living. Concerned about their safety, I decided to go with them. I felt that not only it was my duty but it also was vital to me to make sure they get home safe and sound.

Before leaving home, I saw some Danish cookies and Lebanese baklavas in a large plate on the coffee table; as at the same moment, Ramy came vaguely onto my mind. Thinking of him, I smiled and picked some cookies to eat. The little kids were watching me; they wanted to know what I was eating. I took one big Danish cake and broke it into two halves, and handed each kid one piece. I knew that after having lunch they were not really hungry to have one Danish each.

Yet, they were eating their cakes with delight, smacking their lips, as I was joyfully watching them. Then I took the kids’ hands in mine and we left the home. Walking down the street, I was again very concerned about their safety and tried to explain to them how to be safe. It seemed that they trusted me and would obediently do whatever I asked them to do. Walking at the sidewalk, the little kids would listen to my advice, and I felt so happy being at their sides. Soon we were in front of the house that belonged to the kids and their parents. I knocked on the door, which was immediately ajar. Before I could see who opened the door, however, the sound of the knocking woke me up.

Opening my eyes, in astonishment, I asked myself about the meaning of the dream. I asked myself, ‘Who could they be?! Who are these beautiful kids that so easily robbed my heart and occupied my thoughts to ease the devastating pain of Ramy’s loss in my dream!!!’

Even though, Hassan and I left home in the morning, it was late in the afternoon, when we went to Auburn, a suburb of Sydney, where I had heard Ramy liked occasionally to go there with friends to have dinner in a restaurant. After parking the car, Hassan and I walked to an escalator, which was going up to the shopping centre. Standing there in complete despair, deep bitterness, and profound grief, I received a celestial gift. What I saw was mere bliss. I witnessed a miracle.

I suddenly saw Ramy. He was in his white-hooded-jumper and his black Nike pants, sitting in a bench, which was placed against the top of the escalator. With the Lebanese hairstyle, that I knew he loved, he looked proud. The sides of his head were well shaven, and on the top his hair was darker, golden, and long, staying upward with hair gel. Up there, sitting in the bench, it seemed he was just waiting to get my attention. And he did. I saw him; as with those beautiful eyes, he was staring at me, wondered, worried, and somehow proud.

I saw him as a strange sensation, like passing electricity through my brain, seized my mind so strongly that I couldn’t say a word, or even to blink, and perhaps not to breathe. It all, however, was for a fraction of moment. Ramy and I stared into one another’s eyes, and when my sweet son was sure he had got my whole attention, he suddenly got up from the bench and softly left someone else’s body, a young man who was still sitting in the bench. Tall and handsome, then, Ramy rose up around one-metre-high above the seated boy, and let me still see the upper part of his body, in his pure white jumper, before disappearing in the air, with those deep, beautiful eyes and his sweet smile, in front of my eyes.

Speechless, I walked away from the top of the escalator and stayed close to the bench, staring at the slim young man who seemed being in his early twenties. He obviously was unaware of presence of Ramy and me. Perhaps, he had felt the same sensation of passing of electricity through his mind and body, without knowing what a great favour he was going to do for us. Unaware, yet, as a psychic medium, he let Ramy and I, both desperate to have a physical glimpse of each other, have the improbable experience through him. The great gift of visiting my beautiful son poured huge light and hope into my heart.

Standing motionless there, with a profound feeling of both ecstasy and disbelieve, I watched the young man. Deep in thoughts, he was not even noticing my presence. Looking at him, I could see that he was not really similar to Ramy, except having the same hair-style and almost the same clothes: wearing a white-hooded-jumper and black sporty pants. Watching the young boy for a while, I felt unable to walk away. I wished to go to him and take him into my arms, and kiss his head and his hands; even though, I knew now that he is not my Ramy. I knew, as well, that approaching the boy and telling him about the mystic happening, he would be frightened.

At the same time, knowing my son had used that young man to ease the horrible emotional pain that I felt the whole day at his loss, and the task I had accepted to do, made me deeply appreciative towards my Ramy. I felt also very grateful towards that young man, whom I dare not thank him directly.

No wonder that, on the day Ramy had tried so hard to vividly show himself to me. That day was so devastatingly horrible as if the whole world was on my shoulders. On the day, Ramy’s dad and I had forced us to visit different places to choose and order a nice memorial stone for our beloved Ramy. This task was so horrifying that we had postponed it till then.

So, in profound bitterness, despair, and a sense of hatred towards life, I was nonstop repeating my silent words to Ramy, telling him that it was his duty to find a stone for me, not mine! Asking him the rhetorical question again and again that why he left us, I could not stop to request him to take care of himself and to be safe and happy.

I was wishing him happiness because I could sense that like me he was in deep emotional pain and sorrow. I could feel that not only he was carrying his family’s horrible sense of grief but also his friends’ great pain at his loss. I knew that he was completely aware of the killing despair in my soul.

So throughout the day my beloved Ramy never left me. I could constantly feel his loving and vigorous touch on my head and forehead. I would hear his silent comforting words. I well knew that he was trying to help me, to give me strength. Sometimes, I even felt he apologize to me. In particular, when I would complain and ask him how he could put such an enormous task and bottomless pain on me, I could sense how desperate and miserable he felt: so miserable perhaps worse than me!

Later on the same day, after seeing my beautiful Ramy above the escalator, Hassan and I left the shopping centre and walked along the main street. Yet, it was in his memory, knowing that my dear Ramy liked Auburn and its surroundings. So being there, I looked at everything with so much curiosity, as if I wanted to transfer the details of the area to Ramy’s awareness. It was now dusk, and I was walking aimlessly down the street, when I found myself in front of a barbershop.

There, something stopped me. I turned my head and saw a young man who looked like Ramy. The barber had just finished the haircut and the boy was looking at himself in the mirror with delight. Like Ramy, the hair on the top of his head was longer with a mixture of golden and dark colour. Like him, the boy had big, dark, beautiful eyes; I could see his face in the mirror, as the back of his shaved head was towards me.

The shiny head of a good-looking young man whose shaved hairs were fallen around him on the floor took my attention, as well. He, too, reminded me so strongly of my son that I wished I could kiss his head instead of Ramy’s. The man brought, into my mind, Ramy’s twenty-first-birthday party, which was a year earlier before his divine flight. I could see my Ramy with his totally shaved, shiny head. I could see my beautiful son, who was smilingly standing between the friends at the night of his party: he looked almost quiet and thoughtful but somehow satisfied and proud. A nostalgic yearning suddenly burned deeply my heart!

To combat my crazy emotions, I turned back towards the street. I saw a group of boys who seemed being in their latest teens. Standing exactly in front of me at the other side of the street, they were noisily talking and loudly laughing. Amongst them, in dimness of the dusk, I saw the one who seemed to me as if he was Ramy himself, indeed!

So similar! I could not believe my eyes! Wearing a white-hooded-jumper, exactly like the one I had bought for Ramy, he had also put on a beige cap on his head. It looked so odd. Bewildered, I watched the boy, whose appearance was so similar to Ramy: the same built and height, the same gestures, giggles, and behaviours, the same complexion. I saw so vividly Ramy in him that I really wanted to cross the street, which was full of cars. I needed to watch that boy closely. I desired to make sure if he was or he was not Ramy. I wished to go to him to cuddle him.

However, the boy suddenly decided to leave. Waving to his friends, he pulled the hood over his cap. He inserted his hands into the jumper’s pockets at both sides, and swiftly walked away: all exactly in the same way that Ramy would do. I wished to run after him and take him into my arms. But, in a second, he vanished amongst the crowd.

Back home, I was in deep grief; yet I had a sense of ecstasy, wonder, and profound gratefulness in my heart. I had directly seen my son. I had witnessed his love and efforts to create and arrange the moments by which the people on my way could mystifyingly give me a physical glimpse of him. Depicting himself in a few different periods of his life, he was also trying to give me a message: the immortality, awareness, and power of our souls after death.

‘Mum, move on. Life is not always pretty, but you have a time that should use it. Take life easy. Enjoy it; use it. Enjoy playing with Sultan. Take care of my brother and sister. Don’t waste your life. Life is too short. Enjoy it. You will one day join me. Then I’ll come to take your hand. I’ll teach you to fly; however, you instinctively know how to fly.’

In the silence of the night, I was walking along a quiet street with Ramy’s dad and his puppy, Sultan, as Ramy was talking to me. He was caressing my head all the time.

At Ramy’s Garden, there were many birds. Two lovely Lorikeets were sitting above the head stone. In tears and emotional pain, I stared at the birds and asked, ‘Ramy, you know how deeply I love you! Tell me where you are now? Tell me!

The two Lorikeets flew away. I got the impression that the two birds were Ramy and Mani. I felt the answer to my question was: ‘I am flying with a friend.’

In a dream, Ramy came to me. He was in blue jeans and green shirt. Like always, he looked extremely handsome especially with five o’clock shadow. He kneeled down, and placed his right hand on his knee. His left hand was on his waist. I approached him and gave him many kisses on his head and his cheeks. I told him, ‘Where are you? I don’t see you much!’ He laughed happily and heartily. With a kind of content, he said, ‘I was with Mani. We were in their house.’ I told him, ‘I guess you were playing with Sara’s kids; it seems you like Mani’s niece and nephew.’ With a big laughter, Ramy said, ‘Yes!’ When I woke up, I could still hear the resonance of Ramy’s happy laughter. I felt so grateful that my sweet son let me see him so happy and perfect.

It was raining. The whole day was gloomy, murky, and dark, making me feel even worse with a burning heart. Around twelve-thirty at mid-night I felt that so desperately I needed to talk to somebody, to anybody! I walked to the phone and called my sister, Roohi, in Iran. It seemed, however, nobody was home to answer me. Feeling very disappointed, I didn’t know how to ease that sense of despair in my soul.

Just then, I heard the recognizable sound of a fast, constant beeping in the background. Like rays of sun, that rhythmic sound poured light into my heart. I thought Ramy was on the phone, too. That made me smile; then, immediately, something stranger happened.

I heard the dialling tone of my phone together with Maziar’s voice, conversing with somebody else in the morning: both superimposed on the beeping sound. Speechless, I thanked Ramy in my heart. I knew that whenever he finds me in extreme emotional pain, he would try his best to help me in any possible way. I felt that this time he wanted to get my attention to the phone in order to ease that horrible sense of longing for him in my soul.

Then I hung up and for the second time I called my sister. ‘Mum, I am Peimon!’ I heard the words and thought my nephew had accidently called me Mum. I asked him how he was and how he liked his tertiary education. We talked about his studying, his friends, and his life overseas. After a few minutes speaking, I asked, ‘But how it happened that now you are in Iran not in Canada. When did you go there? Why?’

It seemed my question made him horrified. I could sense that the tone of his voice changed. Frantically and louder he told me, ‘Mumm! I am in Sweden! Why do you think I am in Canada? I am in Sweden, Mum! How you think I am in Iran?’

At his remarks, I became silent. For a while, none of us could say a word. I thought why instead of Auntie, my nephew was calling me Mum. I also couldn’t understand why he was insisting he was in Sweden, while I knew he had gone to Canada. Further, he was now obviously in Iran, because I had called my sister in Mashhad and her son had answered me.

When we continued to talk again, we found out the truth: he was relieved to know I was not his mum; I knew he was not my nephew Peimon, but another young man with the same name. The two of us not only were astonished of that bizarre phone connection, but we were also amazed of the similarity of the voices and the sameness of his name with my nephew. Wishing each other a good day, then we said goodbye and ended the phone call.

Then, I decided to carefully dial my sister’s home number one more time. ‘Mum!’ A girl excitedly called me and continued to say, ‘How are you? I miss you so much! I miss you, Mum!’ Astonished, once again, after a short conversation, I had to tell her that I was not her mum. But she wouldn’t believe me, asking why I was joking, as she was recognizing my voice. I reassured her that I was not joking; I added that I was not even in Iran but living in Sydney.

At this, she became silent for a while and then, in disbelief, she told me that she was talking from Germany and she was sure that she had dealt her mum’s number in Tehran with all phone’s codes. I told her that I did the same from Sydney, but it seemed the phone lines were somehow connected. With a mother’s love, tenderly, then I asked her not to be worried, but to call her mum again. We wished each other a good day, said goodbye, and ended the phone call.

In silence, afterwards, I sat close to the telephone. I felt thrilled that through those mystic phone connections my son did both: easing that overwhelming yearning for him in my soul, and calling me through others: ‘Mum!’ I knew as well that instead of my sister Roohi, who was not home, Ramy made two strangers talk to me. I sensed Ramy was telling me that I am always his mum, and he is always my beautiful son, no matter where we live. I looked at his photo, in front of me, and stared into his beautiful eyes. I thanked him with deepest love and felt Ramy smiling, too, when I smiled.

Having lost Ramy!!! How can I ever believe? The pain of living without him is terribly intense. Life is unbearable! How did I survive after his loss? How we could survive with such a horrible paint? But I am here; we are here! Because, there are still duties, promises, and emotions that are not personal, but relate to the lives of other individuals.

In fact, what still gives value to life is love, closeness, support, and being there for one another. This love between us provides hope and strength to bear the unbearable pain, to endure Ramy’s loss, and to be able to live.

I am in particular very grateful to my children, Maziar and Mona. Their unconditional love, care, and thoughtfulness – as the most precious gift to me – is helping me survive!

Listening to people’s dreams about Ramy, I can vividly see him on my mind. I saw him today playing under the sunshine as a five years old boy, when my friend Fahimeh called me from Canada and told me her dream. As she continued to tell more, I could see my sweet son in his green pants and orange shirt. I could see him running along a river with a stick in his hand. I could see how his brown hairs with golden locks were moving with the wind. I could even see my friend’s late sister who had never had a child; but she was affectionately watching my son with a mother’s concern and love, as if they were the mother and the child.

Exhausted, tired, disappointed, drowned in despair, I looked at Ramy’s photo. Staring at him, I got a vision. I saw myself like a bird with two big wings fly in a blue space. I saw myself blue. It seemed that I was going to Ramy! It was so pleasant, so wonderful! What a beautiful vision! What an exquisite feeling!

It’s shattering! Ten days ago, after heart surgery my eldest sister Ashraf passed away in the hospital from heart failure. My other sister Mahin, who had travelled to Germany to visit her daughters, became seriously ill with heart problem. She had to have heart surgery, too; but it seems she has lost the will to live. She is in coma and there is not any hope if she can survive.

At Ramy’s Garden, I asked Ramy if he is angry at his family who persuaded him to go to Iran, and that if it is the reason why he wouldn’t come into our dreams. I told him how all of us are desperate to have a glimpse of him even in our dreams. To light a candle, I sat there, wept painfully, and complained to him that it was his duty to take care of my grave not mine.

When I retuned home, I was terribly depressed. Then as it usually happens, I received a few phone calls by which I felt a bit better. Talking to Miss Bastani could particularly bring some ease to me.

She and I had met each other years ago; but we made a sincere friendship after Ramy’s divine flight. That made me think it was Ramy’s wish to help me through that wise lady. Ramy had seen her during his childhood, and she had an image of my son as a cute beautiful child in her mind.

But seeing Ramy’s photos as a young man and listening to the stories told by his friends about his morality and devotion, it seems she has found a special spot in her heart for my son. She even put Ramy’s photo within the frame of her respected spiritual mentor on the wall of her home, believing that Ramy’s innocent eyes talk to her whenever she looks at them. I feel more grateful than ever that this faithful lady prays for my son on occasions that are sacred to her.

So, before she had even spoken to me, it brought some warmth into my heart when I heard her voice. She happily revealed that how, with a sensation of meditation, she saw Ramy, who in white outfit and blond locks, approach her. Sitting in front of her, silent yet full of excitement, Ramy had started to meditate.

After that phone call, I decided to do what Ramy had done on that wonderful vision. Like him, I sat down on the carpet and lit a candle. With an agitated soul and restless mind, then, I tried to calm myself to meditate! Sensing a mystic connection between my friend, Ramy and me, I felt very grateful to both: my son and my friend!

My niece doctor Roya called me from Germany. She told me about her dream on the second day of Ramy’s flight:

Ramy was standing at the side of a car on the road. Looking at the three injured people on the ground, Ramy was continuously repeating: ‘It is a mistake! I was not in the car!’

Later on the day, I forced myself attending a Yoga class. Over there, whatever I was doing, I was grieving all the time for Ramy. I had to try hard not to cry as I was asking myself where Ramy is now. Lying down on the floor, I looked at a round window on the ceiling and told me that Ramy is out there. The mere darkness of the night, beyond the windowpane, however, made me say: Ramy is gone; he vanished within that darkness! It broke my heart! I shivered!

Just then a circle of beautiful blue light appeared over there and embraced the entire window. It looked so surreal that I first thought it was but an illusion. Then I found out it was the moon, which had been hidden behind the clouds. I took that dreamlike occurrence as a sign form Ramy. The moon filled my heart with light. I smiled; I thanked Ramy and the Moon!

Late at night, I was writing a poem for Ramy. Suddenly one of his childhood’s photos appeared on the screen of my computer. I left the pen on the notebook. Ramy and I stared into one another’s eyes for a long time!

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when I went to Ramy’s Garden. Even though, it wasn’t a rainy day, I saw a big drop of water falling down from the corner of Ramy’s right eye on his cheek. ‘He is crying,’ I thought; ‘but he is laughing on this photo,’ I whispered, and sat there, and burst in tears. As if the birds were aware of the immense pain in my soul, they flew towards me. Few of them landed on the ground; others took different corners of the head stone, all surrounding Ramy and me. I saw my two sweet colourful Lorikeets, a few whitest Cockatoos, and a flock of grey Noisy Miners. The birds poured warmth and courage into my heart; yet, they could not stop the streams of tears on my face.

My beautiful Ramy, it was on such day when last year, like a beautiful bird, you flew to Iran. It hurts deeply, thinking about it. Please forgive me Ramy! I could not save your life. Forgive me for my failure. Even though, I cannot forgive myself for this huge failure in my life!

It was five o’clock when Hassan and I went there. Soon it got dark. In the silence of the Macquarie Park, we stayed at the foot of Ramy’s Garden, each talking in our minds to him. When it was darker, I stared at the stones of his garden. Everything there looked celestial. The reflection of the moonlight on the stones was blue. Few candles were burning and creating a dreamy light. ‘You have created a small paradise here,’ I thought. ‘This silence of the night, all these dreamy lights, all look divine,’ I told my sweet son. In silence, then, we walked to the car and return home with Ramy in our hearts!

It was 2 in the morning. In tears, I was writing a poem for Ramy, ‘The Lock of Your Hair,’ the same lock that I cut from his hairs to keep it for me.

Thinking of my sleeping beautiful son, my heart was burning, as my traumatised soul was trying to find him somewhere, anywhere! Then, I felt the blowing of soft but fast breeze or quick movement of a hand beside my ear. It seemed as if a bird was flying fast and passing very close from the right side of my face. I heard the sound! I felt the touch! It was magical!

These days are so painful! How can I live! Forgive me, my Little Bird; forgive me for my failure to save your life! I couldn’t! Please forgive me! Please, forgive me, my baby!

Ramy, are you aware that it’s nearly a year from the day you left us? That’s why we feel even more miserable; while, in quest of solace, we try to turn to the people who try to help us with their presence in our house on these horrible days. There are your royal and loving friends, our caring friends, and a few members of my compassionate family who have kindly come from Melbourne.

You, Ramy, are not physically between us; but, spiritually and emotionally, you are with us! You are all the times in our hearts and thoughts. We are thinking of you! You are with us!

Our dear, sweet, beautiful traveller, where did you go? Ramy, have you migrated to another place, to another world, to a different dimension? Why did you go!!!

Everywhere around your garden, our home, the hall that we had a ceremony in your loving and precious memory is full of flowers.

The flowers remind every body of both: your beauty and that your life was as short as the flowers!

Thanks so much to the many people who came to Ramy’s Garden in such a cold morning. Thanks so much to countless people who attended Ramy’s sad anniversary in the evening.

We all are so exhausted and feel so miserable! Only talking about Ramy helps us!

Today, my nephew Peimon with Maryann and her mum Cynthia went back to Melbourne. In Ramy’s memory book, Maryann wrote: ‘We came and you were not here!’ At this, we both embraced and cried painfully.

The short remark took us back to three years ago, when Ramy met his cousin and his lovely wife for the first time. Then Ramy was a shining star amongst his happy family. Now he is the shining star at the depth of the skies, watching the streams of tears on the faces of his loved ones.

Nothingness! I received a phone call from Iran. My sister Mahin passed away at 4.30 in the morning, around the same hour at dawn, in the same week of year, between the flight of her two beloved nephews, Ramy and Mani!

I am so grateful that I am here in Sydney within my family, with my dear children. My dearest Ramy is around, too. I know it!

I can’t believe this! How different was the life when around one year earlier I travelled to Iran! I can not believe this! This destruction! What an ominous year! my Ramy, my nephew Mani, and my two sisters, Ashraf and Mahin, all are gone!

I can not believe myself. Throughout my life I had never ever had a concept of jealousy in my mind; but now, I feel that sense in my heart towards my two sisters. I wish, instead of Ashraf and Mahin, it was me who had died. I wish to go to Ramy!

I feel bad, sick, depressed. It is two O’clock in the morning. I sit down and close my eyes and immediately I find myself over there. I run to the blue gate, to the spiritual world, to my Ramy.

He was on the other side, waiting for me, with a cluster of grapes in his hands. He put his arms around me. I leaned my head on his chest, upon his heart. I kissed his hair. I kissed his face. I walked around him. I kissed the back of his head over the scar from his previous surgery.

‘You’re used to see me like this!’ He told me and smiled, the sweetest smile!

‘No! Mum, please don’t cry,’ he requested, and I saw the shade of deep sorrow in his beautiful eyes.

‘I won’t cry! No! Don’t worry, I am sorry,’ I told my son and stopped weeping. He smiled. But I burst in tears again.

‘Mani, you have promised me not to take my son on the mountains.’ I cried. And I saw Mani. Appearing there immediately, he looked at me and said: ‘Sorry!’

I sat down on the ground, holding Ramy’s legs within my arms, crying. Mani sat next to me. He was in blue jeans; his shiny black hairs were combed neatly as always. He took one of my hands in his. His eyes asked me not to be so miserable.

I got on my feet. I looked at Ramy. I touched his soft arms. He looked very lovely in his green, sleeveless shirt and blue jeans.

‘You walked and walked and didn’t know that you had left our world!’ I told him. Ramy made a childish gesture. Looking at me, he said, ‘Mummy! Mummmy!’ His voice was innocent and sweet. It made me cry.

‘You two, do you know how much sorrow and pain your loss poured on us?’ I told them and forced myself to smile. They didn’t say a word. I told Ramy, ‘Do you know how deeply your friends have suffered and cried? Their mums or friends told me!’

Ramy nodded and gave a picture of his friends on the second day of his flight. It was terribly sad. His anguished friends, boys sitting on the carpet, girls mostly standing around, all were in tears. Seeking solace in silent company of each other, their presence had made a shrine of our house. The scene was too painful, too sad! It made me cry.

‘Unbearably painful! I knew this! Your dad had told me,’ I told Ramy. ‘I feel the pain that your friends went through; I feel it in my heart. It is killing. I cannot stand it! Unbearable!’ I told him again. Ramy was sorrowful and yet he smiled.

‘You and Mani know how the two of you have effected the lives of others!’ I asked them. They both smiled, but it was like as if they were crying.

‘After your flight first my sister Ashraf followed you, and then my other sister, Mahin – your loss had deadly effect on their hearts!’ I wiped my tears and asked: ‘Have you seen my sisters?’

‘Aunty Mahin asked me happily that Ramy jun how I see you? It seemed she didn’t know.’ Ramy told as he was smiling and looking up, turning his head a bit to the left side.

‘She didn’t know what?’ I asked him; even though, I had realised what Ramy meant.

I was in tears again, thinking of Ashraf, Mahin, Mani, and Ramy. In less than a year, they were all gone.

‘Well, I want you know that I love you very much,’ I told them. The two of them were now sitting next to one another on a bench. Around it there were small flowers in purple, white, and pink that were going up round some branches. I sat on a log in front of them. Watching the two of them with love, I felt they were two very close friends. Then we had some grapes, and Ramy made a childish gesture, ‘Yummy, Mum jun!’

‘He was everyone’s baby in our house,’ I answered. ‘He is very dear!’ I added. We all smiled. I said, ‘It’s too late now. I want to go.’ They smiled; their dark beautiful eyes smiled too!

I embraced Ramy and Mani both. Kissing them, I said, ‘Take care of your aunties. I feel your aunty Mahin is very sad, don’t know why! Perhaps she didn’t want to leave her daughters! The two eldest ones could not farewell her. Germany refused to give them visa.’

I open my eyes. Writing! I feel a bit better and light. Mysteriously and in a mystic way, I am helped. Back from The Garden of Dreams, I am greatly thankful for visiting both my beautiful dear Ramy and my lovely nephew Mani.

Ramy, I miss you! We miss you! We love you! An endless pain poured into our hearts by your divine flight! How innocently you are sleeping there!

Ramy! My dear, beautiful Ramy, we love you with all our hearts and souls. You are in us! You are living through us! Your family are living with you, days and nights! Yet, days and nights, the feeling of guilt is also stabbing our hearts. It is not anymore important what each of us had done for you; we think what we should have done more, or what we shouldn’t have done at all. We can never correct our mistakes. I know that you are laughing at our crazy emotions and thoughts, but we cannot stop being in tears and pain! We have to struggle with the sense of deep regret, that would certainly appear for any family with the loss of their loved one.

You loved sitting in front of the electric heater; but I deprived you from that your little joy. I took your favourite heater away because you would usually forget to turn it off after leaving it. Now, the memory hurts me a lot. It breaks my heart! I cannot provide you any warmth, anymore; it makes me shiver and feel frozen and cold! So cold like you when I took your frozen body into my arms.

There is another occasion for which I can never forgive myself. I constantly remember how on the night of your sister’s big party, I ignored you just because we disagreed over something that selfishly seemed important to me. My behaviour and the way of my thinking were then quite wrong, stupid, and unfair not only to you but also to me!

At midnight, when we were in the car going home, you suddenly revealed your deep feeling of loneliness and being forgotten throughout the night by everyone. Just then – too late – I felt deeply regretful for my own conducts.

My sweetheart, for that occasion, you apologised to me in Iran. I intended to express my apology to you later – unaware that there was no future for you and me to talk about anything. I lost the opportunity and the pain of remorse hurts me so badly like having a poisonous spear deep within my soul.

So soon, as if you had no worries in the world, like a sparrow you flew away into vastness of the skies. I watched you go, unable to fly and reach to you. I saw that like a glass of water, the crystal jar of your life energy turned upside down on my palms and the light of your life slipped through my fingers to sink into dust! Alas! I was unable to do anything!

My sweetheart, I love you so much! Wait for me wherever you are. We need to talk! There is no need I tell you that I love you with my whole heart! I know that you know it! Wait for me. I want to express my late apology to you!

One of Ramy’s dearest friends, who had travelled to London, is back home. It seems that she has tried to ease the pain of Ramy’s loss through travelling on overseas. Today she and other Ramy’s friends are here. It’s great having them around. I know that my son’s friends are seeking him in us as much as we are seeking him in them!

Being alone at Ramy’s Garden, I let me cry loudly, complain, blame, regret, expressing my pain, wishing to leave this world, this life!

Back home, however, my mind became occupied with a question, when Hassan told me that he had a long dream of Ramy during the night. In the dream, Ramy had told his dad that on 12 June 2006 an incident happened that changed everything.

Hassan and I thought about it. We couldn’t reach to any answer. We cannot stop thinking what that could be. What was it? What???

I am so sad for you, for you that have gone, innocent and young! Ramy, you were a part of my soul, a big part! Your loss is devastating! What can I do? Nothing! I can only say that I love you so profoundly that not without you I have any desire to live. Being so shattered, and wishing to join you, yet I have to stay in this world; because, I love Maziar and Mona from the bottom of my heart. And I have to stay for them, to help them bring harmony and balance into their lives. So, I know that I have to confront this bottomless despair that has seized my soul; otherwise, I know, it kills me!

My Beautiful Ramy, our magnolia tree is in full bloom; but you are not here to remind me that winter is getting ready to leave soon. Leaning against the veranda, the tree can feel both your painful absence and my frozen presence. Now thinking of you, I am sitting here close to the tree, where we used to sit and admire its beauty at this time of year.

Covered with big, delicate, pink flowers, the tree now symbolizes you to me. Yet, it can’t give me any ease or comfort. I weep painfully and wish you were here. But you are not here; neither were you last year when, on such a bitter day, your dearest body was flying to Australia. Far from me, far from anybody who loves you, you were sleeping innocently, quietly! At this time of the year you were flying back home! Then I was crying; now I am crying, and instead of hearing your sweet voice, only the breeze is talking to me. The breeze tries to convey your words, whispering that rebirth of the nature is so close, and spring is on its way, and you want I live. To live hopefully!

My sweetheart, living without you, how can I live hopefully? How I can feel any difference between the days and nights, between the months and seasons, when I feel so cold, shattered, and frozen. The ice that touched your beautiful body crept into my heart and soul. I can’t see any difference between winter, spring, or summertime. I don’t know how to ease the horrible pain of living without you.

Living without you! No wonder that from the day I arrived in Iran, I felt obscured with my strange emotions. Even though, it was forty-five days earlier than your arrival, so weirdly, I could not stop dreaming of being seated in a seat on the aircraft with you at my side to leave Iran. Thinking desperately to order a different food on the plane to swap it if you wouldn’t like yours! Visualizing how you and I were welcomed at Sydney Airport by our family! Dreaming continuously of our family gathering, sitting on the veranda, and having tea under the canopy of the tree!

At the same time, I had to also struggle with the invasion of some unwanted memories, which belonged to one and a half years earlier, when we had previously travelled to Iran. I could not, then, stop blaming myself for being down at the end of that earlier trip, when you my beautiful Ramy and I said goodbye to Mani and his mum at Mehrabad Airport. I would remember how sad you were. Instead of being strong to give you emotional support, however, I let my tears make you feel even worse. Then, as the darkness was falling, the call of the Muezzin echoed in the air and bitterness of the farewell crept into our hearts. On a corner inside the airport, you and I stayed behind a tall, white pillar and both wept almost loud. No body was around; our crying merged the call of evening prayers.

My sweet heart, why did we cry? So painfully! And for nothing! Wasn’t it a kind of foreseen or a sign of warning for what was going to happen to you, if you and I were to travel again to Iran? Or perhaps it was our subconscious mind that made you and me burst into tears, because we knew deep down that it was our last departure together from Iran. From Tehran Mehrabad International Airport!

Or, above all, didn’t those streams of tears - with that profound sadness - pour destruction, negativity, and bad luck on us? Alas! We are responsible for whatever we choose to do, for our deeds and even our thoughts!

So being once again in Iran, I promised myself that never again I will be in tears at any airport. I thought that this time I am going to encourage you not to feel sad for leaving Iran, because we could go on a visit whenever you wish. I was determined to be a wise and responsible mum to give you, my sweet Ramy, emotional support to farewell relatives happily at the airport.

Didn’t I know, deep down, that it was just a far dream to leave Iran with you happily? Wasn’t it a dream to say goodbye to everyone smilingly? Yes, it was a dream. It never happened! At the end of our former trip to Iran, you were emotionally hurt; this time you were physically wounded, harmed, gone! What a cruel life!

Yes! My beautiful Ramy, you left me alone and almost dead on a corner of Iran. The land that I adored so much robbed you form me, from your family, from your friends. It filled my heart with hatred, anger, and disgust. At Mashhad Airport, I farewelled my three sisters: unaware that, by the impact of both you and Mani’s flight, they would be soon gone, too!

In a shocking contrast to what I had in mind, I left Iran in sorrow, despair, and a killing pain. I walked to the aircraft without you, as the pain of your loss was savagely ravaging my heart, my soul, and all my cells, one by one! Without you, I was burning inside; a kind of paralysing electric shock was constantly passing through my body and heart; a thunderstorm was destroying, tearing, making my mind and soul disintegrated and apart. Almost dead than living, without you, I left Iran: well aware that I couldn’t do anything for you anymore. You left me without giving me your support; I let you go without showing you my support. Alas!

My sweetheart, after your divine flight, I started to constantly wish not to exist. Your loss made me lose the faith that I had been grown up with. It made me hopeless and sceptical. So, seeking an answer to my sorrow, grief, and doubts, I turned to Nietzsche’s doctrine, that ‘the world is chaos, with no laws, no reason, and no purpose.’ Or that, ‘facts are precisely what there is not, only interpretations’ (WP, 481). ‘Nihilism,’ was then the notion that I would so often have a tendency towards it.

Being in the midst of the chaos, in a worthless world, feeling an unbearable pain, and having lost all faith, I am now asking myself, how is it possible one can survive, to breathe, to live? My sweetheart, I believe, it was the sense of duty and love that kept me alive.

Last year, when I was still in Iran and determinedly wanted to leave the country only after you had left, I knew that our family would wait at Sydney Airport, to welcome their beloved Ramy on this hard day, and to welcome me on the following day. I knew as well that your brother and sister needed the love and support of your dad and me in order to combat the horrible pain of their baby brother’s loss.

I knew that Maziar and Mona and many others, including your loving friends and mine, would care about me and expect that I survive and show strength and offer them solace if they seek. Receiving support and love from many people, my sweet Ramy, you were tirelessly showing me your love and care, as well.

You were touching and caressing my forehead lovingly; as, you would communicate with me through the flame of the candles. Later, I realised that you would also give hopeful signs through music, TV, Radio, light, water, possums, birds, and any accessible and possible way to remind me that you are not lost but are the same and around! Only invisible! I knew that you wanted I live; as I was well aware that your family needed each other, including me, to share the devastating pain of your loss to survive. You wanted we live and let you live through us!

And later, my sweetheart, in great despair, I turned to your remarks, which we had decided to engrave them on the stone of Ramy’s Garden: ‘I live for others, love for myself, and never forget that the difference between improbability and impossibility equals hope.’

Even though, these words evoke opposing feelings in me, I often think to them. Then, sometimes, I ask, ‘Ramy, what was my share? Wasn’t I a part of the others to make you live for me?’ Another times, with resentment, I question you that why one should be so devoted to others that put his own life in danger - as you did. Perhaps it sounds crazy, but so often, I cannot stop thinking that you were taken away from us by an invisible force for the safety of others. This is unfair and painful to me!

My sweetheart, yet your words are deeply carved within my heart: I live for others and try to never forget about hope. It was flicker of hope and sense of devotion, responsibility, and deep love towards you, your brother and your sister, the people whom I love, and even the society that kept me on my feet and made me live. Yes! I live for others! And never forget about hope!

It is better not to talk about such a horrible day. Last year on this day, we said goodbye to Ramy’s dear body. After he travelled across the earth, from town to town, from country to country, from continent to continent, from North to South - painfully and sorrowfully - he finally arrived in Sydney.

My beautiful son had left Sydney like a blue wanderer. He arrived in Iran like a sweetly perfumed rose, covered in a rainbow of lights. He left Iran like a dried butterfly, poisoned by chemicals. Painful! I have to erase this day from my life, not to think!!!

Instead of mentioning anything about the day, I want to sincerely thank the people who - many of them without even knowing us, but just by hearing the painful news - attended Ramy’s ceremony on such a sorrowful day, a year ago. They all showered Ramy with love and respect, as they said goodbye to him.

Now, on behalf of Ramy, his parents, his sister and brother, I would like to deeply and sincerely thank the presence of the heads of the faculty of Law and Psychology, the lecturers, the staffs from the faculty of Psychology; all of whom Ramy dearly loved and respected. I would also like to deeply appreciate the kindness and presence of our friends, the Iranian and Australian society, and above all Ramy’s friends, who were always a precious part of his life.

So shattered! Seeking solace, I turned to The Breakthrough Experience. (Dr. John F. Demartini, The Breakthrough Experience, 2002. Australia: Griffin Press, 2006). Dr John F. Demartini has signed his book for my son:

I have read this book before; yet, having another look into it, once again, it touched my heart. I could not stop my tears falling down. In some passages, I felt that my son is talking to me. How badly I have missed him. How deeply I love him. Love never can be lost or disappear. I love you Ramy with my whole soul and heart!

On your destiny path, you’ll pass through many domains of existence. As you grow in body, mind, and spirit and pass through these concentric spheres of consciousness or phases of life, you’ll break through many illusions (242) . . . Everything is relative . . . because gain and loss are just a matter of perception. Pleasure and pain, and elation and depression, are conserved through every moment and level of life . . . Whatever makes you happy will make you sad to the same degree . . . The whole world is a school, and it’s the illusions of gain and loss, and fear and courage that makes it exciting and depressing, ideal and real, and ultimately fulfilling. At every level or sphere of life, there’s a gratitude-based heaven or an ingratitude-based hell, depending on your perceptions at that moment. No matter how many levels you go through, you’re going to remain in balance . . . We go through an infinite series of concentric sphere, from judgment to indifference and then love, over and over again in a cycle. We’re not here to be one-sided, we’re not even here to be happy – we’re here to love. Love is so much more profound than happiness. Happiness is but a transient emotion compared to the eternal truth, fulfilment, grandeur, and grace of love. And we’re not meant to stay happy anyway. We’re here to grow from quantum to quantum through love. (243, 244)

Thinking of Ramy and reviewing The Breakthrough Experience, made streams of tears wash my face, as my soul flew back to 2006, when I saw Dr John F. Demartini for the first time. The arrangement was made by one of Ramy’s Persian friend Leila, who was attending one of Dr Demartini’s courses in Sydney. It was, then, just few months after Ramy’s divine flight, and I felt unable to go anywhere by myself. So my daughter accepted to accompany me. On the day, I picked up two of Ramy’s photos and chose one of his poems and with Mona left the house.

It was ten o’clock in the morning when Mona and I arrived into a large hall. I saw on the stage a tall, slim, elegant man. He was speaking to the seated audience, and I knew that he was Dr John F. Demartini. Quietly and silently, then, Mona and I walked in the back of the room and sat down in two empty chairs. Although I was not listening, I could repetitively hear the words ‘gain and loss’ throughout the speech. With an odd sense of unreality, I felt as though I was dreaming; I knew that Ramy’s poem was about gain and loss!

But, then, Leila approached me and told Dr Demartini wanted to talk to me. Making my way to the podium, there I introduced myself to Dr Demartini and handed him Ramy’s photos and his poem: ‘Thou Shall Not Mourn.’ First he glanced at both and then seemingly he read the poem. Impressed, he looked at his audience and told them about the amazing sameness of the subject matter of Ramy’s poem and the subject matter of their course on that day: both about gain and loss!

After that, he read the poem aloud. Just the first verse line, ‘A gain of loss or a loss of gain,’ was enough to stun everyone. Giving his massage, at the age of sixteen, Ramy continues to say: ‘You are the one, the two, the three, / Stand your ground and keep your cool, / To cry, to mourn, to yell, to scream, / Life goes on, why don’t you,’ Ramy has ended the poem by the following words, ‘Love what you have, not what you had.’

It seemed the audience were moved by the poem. Nobody talked, but I could hear the sighs! Then, Dr Demartini passed Ramy’s poem and his two enlarged photos to the audience, who were now whispering the words gain and loss. They were around one hundred men and women, and I saw how affectionately they looked at Ramy’s photos and read the poem, before passing them to one another.

Taking two chairs and facing each other in front of the audience, then, Dr Demartini asked me about Ramy. I told him that I lost my beautiful son in a car accident in Iran and I’m terribly missing him. But, he immediately said, ‘You haven’t lost him! He is not missing!’ I looked at him with astonishment, without understanding what he meant. Yet, the conversation continued as, every now and then, I would repeat that Ramy was lost, and Dr Demartini would mention that Ramy was not lost.

We talked more than two hours. Dr Demartini was speaking to me and sometimes to Mona, who had later joined me up on the stage. Then as usual, I was in lots of silent fury and emotional pain, and my heart was burning all the time, but I was trying to keep up appearance. I would not let me cry at all. I knew that I was there to talk about Ramy and that it was not about me. Yet, I could see that instead of me, or Mona, the audience were crying – I was well aware of that sense in my heart!

During our conversation, I told Dr Demartini how guilty my family and I felt because we made it possible for Ramy and encourage him to travel to Iran. I told that, for no clear reason, Ramy was feeling a bit down and we thought it was an opportunity for him to have a little adventure in Iran. I added that, after all, it feels like we sacrificed our beautiful Ramy, without knowing why. Dr Demartini said that on the contrary my family and I had sacrificed ourselves to fulfil Ramy’s wish. He said that, deep down, we knew how much Ramy loved Iran; so, we made it possible for him going there and dying there!

Looking at the tragedy from a different point of view, I didn’t know what to say or to think. I knew that we all always wanted the best for Ramy. After a while, I continued to say that we had anyhow devastatingly lost him and painfully missed him. At my words, once again, Dr Demartini insisted that Ramy is not lost and that nothing is missing, and that I only need to see it.

The certainty in Dr Demartini’s voice broke my heart even more. I turned and stared into his eyes, to strongly indicate that Ramy was gone and lost. But suddenly, something strange happened: Dr Demartini was right! Ramy was not lost! Ramy was there, sitting next to me, staring at me with disbelief, curiosity, his own peculiar cuteness, and love. Through the eyes, he was questioning me, ‘Mum! How could you say I am gone?’

Watching those eyes, I forgot about everything but the fact that how deeply I love my son, as he was staring at me through Dr Demartini’s eyes. Stunned, I put my arms around his shoulders and kissed his head many times.

I cannot explain how this phenomenon happened, neither is it important to seek any reason for such event which is supernatural or mystical or is anyhow a mystery beyond our reasoning, knowledge, and understanding. The most important wonder was the loving, caring, and unmistakeable presence of Ramy next to me.

He was looking at me through the eyes of somebody else: a brilliant, exceptional, knowledgeable, great man. And I deeply appreciate it and believe that Dr John F. Demartini through his wisdom and spirituality, together with great generosity - consciously or subconsciously - let Ramy and I have that beautiful and extraordinary connection through his eyes (I have no idea what Dr Demartini’s interpretation is about the occurrence).

Unaware of what was going around, then, I heard voices and saw being surrounded by the audience on the stage. In tears, they were all standing, but a young man kneeling on the floor with tears streaming on his face. He had blond locks and seemed to be around the same age as Ramy was. He looked pale and was almost shaking. I saw his blue eyes fix on me with the same pain, tenderness, and love that I felt in my heart for Ramy.

The young man had knelt down exactly like Ramy, with the same familiar gesture that I love so dearly. Sitting in front of me like that, I didn’t have any doubt that he was Ramy and wanted to talk about something serious to me.

I walked to him. He stood up and approached me. I took him into my arms. I called him ‘Ramy!’ He called me ‘Mum!’ We embraced and wept. I told him that how much I love him. He told me that he loves me, too. We talked sadly about many things, as we both were crying.

Without any doubt, it was one of the most precious gift that was so wonderfully and generously given to me and my son through Dr Demartini and the young man, and somehow by the beyond. It was the moments of complete bless! It was the moments that I could die for it: having my son alive within my arms, and telling him my innermost feelings, and hearing his loving remarks, what we have been both so heartbreakingly deprived of.

‘Mum, don’t be sad for me!’ Ramy told (through the young man), and wept. After a while, he continued to say, ‘The garden above the mountains was very beautiful.’ The remark touched my heart. Even though, with dislike, I had earlier spoken briefly about that garden, I did not expect to hear those exact familiar words that were secretly told to me in Iran. As we both were weeping painfully, he continued to say, ‘Mum, it was the most beautiful day in my life! I enjoyed my time up there!’ By these words, I was moved, stunned, and shocked.

These words were precisely what Ramy had told to his youngest step-cousin Ali on the night before the accident, when they were still above the mountains, picnicking. Ali was a lovely, honest, and trustworthy young man. He had privately told me about the conversation between Ramy and him, and also the events that had happened on that night leading to as well as after the accident. Ali had survived the accident unscathed but was badly shaken and unwell. Even thought, I had never talked about Ali’s words to anybody, I was unexpectedly hearing those remarks, once again. Only this time, I was obviously hearing the words from Ramy himself who was so dearly within my arms.

As we were talking and crying, I saw his silver chain around his neck. I touched the chain and said, ‘You have put it on. You like it!!!’ He said, ‘Yes!!’ (I had bought a silver chain for Ramy on our previous trip to Tehran. Ramy had taken off his silver chain and its charm, which had a carved prayer on it, before going to the deadly picnic. I could never stop thinking if he had not taken it off, the destiny might be different and Ramy would have been survived).

At that moment, some voices took my attention. As if I was woken up from a deep dream, I looked and noticed that many people were around us. They were in tears. It was like a shock. Ramy and I stepped back. We distanced!

Then, a woman approached me and embraced me. Weeping loudly, she called me: ‘Mum’. I put my arms around her; my heart was overflying with a deep sense of love, tenderness, and care for her.

She told me that how much she misses me after losing me. I gave her a kiss on each cheek and pressed her on my chest. ‘Whenever, you are in the kitchen, whenever you are cooking, I am with you; you are not alone. I am there at your side,’ I told to the young woman. At the same time, like a flash of lightening, I got a vision of an older woman. She was almost tall and quiet and in casual dress, and I knew she was the mother of the young woman. Standing in the kitchen, the mother was calmly and lovingly watching her daughter. I continued to tell, ‘I haven’t left you! Do not be sad!’

I had no idea how I told those words. But the young woman who was weeping painfully, suddenly, smiled and laughed and told others that she felt the presence of her mother in me. Excitedly, she continued to say that after her mum’s death, she couldn’t understand, and also nobody else knew, why she would like to spend so much time in the kitchen. And that now its reason was clear to her.

There were a few other people who approached me, desperate to have a word from their loved ones. Even though, that profound sense of connection was fading, still for a few minutes I felt I am not completely myself but a part of the crowd. With a wandering soul, I was connected to them and to their loved ones who had left their physical bodies. If I was asked a question, the reply was already there in my mind.

Dr Demartini, I believe, was then silent. He was perhaps watching the breakthrough. Watching how everyone was in tears. Were those tears because of happiness, or pain and sorrow, or wonder? In life sometimes the different and contradictory emotions become so mixed that one cannot say which one is exactly which. Obviously, however, lots of love was there. I could particularly sense deep love in my heart toward the young man, whose eyes were still full of tears. Distancing me even more, soon, he had to walk down the stage with the other audience.

I saw that once again Ramy’s photos and his poem were passing with tenderness and admiration between men and women. Ramy was not anymore a stranger to anybody. I felt that all those people had sensed his sweet, warm, loving, and caring presence. I sensed that now they all knew him so well as if they had met him in person.

The audience were now smiling and laughing. The heavy atmosphere of the room had changed. I could feel my beautiful son’s presence in happy laughter of the crowd. I could feel his bright presence in the lights of the hall. I could feel how his presence had filled that large hall with love.

Ramy was there. Like me, I felt, he was extremely grateful for that celestial precious gift that had made him and me able to talk to one another in person, to cuddle, and to feel each other’s physical being once again.

I looked, then, for the young man amongst the audience. I saw him. We both smiled. Not me, and obviously, neither did he feel that he is Ramy anymore. Yearning to somehow see Ramy one more time, I turned to Dr Demartini and looked into his eyes. I saw that elegant man was Dr John F. Demartini. Ramy was not anymore staring at me through those deep brown eyes.

I felt, however, a deep motherly love in my heart for both: Dr Demartini and the young man. Caring about the audience, I specially felt my heart is overflying with a mother’s love and affection toward the woman and few others, who sought their mums in me.

When Mona and I thanked Dr Demartini and said goodbye to leave, he asked me whether was it me, or he, who had decided to meet? And, suddenly, we both together replied: ‘It was Ramy!’

Leila, Ramy’s friend, later told me the young man had exclaimed that from the moment Mona and I arrived there, he felt he is not himself, but somebody else: Ramy! Later, I also found out that the young man’s name is surprisingly Rubin. Ramy and I loved Mr Rubin. It was a soft toy. Mona had received it from a pharmaceutical company when she was a medical student. She gave the teddy bear to Ramy, and he passed it on to me. I called it Mr Rubin and let it sit on a corner of my room. Ramy and I would somehow love and respect Mr Rubin. We especially liked his blue tie and bright eyes.

Reading The Breakthrough Experience, from between the pages, a piece of paper with my handwriting fell out. I have no idea what is the source of these words. The remarks can be extracted from the Breakthrough Seminar, or to be told to me by the psychic lady, who would always pass Ramy’s messages to me. The remarks might be taken from one of the spiritual books that I have read, or could be chosen from Saint Augustine’s book, whose remarks are, as I have in mind, similar to them. The words on the note made me feel as if they are spoken to me, to my family, to Ramy’s friends, or to anybody who has lost a loved one. I decided to write it down here:

To be happy, to take care of yourself. To follow your wishes and dreams and goals in your lives. Enjoy your time. Be always each other’s friend and family, remember me with smile and happily. Don’t you ever be sorrowful or sad for me, but remember how precious you have been in my life and for me and how much I always love and will love you.

The Breakthrough Experience helped me learn some different ways of thinking about the world or viewing it, as I could also expand my knowledge about the reality of the life around me. Recommending, ‘To listen to your own heart and soul (62),’ Dr John F. Demartini would strongly emphasize about the presence of love and gratitude in one’s life. He says, ‘Love is simply a state of nonseparation, where you perceive no division between yourself and some aspects of the world.’ (37) He also reveals that in the existence, ‘Nothing is missing; it just changes form.’ (138) Having faith in the ideas that are presented in this great book, I would like to write some short passages here:

Did you know that your true nature, underneath all of your hopes, fears, thoughts, and feelings, is nothing but love and light? The universe has an inherent balance and order whose expression is this love and light. You have unlimited access to a boundless energy, the same energy that permeates all life–from the core of our radiant star to the centre of a crimson rose. This universal order of love and light resides in the heart of all things, including your heart, and it opens up to you the minute you unlock it with the key of gratitude (23).

But in a state of presence and love, you reintegrate your Kinetic energy and birth a new quantum of creative potential. The purpose of this book is to help you take your imbalanced emotions and reintegrate them back into the enlightening potentiality of love (26).

One of the most profound things you will ever experience is a true open heart in the presence of the one you love. It doesn’t matter if they’re alive or dead–there is a parallel spiritual world; and your loved ones, wherever they are, will be there with you (28).

When we love, we step into the full quantum state, we align ourselves with the forces of life, and the power of the whole universe is suddenly behind us (44).

Eventually, your perceptions of good and bad or right and wrong will begin to fade, and you’ll see just living beings. The longer you practice, the more the invisible walls come down, and you won’t see the distance but the oneness between yourself and the world (81).

Eventually, we’re going to realize that everything is ordered by an Intelligence wiser and greater than we can imagine. Death is a naturally recurring part of the cycle of life; there is no life without death, and the greater the death, the greater the life. The first law of thermodynamics states that energy and matter are neither created nor destroyed; they are only changed in form. It’s also called the Law of Conservation, and it means that nothing in life is ever lost or gained (86).

The greatest discovery in life is that no matter what you do, you’re being supported and challenged simultaneously. The second greatest discovery is that nothing is missing; it’s just in a form you haven’t recognized. Widen your experience and broaden yourself, which is the value of experience, and see that it’s all there just in a new form, and then watch yourself become a master of transformation (116).

Divinity is not some authoritarian personality from theological or religious teaching. The root of the word divine means “to shine,” and as we shine, illuminate, and become brilliant, we approach divinity (121).

Heaven is actually a state of being, and it has an infinite number of quantum levels. The way to expand to the next level is through gratitude. . . . You are basically spiritual- material vibrations, and as you raise the frequency of your vibration through love and gratitude, you attune to ever-higher spheres of that infinite heaven. And there’s no end to it (122).

If the mind is perfectly centred and balanced, local space and time perceptions disappear, and you enter a word of nonlocality. That’s where you have access to anybody, alive or “dead,” at any time and in any place (182).

I went to Ramy. It was getting dark; I felt extremely lonely. At this time nobody is around. Then I heard a sound. I looked around to see what it was. I saw a big, white, beautiful Cockatoo walk to me. I felt Ramy is using the bird to visit me and also not to leave me alone over there, when in darkness of the dusk all birds were in their nests to sleep. Then, I talked to both Ramy and the bird that stayed like a child at my side for long minutes, seemingly listening to me. When I got up to leave, the graceful Cockatoo flew up in the air and we both left Ramy’s Garden. I knew in my heart that Ramy helped the loving bird find the way to its nest.

Tonight, we talked about Ramy. It was getting late, and we could not stop expressing our feelings of love, regret, anger, and pain. At three in the morning, Hassan went to sleep; but we continued to talk about our beloved Ramy till birds started singing and darkness of the night disappeared. It was six in the morning. Yet, we could not reach to any conclusion that whether it was the destiny, or negligence, or whatever else that poured so much pain into our hearts by taking away our sweet Singing Bird from us. What to say? We finally reminded each other that Ramy has gone and we can’t do anything to change what had happened. And it was hard! Too painful!!!

How immortal we, human beings, are; even though, we look mortal. We are made of light in this life of chaos. We ascend to a higher place when we leave our dusty base.

This beautiful body is dust to dust; but the soul is a fraction of light, on a journey to join core of the existence which is pure love and infinite wisdom.

My friend Mahvash called me from Canada; we talked a lot about Ramy. Both sadly and excitedly, then, she told me that on Ramy’s anniversary, on a Grand Music Internet, the song of ‘Hi! Hi! Rashid Khan, Sardar-e- Koll-e- Ghochan’ (Rashid Khan, the Most Commanding Warrior of Ghochan and its Surrounds) was broadcasted. The Persian song belongs to my hometown, where - with my absolute astonishment - had found a special spot in Ramy’s heart; even tough, he had only been there for a few short visits. Dating back to more than two thousand years ago, Ghochan with a different name was once the capital city of the Parthian Dynasty in Persian Empire. Hidden later in the haze of the time, it appeared brilliantly in the history of Iran carrying the name and image of the powerful king Nader Shah.

Centuries later, on the edge of the twentieth century, however, the city collapsed completely and turned into dust by one of the harshest earthquake. The new town of Ghochan was then constructed in another place, far enough from the Old City – as the ruins were called by that name when some homes were rebuilt there, too.

Rashid Khan’s song that - surprisingly with happy beat - talks about the ruined Ghochan must belong to many decades ago. The song’s lyrics in Persian, and Kurdish jargons, convey that Rashid Khan is the city’s gallant warrior, and also the entire surroundings’ popular leader, who seemingly is a tall, dark, handsome man – according to his name and the title.

At the same time, the presence of a dashing young man in Ghochan contrasts strongly to the remaining ruins of the previously prosperous city. Paradoxically, this sense of contradiction is indeed similar to a peculiar sense that comes into my mind whenever I think of Ghochan.

My hometown had always seemed to me a paradise; where I would seek solace, in my mind, over there from the hardship of life. However, after embracing my frozen son over there, I found an undesirable and opposing view towards the town.

That city took my dashing young son! I wonder if the city did the same to Rashid Khan? was he taken away young - like my son - in Ghochan? I do not know the story behind the song. But I know that after losing Ramy I could not forgive my hometown! I am angry to it! So angry!!! Ghochan betrayed me and my son!

I am thinking of a remark expressed by Sadegh Hedayat, Iran’s foremost modern writer of prose fiction and short stories. Somewhere, he says, like an enormous monster, sometimes unhappiness falls so badly on somebody’s beings that the person doesn’t know what to do or how to talk about it to others.

This massive weight of sorrow and grief for the loss of my beloved Ramy has fallen on my heart and clutched my whole beings during days and nights. This unbearable weight reminds me of the writer’s words and the heavy desperation that he has particularly revealed in The Blind Owl.

My Beautiful Ramy, how can I stop my tears? How can your family ease the pain of your loss? I miss you, Ramy!

My beautiful Ramy, I can feel your loving presence in the beauty of nature. I see your image in everything that is hopeful, loving, exquisite, and stunning! I see you in rainbows, when they appear in the clear, blue sky. I see you in wonderful birds and their lovely singing. I see you when a beautiful butterfly is flapping its wings. Pure drops of rain that quench the thirst of the soil, the caress of the breeze on hot days, rays of sun on cold rainy days, all remind me of you. I see you in the smiles of twinkling stars and dreamy beauty of the moonlight. I see you in fragrant roses. And it’s your presence that fill my heart with joy and love!

Over there, it was quite windy! As I got out of my car to go to Ramy’s Garden, Noisy Miners followed me. Surrounded by them, I felt the glow of their love. It seemed not only they knew me, but they recognized my car, too. Perhaps they would call me the strange lady with the bread (sometimes, I take one piece of bread for the birds), I thought and told them that I loved them very much.

As I was walking, I saw two Lorikeets following me, too. They must know how dear they are to me; since, I see them as Ramy and Mani!

Approaching Ramy’s Garden, I realized Hassan was there, as well. Walking away, soon he returned with a bucket of water for the flowers. Just then a beautiful Cockatoo appeared and landed on the grass and screamed loudly. The bird filled my heart with tenderness and love. I told Hassan that this is indeed Ramy himself. He said Ramy was not loud. He was not loud, of course; unless he was angry, I reminded Ramy’s dad. Reminiscing, we both smiled and expressed our love to Ramy and confessed how desperately we had missed him and his cherished traits. After a while I said, see the similarity! Look at the golden locks, as the Cockatoo spread out its beautiful yellow crown!

Over there, the candle was burning inside its small box. The incense was smouldering amongst the flowers. I looked at the Cockatoo and saw the bird walking to us. Look, I said, just like Ramy, with grace, a bit of hesitation, yet solemnly, the Cockatoo walks!

The big white bird then grabbed a chunk of soft bread with one claw, just in front of me, and flew up and sat over a bough. Looking joyfully at the bread and eating it so gracefully, Hassan and I both said: ‘It’s Ramy! Yes, just completely like Ramy at dinner time!’

Once again, I looked at Ramy’s photo. I watched his golden locks, and then stared at the Cockatoo. ‘I love you! I love you, my darling!’ I said. There was no reply! It was now so quiet over there. The Noisy Minors and Lorikeets had left for their nests. The Cockatoo flew away, too. It was getting dark. We walked back to our cars.

She called me from Iran: the slender, tall, beautiful girl who came to Mashhad Airport with a red rose to farewell my sleeping son. What she did then touched my heart forever! She not only was considerate and sympathetic on the day of my horrible grief, but also called me now to see how I am living without Ramy.

Talking about Ramy and the night of the wonderful party in Iran, we told each other that Ramy was shining like a star on that far night!

Then she kindly asked me not to forget Ramy’s wish. So young, around the same age as Ramy, she shyly told me if one asks Ramy what he wants, he would say that he would wish his mummy be happy and to return to her normal life.

Listening to those loving remarks, I thought as if she was conveying Ramy’s message to me. Before telling goodbye, I thanked her, and it was from the bottom of my heart!

Does she know that I am keeping her beautiful image with a red rose in her hand forever in my heart? Like an angel, she emerged there to farewell my Sleeping Prince and that meant a world to me!

I went to a coffee shop to have coffee in memory of Ramy. I ended up, however, to have my coffee with Ramy. It is actually very nice. The Macquarie Park is so quiet. Birds are flying around me. The two Lorikeets welcomed me as always. Sitting in silence next to Ramy’s Garden, I poured some drops of my coffee on the soil before drinking the rest. It was wonderful, when I felt my son’s presence just at my side. It made me smile!

Sydney! His soul most of the time is with us. His body is in rest, close to us. His resting place has become our shrine: a sacred place to us!

Sometimes, Ramy’s Garden take a peculiar form on my mind; I call it then Ramy’s Crystal Coffee Shop. It is upon Ramy’s Garden; where everything has been made with concentrated white light as clear as the finest crystals. Inside it, there are some green plants with delicate, scented, small flowers. They can sing songs if you want. Several magnificent columns of colourful soft light connect everything there to the skies. And I can see all these vividly in my mind!

Ramy’s Garden is not where he is living, but a spot just for meeting! It looks so strange; not only I have felt this, but I have also experienced. Thinking at night of somebody in relation to Ramy, and going there on the next day, it makes me astonished seeing that person walk to me.

It seems, to me, that in the world there is an invisible net of connection through which human beings’ hearts, souls, thoughts, and subconscious minds can mysteriously, and at the same time vaguely, contact.

Sitting in silence, I am thinking we are trying to move on! To live! Then, I felt Ramy’s loss is like a deep, deep, frozen lake. We are walking on a thin layer of ice over it and we should be very careful to keep the layer safe or we would be drowned and gone.

Today I had a harsh sorrow attack. Thinking of him, my beautiful rose, my dear Ramy, I said to myself I welcomed him dead at the airport in Iran. I felt his severe anxiety by which, according to his dad, Ramy had felt lost at Sydney Airport. I just felt it! It came to me like a huge wave of desperation and brought me a vision:

The moment Ramy walked to the plane, he had farewelled his family forever in this life at the airport. I saw the explosion of a dazzling sphere of light inside him which, then, radiated out of his body and, like a rain of thousand pieces and particles of purest white, sparkling, broken crystals, fell down on the ground all around him.

In the middle of that wide, white, glittering circle, Ramy was standing alone - tall and handsome - indifferent or oblivious to whatever had happened to him or was going on. A white faded mist was softly rising from the twinkling particles of his shattered life force energy around his feet.

At Bahrain, I knew, Ramy had passed the border of life. In Iran, he had already been dead when arrived!

Shocked! I was receiving the information in my mind and watching the vision like a film, unable to stop looking at it or to escape what I was shown, which I was repeatedly and painfully seeing. It all made me feel terribly betrayed, as my whole being was seized by a horrible sense of guilt, regret, and rage at my failure to stop Ramy’s journey to Iran and save his life. It was overwhelming. Unbearable! I felt completely sick! Cold! Shivering! My only wish was then to die and get rid of that killing pain and suffering.

Seeing the explosion of Ramy’s life force energy within him shattered me severely. For a few days I remained in extreme grief and deepest despair, unable to cry or to talk to anybody or to share my emotional pain about the horrific vision with others. Then, I received a phone-call from Germany. My niece Lily was on the phone, expressing her relief that she could finally contact me. Then, she told that few days ago, on 3rd of October, in a vivid dream she met Ramy who asked her to pass his two messages to me. Lily’s words about having the dream on the day that I saw the cruel vision made me very curious; but I remained silent and let her reveal the dream with its details:

‘Wearing green and blue clothes, Ramy looked stylish, lovely, and quite well,’ Lily told me. Seeing Ramy’s serious look, and knowing that it was just a dream, Lily said that she had tried to make jokes and laugh and bring smile on Ramy’s face; but he looked tense and deep in thoughts. Then they started to have the following conversation:

‘Lily, I am here, next to you. You are not dreaming. I am here to ask you to pass my two messages to my mum. You should call her.’

In the dream, Lily had laughed and reassured Ramy that it was just a dream. But Ramy told her again that it was not a dream and, in order for her to believe him, he would put a sign on her arm. Then he placed his hand on Lily’s arm and pressed his cousin’s elbow with his index and thumb.

Seeing that serious look, still laughing, Lily said, ‘Well, well! Ok! I believe you. Tell me what are your messages?’

‘First, I want you to tell my mum to take care of herself. I am very worried for her. She should not be sad for me; she should not torment herself.’

‘Well, I am comfortable here. I am in good place. I am really comfortable! I only wish my mum feels comfortable, too!’

‘My second wish is that my mum doesn’t stay at home. She must take some responsibility outside the house; she should do something that she likes. Whatever it is. I loved children very much.’

Lily told me that Ramy looked very serious, and he really, really wanted her to call me and pass on those messages.

Afterwards, Ramy had asked Lily if she could remember that in Iran he was reading a book. In the dream, Lily was immediately reminded of The Art of Happiness. (His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Howard C. Cutler, M. D., The Art of Happiness, 1998. Australia: Griffin Press, Adelaide, 2002.)

Ramy had taken the book to Iran to read it again. There, he had found that Lily had read the book, too. At this, both of them had engaged in a long conversation about the subject matter and the message of the book. They had particularly talked about the ‘Chapter 8 FACING SUFFERING.’

‘Tell my mum to read the book; to read what we talked about,’ Ramy had asked his cousin in the dream.

In the morning Lily had forgotten about her dream. However, as soon as, she had seen Ramy’s sign – the four dark spots – on her elbow, she remembered everything: the dream, Ramy’s request, and the long conversation they had.

Lily’s phone call and Ramy’s requests were indeed a great help to bring me some ease; while, I felt deeply appreciative towards my niece and my son both. Lily let me know the dream; Ramy let me know that he was aware and considerate of his loved ones’ thoughts, feelings, and sorrows.

With a sense of pride towards Ramy, I felt the dream enabled me to walk out of that paralysing state of mind. It helped me cling to a torch of light by which I could shift my focus - from the shattering vision - on Ramy’s wishes.

I walked to Ramy’s room and took The Art of Happiness from his bookshelf. The book brought me back the beautiful image of my son, as if he and I were seated on a sofa, discussing about the subject matter, the message, and the conclusion of the book. It brought into my heart the same sense of content that I would feel whenever Ramy and I talked and realized each other’s inner thoughts or ideas.

With tears of gratitude in my eyes, then, I started to read The Art of Happiness. I knew that there was a reason if Ramy had wanted me to read the book once again.

At the same time, having The Art of Happiness in my hands, I felt– enigmatically–a hopeful, wonderful, extremely calming sense of mystic mind connection between His Holiness the Dalai Lama, the writer of the book, Mr Howard C. Cutler, my Beautiful Ramy and me. It was magical! My heart was overflowing with gratification and love!

Page Seven:

In fact, before going to Iran, both Ramy and I had read The Art of Happiness, as we would share our opinions about some chapters or a paragraph or even one sentence. The tendency of talking about books, films, literature, and philosophy would always present the rare and priceless gift of sensing spiritual connection, mutual understanding, and trust between my son and me. And now, without him and as his wish, I really wanted to grasp the book’s message, once again.

I knew that now I will perceive the writings through a new viewpoint, which could be somehow a silent yet conceivable communication between Ramy and me, as well. And then starting to read and review The Art of Happiness, not only I could get some healing remedy on my soul’s bleeding wound, but I also got some answers to my ‘Whys!’

So, I started to read the book from Part 111, TRANSFORMING SUFFERING—as in the dream my son had wished. And now, I would like to quote, in my writings, some parts of The Art of Happiness, which presents an interview and the conversations between His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Mr Howard C. Cutler, the author of the book. The passages are from different parts of Chapter 8 Facing Suffering, Chapter 9 Self-Created Suffering, Chapter 10 Shifting Perspective, Chapter 11 Finding Meaning in Pain and Suffering (HH Dalai Lama and Howard C. Cutler, M.D, 2002, pp 133-199):

In the time of the Buddha, a woman named Kisagotami suffered the death of her only child. Unable to accept it, she ran from person to person, seeking a medicine to restore her child to life. The Buddha was said to have such a medicine.

Kisagotami went to the Buddha, paid homage, and asked, “Can you make a medicine that will restore my child?”

“I know of such a medicine,” the Buddha replied. “But in order to make it, I must have certain ingredients.”

The woman promised to procure it for him, but as she was leaving, he added, “I require the mustard seed be taken from a household where no child, spouse, parent, or servant has died.”

The woman agreed and began going from house to house in search of the mustard seed. At each house the people agreed to give her the seed, but when she asked them if anyone had died in that household, she could find no home where death had not visited–in one house a daughter, in another a servant, in others a husband or parent had died. Kisagotami was not able to find a home free from the suffering of death. Seeing she was not alone in her grief, the mother let go of her child’s lifeless body and returned to the Buddha, who said with great compassion, “You thought that you alone had lost a son; the law of death is that among all living creatures there is no permanence.”

Kisagotami’s search taught her that no one lives free from suffering and loss. She hadn’t been singled out for this terrible misfortune. This insight didn’t eliminate the inevitable suffering that comes from loss, but it did reduce the suffering that came from struggling against this sad fact of life (133,134).

The Dalai Lama detailed his approach to human suffering–an approach that ultimately includes a belief in the possibility of freedom from suffering but starts with accepting suffering as a natural fact of human existence, and courageously facing our problems head-on (136).

In our daily lives problems are bound to arise. The biggest problems in our lives are the ones that we inevitably have to face, like old age, illness, and death . . . if you confront your problems rather than avoid them, you will be in a better position to deal with them” (136, 137) . . .

“In accepting that suffering is a part of your daily existence, you could begin by examining the factors that normally give rise to feelings of discontent and mental unhappiness . . . If you look at your normal day-to-day life, however, you often find that there are so many factors and conditions that cause pain, suffering, and feelings of dissatisfaction, whereas the conditions that give rise to joy and happiness are comparatively rare. This is something that we have to undergo, whether we like it or not. And since this is the reality of our existence, our attitude towards suffering may need to be modified . . . our usual attitude consists of an intense aversion and intolerance of our pain and suffering. However, if we can transform our attitude towards suffering, adopt an attitude that allows us greater tolerance of it, then this can do much to help counteract feelings of mental unhappiness, dissatisfaction, and discontent.

“For me personally, the strongest and most effective practice to help tolerate suffering is to see and understand that suffering is the underlying nature of Samsara, of unenlightened existence (140). (Samsara . . . is a state of existence characterized by endless cycles of life, death, and rebirth. This term also refers to our ordinary state of day-to-day existence, which is characterized by suffering. All beings remain in this state, propelled by Karmic imprints from past actions and negative “delusory” states of mind, until one removes all negative tendencies of mind and achieves a state of Liberation.) Now when you experience some physical pain or other problem, of course at that moment there is a feeling . . . of rejection associated with the suffering, a kind of feeling of, ‘Oh, I shouldn’t be experiencing this.’ But at that moment if you can look at the situation from another angle and realize that this very body . . .,” he slapped an arm in demonstration, “is the very basis of suffering, then this reduces that feeling of rejection – that feeling that somehow you don’t deserve to suffer, that you are a victim. So, once you understand and accept this reality, then you experience suffering as something that is quite natural . . .

“So, anyway, I think that how you perceive life as a whole plays a role in your attitude about suffering. For instance, if your basic outlook is that suffering is negative and must be avoided at all costs and in some sense is a sign of failure, this will add a distinct psychological component of anxiety and intolerance when you encounter difficult circumstances, a felling of being overwhelmed. On the other hand, if your basic outlook accepts that suffering is a natural part of your existence, this will undoubtedly make you more tolerant towards the adversities of life” (141) . . .

“The point that has to be borne in mind is that the reason why reflection on suffering is so important is because there is a possibility of a way out, there is an alternative. There is a possibility of freedom from suffering. By removing the causes of suffering, it is possible to attain a state of Liberation, a state free from suffering. According to Buddhist thought, the root causes of suffering are ignorance, craving, and hatred. These are called the ‘three poisons of the mind.’ These terms have specific connotations when used within a Buddhist context. For example, ‘ignorance’ doesn’t refer to a lack of information as it is used in an everyday sense but rather refers to fundamental misperception of the true nature of the self and all phenomena. By generating insight into the true nature of reality and eliminating afflictive states of mind such as craving and hatred, one can achieve a completely purified state of mind, free from suffering” (142, 143) . . .

Yet I hoped to question [the Dalai Lama] in greater detail about the issue of loss, to see if he had additional advice about how to survive the death of a loved one, other than simply accepting the inevitability of human suffering . . . The next day, before I had an opportunity to return to the subject in our private conversations, the issue was raised in his public talk. An audience member, clearly in pain, asked the Dalai Lama, “Do you have any suggestions about how to handle a great personal loss, such as the loss of a child?”

With a gentle tone of compassion, he answered, “To some degree, that depends on people’s personal beliefs. If people believe in rebirth, then accordingly, I think there is some way to reduce sorrow or worry. They can take consolation in the fact that their loved one will be reborn.

“For those people who do not believe in rebirth, then I think there are still some simple ways to help deal with the loss. First, they could reflect that if they worried too much, allowing themselves to be too overwhelmed by the sense of loss and sorrow, and if they carried on with that feeling of being overwhelmed, not only would it be very destructive and harmful to themselves, ruining their health, but also it would not have any benefit to the person who has passed away.

“For example, in my own case, I have lost my most respected tutor, my mother, and also one of my brothers. When they passed away, of course, I felt very, very sad. Then I constantly kept thinking that it’s no use to worry too much, and if I really loved these people, then I must fulfil their wishes with a calm mind. So I try my best to do that. So I think if you’ve lost someone who is very dear to you, that’s the proper way to approach it. You see, the best way to keep a memory of that person, the best remembrance, is to see if you can carry on the wishes of that person.

“Initially, of course, feelings of grief and anxiety are a natural human response to a loss. But if you allow these feelings of loss and worry to persist, there’s a danger; if these feelings are left unchecked, they can lead to a kind of self–absorption. A situation where the focus becomes your own self. And when that happens you become overwhelmed by the sense of loss, and you get a feeling that it’s only you who is going through this. Depression sets in. But in reality, there are others who will be going through the same kind of experience. So, if you find yourself worrying too much, it may help to think of the other people who have similar or even worse tragedies. Once you realize that, then you no longer feel isolated, as if you have been single - pointedly picked out. That can offer you some kind of condolence” (144, 145, 146).

Although pain and suffering are experienced by all human beings, . . . if we think of suffering as something unnatural, something that we shouldn’t be experiencing, then it’s not much of a leap to begin to look for someone to blame for our suffering . . . But the risk of continuing to focus on assigning blame and maintaining a victim stance, is the perpetuation of our suffering – with persistent feelings of anger, frustration, and resentment . . . Thus it is entirely appropriate that we seek out the causes of our unhappiness and do whatever we can to alleviate our problems, searching for solutions on all levels – global, societal, familial, and individual. But as long as we view suffering as an unnatural state, an abnormal condition that we fear, avoid, and reject, we will never uproot the causes of suffering and begin to live a happier life (146, 148).

In our daily life, problems invariably arise. But problems themselves do not automatically cause suffering. If we can directly address our problem and focus our energies on finding a solution, for instance, the problem can be transformed into a challenge. If we throw into the mix, however, a feeling that our problem is “unfair,” we add an additional ingredient that can become a powerful fuel in creating mental unrest and emotional suffering. And now we not only have two problems instead of one, but that feeling of “unfairness” distracts us, consumes us, and robs us of the energy needed to solve the original problem.

Raising this issue with the Dalai Lama one morning, I asked, “How can we deal with the feeling of unfairness that so often seems to torture us when problems arise?”

The Dalai Lama replied, “There may be a variety of ways that one might deal with the feeling that one’s suffering is unfair. I’ve already spoken of the importance of accepting suffering as a natural fact of human existence. And I think that in some ways Tibetans might be in a better position to accept the reality of these difficult situations, because they will say, ‘Maybe it is because of my Karma in the past.’ They will attribute it to negative actions committed in either this or a previous life, and so there is a greater degree of acceptance (154) . . .

“Well, reducing the feeling of unfairness by accepting that it is a result of one’s Karma may be effective for Buddhists,” I interjected. “But what about those who don’t believe in the doctrine of Karma? Many in the West for instance . . .”

“People who believe in the idea of a Creator, of God, may accept these difficult circumstances more easily by viewing them as part of God’s creation or plan. They may feel that even though the situation appears to be very negative, God is all powerful and very merciful, so there may be some meaning, some significance, behind the situation that they may not be aware of. I think that kind of faith can sustain and help them during their times of suffering.”

“And what about those who don’t believe in either the doctrine of Karma or the idea of a Creator God?”

“For a nonbeliever . . .,” the Dalai Lama pondered for several moments before responding, “. . . Perhaps a practical, scientific approach could help. I think that scientists usually consider it very important to look at a problem objectively, to study it without much emotional involvement. With this kind of approach, you can look at the problem with the attitude ‘If there’s a way to fight the problem, then fight, even if you have to go to court!’ ” He laughed. “Then, if you find that there’s no way to win, you can simply forget about it.

“An objective analysis of difficult or problematic situations can be quite important, because with this approach you’ll often discover that behind the scenes there may be other factors at play . . .”

“In general, if we carefully examine any given situation in a very unbiased and honest way, we will realize that to a large extent we are also responsible for the unfolding of events (156-157).

As products of an imperfect world, all of us are imperfect. Every one of us has done some wrong. There are things we regret—things we have done or things we should have done. Acknowledging our wrongdoings with a genuine sense of remorse can serve to keep us on the right track in life and encourage us to rectify our mistakes when possible and take action to correct things in the future. But if we allow our regret to degenerate into excessive guilt, holding on to the memory of our past transgressions with continued self-blame and self-hatred, this serves no purpose other than to be a relentless source of self-punishment and self-induced suffering.

During an earlier conversation in which we had briefly discussed the death of his brother, I recalled that Dalai Lama had spoken of some regrets related to his brother’s death. Curious about how he dealt with feelings of regret, and possibly guilt feelings, I returned to the subject in a later conversation, asking, “When we were talking about Lobsang’s death, you mentioned some regrets. Have there been other situations in your life that you’ve regretted?”

“Oh, yes. Now for instance there was one older monk who lived as a hermit. He used to come to see me to receive teachings, . . . Anyway, he came to me one day and asked me about doing a certain high - level esoteric practice. I remarked in a casual way that this would be a difficult practice and perhaps would be better undertaken by someone who was younger, that traditionally it was a practice that should be started in one’s midteens. I later found out that the monk had killed himself in order to be reborn in a younger body to more effectively undertake the practice . . .”

Surprised by the story, I remarked, “Oh, that’s terrible! That must have been hard on you when you heard . . .”

“How did you deal with that feeling of regret? How did you eventually get rid of it?”

The Dalai Lama silently considered for quite a while before replying, “I didn’t get rid of it. It’s still there.” He stopped again, before adding, “But even though that feeling of regret is still there, it isn’t associated with a feeling of heaviness or a quality of pulling me back. It would not be helpful to anyone if I let that feeling of regret weigh me down, be simply a source of discouragement and depression with no purpose, or interfere with going on with my life to the best of my ability.”

At that moment, in a very visceral way, I was struck once again by the very real possibility of a human being’s fully facing life’s tragedies and responding emotionally, even with deep regret, but without indulging in excessive guilt or self - contempt . . . The Dalai Lama sincerely felt regret over the incident he described but carried his regret with dignity and grace. And while carrying this regret, he has not allowed it to weigh him down, choosing instead to move ahead and focus on helping others to the best of his ability.

Sometimes I wonder if the ability to live without indulging in self-destructive guilt is partly cultural . . . I believe that by challenging our customary ways of thinking and by cultivating a different mental outlook based on the principles described by the Dalai Lama, any of us can learn to live without the brand of guilt that does nothing but cause ourselves needless suffering (160, 161, 162).

Guilt arises when we convince ourselves that we’ve made an irreparable mistake. The torture of guilt is in thinking that any problem is permanent. Since there is nothing that doesn’t change, however, so too pain subsides—a problem doesn’t persist. This is the positive side of change. The negative side is that we resist change in nearly every arena of life. The beginning of being released from suffering is to investigate one of the primary causes: resistance to change.

In describing the ever-changing nature of life, the Dalai Lama explained, “It’s extremely important to investigate the causes or origins of suffering, how it arises. One must begin that process by appreciating the impermanent, transient nature of our existence. All things, events, and phenomena are dynamic, changing every moment; nothing remains static . . . And since it is the nature of all phenomena to change every moment, this indicates to us that all things lack the ability to endure, lack the ability to remain the same. And since all things are subject to change, nothing exists in a permanent condition, nothing is able to remain the same under its own independent power. Thus, all things are under the power or influence of other factors. So, at any given moment, no matter how pleasant or pleasurable your experience may be, it will not last. This becomes the basis of a category of suffering known in Buddhism as the ‘suffering of change’ ” (162, 163).

After all, whether one looks at life from a Buddhist perspective or a Western perspective, the fact remains that life is change. And to the degree that we refuse to accept this fact and resist the natural life changes, we will continue to perpetuate our own suffering.

The acceptance of change can be an important factor in reducing a large measure of our self-created suffering . . .

While the acceptance of the inevitability of change, as a general principle, can help us cope with many problems, taking a more active role by specifically learning about normal life changes can prevent an even greater amount of the day-to-day anxiety that is the cause of many of our troubles (164, 165).

Once there was a disciple of a Greek philosopher who was commanded by his Master for three years to give money to everyone who insulted him. When this period of trial was over the Master said to him, “Now you can go to Athens and learn Wisdom. “When the disciple was entering Athens, he met a certain wise man who sat at the gate insulting everybody who came and went. He also insulted the disciple, who burst out laughing, “Why do you laugh when I insult you?” said the wise man. “Because,” said the disciple, “for three years I have been paying for this kind of thing and now you give it to me for nothing.” “Enter the city,” said the wise man, “it is all yours . . .”

The fourth - century Desert Fathers, an assortment of eccentric characters who retired to the deserts around Scete for a life of sacrifice and prayer, taught this story to illustrate the value of suffering and hardship. It wasn’t hardship alone, however, that opened the “city of wisdom” to the disciple. The prime factor that allowed him to deal so effectively with a difficult situation was his capacity to shift perspective, to view his situation from a different vantage point.

The ability to shift perspective can be one of the most powerful and effective tools we have to help us cope with life’s daily problems. The Dalai Lama explained:

“The ability to look at events from different perspectives can be very helpful. Then, practicing this, one can use certain experiences, certain tragedies to develop a calmness of mind. One must realize that every phenomena, every event, has different aspects” . . .

“This practice of shifting perspective can even be helpful in certain illness or when in pain. At the time the pain arises it is of course often very difficult, at that moment, to do formal meditation practices to calm the mind. But if you make comparisons, view your situation from a different perspective, somehow something happens. If you only look at that one event, then it appears bigger and bigger. If you focus too closely, too intensely, on a problem when it occurs, it appears uncontrollable. But if you compare that event with some other greater event, look at the same problem from a distance, then it appears smaller and less overwhelming” (172, 173, 174).

“But what about if you look for the positive angles of a person or event and can’t find any?”

“Here, I think, we would be dealing with a situation where you might need to make some effort. Spend some time seriously searching for a different perspective on the situation. Not just in a superficial way. But in a very pointed and direct way. You need to use all your powers of reasoning and look at the situation as objectively as possible . . .

“Generally speaking, once you’re already in a difficult situation, it isn’t possible to change your attitude simply by adopting a particular thought once or twice. Rather it’s through a process of learning, training, and getting used to new viewpoints that enables you to deal with the difficulty.”

The Dalai Lama reflected for a moment, and, adhering to his usual pragmatic stance, he added, “If, however, in spite of your efforts, you do not find any such positive angles of perspectives . . ., then for the time being the best course of action may be to simply try to forget about it” (175, 176).

Victor Frank, a Jewish psychiatrist imprisoned by the Nazis in World War 11, once said, “Man is ready and willing to shoulder any suffering as soon and as long as he can see a meaning in it.” Frank used his brutal and inhumane experience in the concentration camps to gain insight into how people survived the atrocities. Closely observing who survived and who didn’t, he determined that survival wasn’t based on youth or physical strength but rather on the strength derived from purpose, and the discovery of meaning in one’s life and experience.

Finding meaning in suffering is a powerful method of helping us cope even during the most trying times in our lives. But finding meaning in our suffering is not an easy task . . . During periods of acute crisis and tragedy it seems impossible to reflect on any possible meaning behind our suffering. At those times, there is often little we can do but endure. And it’s natural to view our suffering as senseless and unfair, and wonder, “Why me?” . . .

So where do we begin in our search for meaning in suffering? For many people, the search begins with their religious tradition . . . In the Buddhist and Hindu models, for example, suffering is a result of our own negative past actions and is seen as a catalyst for seeking spiritual liberation.

In the Judeo-Christian tradition, [as well as, in Islam], the universe was created by a good and just God, and even though His master plan may be mysterious and indecipherable at times, our faith and trust in His plan allow us to tolerate our suffering more easily, trusting, as the Talmud says, that “Everything God does, He does for the best.” Life may still be painful, but like the pain a woman experiences in childbirth, we trust that the pain will be outweighed by the ultimate good it produces. The challenge in these traditions lies in the fact that, unlike in childbirth, the ultimate good is often not revealed to us . . . So, from the Judeo-Christian perspective, suffering can serve many purposes: it can test and potentially strengthen our faith, it can bring us closer to God in a very fundamental and intimate way, or it can loosen the bonds to the material world and make us cleave to God as our refuge.

While a person’s religious tradition may offer valuable assistance in finding meaning, even those who do not subscribe to a religious worldview may upon careful reflection find meaning and value behind their suffering. Despite the universal unpleasantness, there is little doubt that our suffering can test, strengthen, and deepen the experience of life. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., once said, “What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.” And while it is natural to recoil from suffering, suffering can also challenge us and at times even bring out the best in us (199, 200, 201) . . .

While at times suffering can serve to toughen us, to strengthen us, at other times it can have value by functioning in the opposite manner—to soften us, to make us more sensitive and gentle. The vulnerability we experience in the midst of our suffering can open us and deepen our connection with others. The poet William Wordsworth once claimed, “A deep distress hath humanized my soul” (202) . . .

Becoming more serious, the Dalai Lama added, “But anyway, I think that there is one aspect to our experience of suffering that is of vital importance. When you are aware of your pain and suffering, it helps you to develop your capacity for empathy, the capacity that allows you to relate to other people’s feelings and suffering. This enhances your capacity for compassion towards others. So as an aid in helping us connect with others, it can be seen as having value.

“So,” the Dalai Lama concluded, “looking at suffering in these ways, our attitude may begin to change; our suffering may not be as worthless and bad as we think” (206).

To continue my reading and reviewing The Art of Happiness, towards the end of the book, in Part 1V, Chapter 14, the Dalai Lama expresses his opinion about the marvellous gift of human intelligence, by which one can survive the harsh problems and catastrophes in life. He says:

One thing in general . . . is that we are gifted as human beings with this wonderful human intelligence. On top of that, all human beings have the capacity to be very determined and to direct that strong sense of determination in whatever direction they would like to use it. There is no doubt of this. So if one maintains an awareness of these potentials and reminds oneself of them repeatedly until it becomes part of one’s customary way of perceiving human beings—including oneself—then this could serve to help reduce feelings of discouragement, helplessness, and self – contempt” . . . I think that here there might be some sort of parallel to the way [doctors] treat physical illnesses . . . So long as the person has that underlying strength in his or her body, then there is the potential or capacity within the body to heal itself from the illness through medication. Similarly, so long as we know and maintain an awareness that we have this marvellous gift of human intelligence and a capacity to develop determination and use it in positive ways, in some sense we have this underlying mental health. An underlying strength, that comes from realizing we have this great human potential. This realization can act as a sort of built - in mechanism that allows us to deal with any difficulty, no matter what situation we are facing, without losing hope or sinking into self-hatred. (288, 289)

Being aware of my own inner strength and having ‘the marvellous gift of human intelligence,’ as a human being, then, in the same way as it is recommended in The Art of Happiness, I tried to look at the tragedy of Ramy’s loss from a different perspective. I tried to find meaning or value behind the devastating loss of our precious son. At the same time, my heart was overflowing – towards all beings – with a deep sense of tenderness and compassion, an expression which has been repeatedly mentioned throughout The Art of Happiness and is explained by the Dalai Lama:

Compassion can be roughly defined in terms of a state of mind that is nonviolent, nonharming, and nonaggressive. It is a mental attitude based on the wish for others to be free of their suffering and is associated with a sense of commitment, responsibility, and respect towards the other. (114)

With the sense of compassion in my heart, then, I tried to grasp once again the depth of the Dalai Lama’s remarks about suffering, and that it can be seen as having value. The Dalai Lama says that suffering enhances one’s capacity for compassion towards others, the capability of connecting with people, and allowing one to relate to other people’s feelings and suffering (206).

Finding this capacity in my heart, I realized that the pain of Ramy’s loss has created in me the ability by which I can feel the deepest mind connection with some people, sometimes even with complete strangers, if they are in pain and suffering. This is also this capacity that allows me to have the flawless soothing mind connection with the Dalai Lama, the author of The Art of Happiness, or the writer of any text that I choose to read.

Further, even though I find myself submerged in a bottomless well of pain, when I try to find value in relation to what happened to us and our precious Ramy, I can see that, through his divine flight, our beautiful Ramy changed the behaviours and conducts of his family. He made all of us become so closer, tolerant, understanding and considerate of one another. He made us be caring and showing our inner love and support to each other. He made us become better people.

Thinking of Ramy’s friends and his acquaintances, too, I must acknowledge that I have seen Ramy’s influence on them for choosing a better life-style. Sometimes, it has happened to me that some young people – even though they are completely unfamiliar to me – have approached me just to tell that because of Ramy they have taken tertiary education or having applied for a higher degree.

I have also sometimes found letters or notes – appreciating Ramy – on the stone of his garden that reveal one of his friends has decided to have more education just to please him, or having the breakthrough that Ramy had always wished for them. And all these are just to fulfil Ramy’s wishes for their well-being.

Looking more closely, I can see how this horrible tragedy changed my own view towards life. The intense pain and suffering that I went through completely loosened the bonds to the material world in me. And this feeling is so profound and fulfilling that makes me thank my beautiful Ramy because, as it is described in The Art of Happiness, he made me reach to the point of one’s soul liberation, I believe.

However, I indeed need to help myself combat my negative state of mind, for becoming a better person. In helping myself, I grasped that throughout The Art of Happiness there is an emphasis on eliminating negative feelings and reactions. A kind of feelings that are inevitably arising when a tragedy like this happened to a family. In this relation – and in fact as “the first step in seeking happiness” – learning is recommended by the Dalai Lama:

We first have to learn how negative emotions and behaviours are harmful to us and how positive emotions are helpful. And we must realize how these negative emotions are not only very bad and harmful to one personally but harmful to society and the future of the whole world as well. (38)

So, I feel that I have to help me change my negative emotions not only for the sake of society, but also for the sake of my own children whom I love dearly. As, I know that love is the most powerful emotion in helping me bring positive features in my own and my family’s life. In The Art of Happiness, it is said:

Love is difficult to define, and there may be different definitions. But one definition of love, and perhaps the most pure and exalted kind of love, is an utter, absolute, and unqualified wish for the happiness of another individual. (286)

My children, Maz and Mona, are the individuals whom I love with my whole heart and have an absolute wish for their well-being and happiness. My Ramy is the other individual, whom I love with my whole heart, as I feel an unqualified wish for his happiness – wherever he is! And this deep sense of doing something for Ramy and making him happy is indeed a deep desire in my heart; while, I know that he wants his family to be happy, too, and not being drowned in such profound pain and suffering.

So I believe that I have to use the marvellous gift of human intelligence together with the spiritual qualities which “could serve to help reduce feelings of discouragement, helplessness, and self – contempt,” in order to survive the catastrophe of Ramy’s separation. I know that to live properly is Ramy’s wish for the people whom he loves; as I know that he knows through my support his family may possibly ease a little the pain of his loss.

Being aware and considerate of all these, I realize that in overcoming my anger and hatred and eliminating my negative emotions, I can assist myself in bringing about that disciplined, tamed state of mind which is necessary for a better life. To do so, I have grasped that throughout The Art of Happiness there is an emphasis “on using one’s knowledge, education, and learning.” The Dalai Lama states:

So it is clear that the more sophisticated the level of our knowledge is, the more effective we will be in dealing with the natural world . . . So, it is because of this that I think education and knowledge are crucial . . . The most important use of knowledge and education is to help us understand the importance of engaging in more wholesome actions and bringing about discipline within our minds. The proper utilization of our intelligence and knowledge is to effect changes from within to develop a good heart. (50, 51)

Buddhism accepts that the mental and emotional afflictions ultimately can be eliminated through deliberately cultivating antidotal forces like love, compassion, tolerance, and forgiveness, and through various practices such as meditation. (240)

So, I know that I have to think differently and find refuge from my destructive silent fury, and not to let my family and me sink in pessimism, anger, and despair. Since, Dalai Lama says:

Hatred and anger are considered to be the greatest evils because they are the greatest obstacles to developing compassion and altruism, and they destroy one’s virtue and calmness of mind . . . We cannot [however] overcome anger and hatred simply by suppressing them. We need to actively cultivate the antidotes to hatred: patience and tolerance. (248, 249)

Later, the Dalai Lama continues to emphasize on the issue once again as he concludes, “The only factor that can give you refuge or protection from the destructive effects of anger and hatred is your practice of tolerance and patience” (254). To do so, besides “various practices such as meditation,” which is previously mentioned, there is an emphasize on having a spiritual dimension in our life. So, I quote some related passages from Part V, Chapter 15, BASIC SPIRITUAL VALUES:

The art of happiness has many components . . . It involves an inner discipline, a gradual process of rooting out destructive mental states and replacing them with positive, constructive states of mind, such as kindness, tolerance, and forgiveness. In identifying the factors that lead to a full and satisfying life, we conclude with a discussion of the final component—spirituality (293) . . .

In helping us understand the true meaning of spirituality, the Dalai Lama began by distinguishing between spirituality and religion:

“I believe that it is essential to appreciate our potential as human beings and recognize the importance of inner transformation. This should be achieved through what could be called a process of mental development. Sometimes, I call this having a spiritual dimension in our life.

“There can be two levels of spirituality. One level of spirituality has to do with our religious belief (294) . . .

“However, if you think seriously about the true meaning of spiritual practices, it has to do with the development and training of your mental state, attitude, and psychological and emotional state and well-being . . . if you understand spiritual practice in its true sense, then you can use all twenty-four hours of your day for your practice. True spirituality is a mental attitude that you can practice at any time. For example, if you find yourself in a situation in which you might be tempted to insult someone, then you immediately take precautions and restrain yourself from doing that. Similarly, if you encounter a situation in which you may lose your temper, immediately you are mindful and say, ‘No, this is not the appropriate way.’ That actually is a spiritual practice (299) . . .

Thus, with a tone of complete conviction, the Dalai Lama concluded his discussion with his vision of a truly spiritual life:

“So, in speaking of having a spiritual dimension to our lives, we have identified our religious beliefs as one level of spirituality. Now regarding religion, if we believe in any religion, that’s good . . . But then there’s another level of spirituality. That is what I call basic spirituality—basic human qualities of goodness, kindness, compassion, caring. Whether we are believers or nonbelievers, this kind of spirituality is essential . . . as long as we are human beings, as long as we are members of the human family, all of us need these basic spiritual values. Without these, human existence remains hard, very dry. As a result, none of us can be a happy person, our whole family will suffer, and then, eventually, society will be more troubled. So, it becomes clear that cultivating these kinds of basic spiritual values becomes crucial (306, 307) . . . So we must still find a way to try to improve life for [the] majority of the people. . . —ways to help them become good human beings, moral people, without any religion. Here I think that education is crucial—instilling in people a sense that compassion, kindness, and so on are the basic good qualities of human beings, not just a matter of religious subjects . . .

“All of the virtuous states of mind—compassion, tolerance, forgiveness, caring, and so on—these mental qualities are genuine Dharma, or genuine spiritual qualities, because all of these internal mental qualities cannot coexist with ill feelings or negative states of mind.

“So, engaging in training or a method of bringing about inner discipline within one’s mind is the essence of a religious life, an inner discipline that has the purpose of cultivating these positive mental states. Thus, whether one leads a spiritual life depends on whether one has been successful in bringing about that disciplined, tamed state of mind and translating that state of mind into one’s daily actions.” (308, 309)

So, thinking of all these, I believe that, after all, Ramy expects me to try to have the “genuine spiritual qualities” and eliminate my negative state of mind, particularly the immense anger that has seized my soul. And finally, looking at the tragedy of Ramy’s loss from a different perspective, I can see value in our huge suffering. It seems to me that through this horrible pain, Ramy made his family and also many others learn to get closer to some spiritual qualities, through which they may reach to the point of one’s soul liberation. I also know that I will carry Ramy’s memory with me till the day I join him, as I will try my best to fulfil Ramy’s wishes with a calm mind. Since,

if you’ve lost someone who is very dear to you, that’s the proper way to approach it . . . the best way to keep a memory of that person, the best remembrance, is to see if you can carry on the wishes of that person.

And now, what else can I do other than to try to fulfil Ramy’s wishes and thank him for his love and support throughout my life, as I am deeply grateful, too, to His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Mr Howard C. Cutler.

We were once a very close and loving family. It seems, however, that negligence, thoughtlessness, misunderstanding, and life’s day to day mistakes and problems brought to some degree a distance between us. Now I can see that through Ramy’s love, and because of his inner desire of having a loving family, once again we are very close and considerate of one another. It doesn’t matter if Ramy is physically with us or not!

We are keeping each other’s company, having a conversation (almost about Ramy) or being silently just around. Spending times together, so often, Hassan, Maziar, Mona, and I go to have breakfast in a coffee shop, thinking of Ramy, and drinking our coffee for him. Or, we have dinner in places that we think Ramy might like it, as we try to order one of his favourite food (I avoid cooking Ramy’s favourite food at home since it’s too painful to me).

At the same time, wherever we go, we somehow feel Ramy’s beautiful presence in our hearts, around us, or even in a chair that has strangely remained empty at our table in a busy restaurant or some other places. I believe that our precious Ramy is always with us. We cannot do anything without remembering our sweet Ramy and talking about him with our deepest love!

In quest of him, my beautiful Ramy, I left the home to walk along the street and watch the depth of the skies with the twinkling stars. Desperate, I was looking everywhere to find a trace of him. Suddenly, I felt Ramy’s presence: I could see him and my whole soul. We were together in the form of two playful bubbles, floating in a dreamy blue field above me and in front of me, as I was walking in the quiet street. Like a midsummer night’s dream, my drifted away soul was dancing with Ramy on the top of the trees!

Maziar passed the Intensive Care speciality exam. I am so happy for him. I feel Ramy is very happy, too. Since, going to get Maziar from the airport, I sensed Ramy’s gentle caressing on my head. I felt he wanted me to congratulate his brother for him before myself, and I did so when I saw Maz.

He said that he had a hard time throughout the long trip to Perth, being in tears many times in the plane. He revealed that he was terribly reminded of the previous time when he had travelled to Melbourne for the exam, but on the night before he had heard of the tragedy of his little brother’s loss and had returned to Sydney with the first flight.

The conversation brought tears into our eyes. The most painful memories were evoked; unable to talk, we remained silent for a while! Thinking of Ramy’s request in Lily’s dream, then, I told Maz that we should try our best to overcome this horrible emotional pain, because it’s Ramy’s wish.

I told that Ramy can sense our deep love through our respect towards him, and that’s possible when we fulfil his wishes – as much as we can. Congratulating Maziar from the bottom of my heart, then, I praised him that with a traumatised state of mind he had successfully done what was right.

I woke up with a sense of wonder as I was trying to keep the wonderful sensation of a magnificent but fading dream in my mind. I could still remember and strongly feel how exquisitely Ramy was with me, his sister, his brother, and his dad as we knew that that beautiful son was a part of the spirit, felicity, colour and shine of the Cherry Blossom Festival.

We were in Japan, standing in a vast, round area which was surrounded with the blossoms and colourful lanterns. With Japanese we were celebrating the festival and enjoying our time with the presence of our beautiful Ramy who was intensely and joyfully everywhere. He was around us, almost above the crowd, keeping his family’s company! We could not see him; but with a sense of content, we could happily sense his beautiful presence that as an aura of bliss had filled the air!

Being with us all the time, Ramy looked like the colours of pink, red, green, and white. He was both the essence and the exquisiteness of the blossoms’ petals. He was the patterns of our lives in Japan. He was the sweetness of the days and the beauty of the nights in a far country. So wonderful! So beautiful! Stunning! Ramy was nowhere; yet, he was everywhere: bright, exquisite, loving, happy, perfumed and full of vivacity!

After all, wasn’t he a beautiful scented rose that left the petals to the dust and took the the fragrance to the skies!!!

I have another dream of my beautiful Ramy. He was with me, Mona, and Chris. Being a five-year-old child, I was carrying him within my arms, as we were passing on a vast, magnificent, wooden bridge. It was high above a beautiful, splendid, tranquil river full of silvery blue water. Suddenly, one of Ramy’s shoes fell down to the river; it made me extremely horrified. I was, however, holding Ramy himself so firmly on my chest as if he was a part of me. Pressing his small, fragile body upon my heart, I felt he make me whole: we were one! I could profoundly feel that sense of oneness! Still walking in silence, I knew that my little boy was me as I was him! We were not separated! Ramy was me myself!

Hassan and I went shopping. I wanted to buy candles and flowers for Ramy, as all the time I was spending my time with him on a wonderful vision. I could see Ramy and me. Going round and round, we were rotating in the air, running on the waves of the air, and dancing in the blue sky. I saw us being two very, very close and playful friends: two happy souls!

The vision started to fade and my mind took me back to the time when Ramy was living with us. Like a far, far, forgotten dream, I remembered how at that time I was energetic and felt extraordinarily young and strong. It was not a long time ago, but only around one year earlier.

Yet, I remember, whenever I would go out for a walk or a run not only I could feel my teenage years’ energy in me, but I would mystically feel the pleasant flow and the tiny bursts of the small fields of the energy of universe around me. That transcendental sensation would make me feel the sense of connection and oneness with the universe. It was magical, vivacious, so full of life!

The reminiscence, however, vanished abruptly when I found myself walking around Ramy’s Garden. With a wandering mind and desperate soul, then, I wished to somehow escape from life, the harsh reality, and that bottomless well of pain and despair that Ramy’s loss had offered me.

Impossible! I found that, after all, my soul was there in Ramy’s Garden, and that I could not not to return to the time when my beautiful son was gone. I could not escape the place where my family and I come there to desperately give our love and respect to our Ramy.

Back home, I felt tired, exhausted, and old! Unbelievably old! No energy was left in me! So tired and old! My teenage years’ energy was gone and I was more then one hundred years old. So tired! I deeply felt that there was an ocean of contrast between the time when we had our sweet Ramy with us and these horrible days that my family and I just try to survive!

How can I express my appreciation to my dear children who try their best to show their care and love to me! Maziar arrived with a new computer for me. Mona came with a new mobile phone. The two of them are so thoughtful, considerate, and nice to me that I cannot thank them enough. I hope they get all the best in life and live happily, prosperous, proud and content.

My sweet Little One, Ramy, is looking after me differently. I am appreciating him, for his affection and encouragement, in my heart. Even though, he is invisible to me, yet he is aware of the situation and tries to convey his support and unconditional love in any possible way. I can never forget his wonderful remarks, when he would make me smile by hearing, ‘Mum, you look young and beautiful for being a mummy.’ I have also in my mind that he was proud of my inner strength. So, I shouldn’t disappoint him, but to keep and show him my strength, as he wishes. At the same time, I am proud of the beauty of his soul – that like a wise parent would always give his family the wisest advice. He would give us strength! He will give us strength! And this is Ramy’s gift to us!

My Beautiful Ramy, reviewing The Art of Happiness, I wish to see myself capable of completely changing my negative emotions, thoughts, and ideas into positive ones. But, sometimes, there are some events, memories, beliefs, and feelings that are tough and hard and unaffected.

So to help myself, I would like to reveal them here; even though, the expression of some apparently unreasonable but at the same time very deep emotions is too difficult. I am talking about them because I believe it might be like taking a positive step to bring a bit of ease to myself.

My sweetheart, there are two occasions that hurt me profoundly. I relate them to your separation from us; while, thinking of them would immediately bring your extremely sad look in front of my eyes. One of them happened just sometimes before my trip to Iran.

Then, a new neighbour, who had bought the house next to ours, asked your dad and me for our permission to replace the old, exotic, short sandstone wall of our backyard with a modern, pre-fabricated, yellow wall. Their reason for the request was to make the two walls on either side of their driveway match one another during the renovation of their house.

Since they would take the responsibility to do the job and also pay the costs, your dad and I passively tried to be nice and considerate of their wish. We agreed with the replacement of the wall, wishing them live happily in their new house. (we did not know that they would bring changes just to sell the house for a better price and their purpose was only making money.)

Soon, one very early morning, the neighbour started the job. Unaware, I was still sleeping, having a sweet dream. The piercing sound of the stonebreaker, which was breaking the solid wall into pieces, however, turned my dream into nightmare.

I dreamt of an airplane flying high in the sky. But, unexpectedly and without any reason, the plane was crushed in the air, as if it was done up there by an invisible vicious force. Then, I saw the plane’s destroyed body start falling down to me. I knew it was going to collapse on my head, my heart, and my body to smash me under its huge weight.

Petrified and shivering, I woke up and saw the panes of the windows in my bed-room were shaking by a horribly loud sound. At first I thought it was an earthquake, but then through the window I saw the half broken sandstone wall behind our backyard. It looked extremely sad. Regretting to let the neighbour do that, I immediately felt nostalgic for the wall. I wished I could change the things; but it was then too late! I saw the fragments of the broken wall scatter around.

My sweetheart, you were then oblivious of the decision about the removal of the old wall. Your dad and I had not even imagined that it could be of any importance to you to have asked your opinion about it. Your bed-room was also far enough from that shrill noises and you didn’t wake up then. In late evening, however, when you were back from university and saw the wall is gone, you became so shocked, gloomy, depressed and sad that your appearance broke my heart.

In anguish and with reproachful eyes, then, you stared at me and asked: ‘Why you and Dad let that cunning woman destroy the Magical Garden of our house?’ I told you it was just a short wall and has nothing to do with the garden or the house. With resentment you said, ‘Couldn’t you see it was Magical!!!?’ Without any reply, I looked at you and felt if you had considered our nice backyard and its exotic wall as the Magical Garden, for sure you had sensed that through your insight. It made your bad feeling and the sorrow for the loss of the wall creep deeply into my heart!

That night, apparently, neither you nor could I sleep. It was strange, but in the morning when we talked, we found out that you and I both had felt terribly lonely, miserable, and lost throughout the night. As if the wall had suddenly become an essential part of our lives, we had missed it; but we knew it was gone and in no way it could be there ever again.

Afterwards, I could never forget that unusual deep sadness that I had seen in your beautiful eyes. I could not then stop thinking about your unhappy words for the loss of the metaphorical Magical Garden of our house; neither could I forget my own profound regret to let that happen.

But I kept my emotions to myself, and soon I travelled to Iran, and you joined me there a few weeks later. And you know what happened there! The strong protective wall of the Magical Garden of our family’s lives was destroyed over there and your life with your family’s happiness and hopes like that solid wall shattered by a cunning fierce force.

After your divine flight, however, I could never forget my dream of the destroyed plane - targeting me. Neither could I forget about the loud sound of demolition of the wall and squeals of its shattered pieces, by which I was frantically woken up at dawn; as, I could not stop myself to link them to what happened to you. Seeing a connection between the shattered wall of your ideal Magical Garden of your dreams and your loss, I can also see on my mind your sad and enquiring eyes that are innocently staring at me, seeking an answer for what happened. And these all break badly my heart!

The other unpleasant occasion which is haunting me is about the day when Mona drove you and me a long way to buy a puppy from a breeder. When we saw the little black dog, however, neither I nor Mona liked it. So, Mona and I convinced you not to buy that dog, and soon we were on our way on the highway to return home.

But, suddenly and unexpectedly, you started crying out loud. That unusual reaction made your sister and me horrified. You were not a child but a determined and strong twenty-year-old man. Frantically, Mona stopped the car at breakdown lane, and I reassured you that we would immediately go back to purchase the puppy. But you told that you didn’t want it anymore and insisted to go home. Mona started the car once again and in an unpleasant, sad, and heavy silence, she drove back to our house.

Afterwards, neither you spoke about the reason that why you were so sorrowfully in tears, nor would Mona or I ask you about that. Soon, in less than a week, you found a cute new puppy and we purchased it. Calling him Sultan, you loved the beautiful puppy dearly. I could see that you were extremely happy and satisfied. Yet, I could never forget your previous anguished sobbing; even though, I didn’t talk about it.

Yes, my sweet heart, to be a mother is hard. A child’s sorrow always breaks the mother’s heart. That unreasonable, strange, and very bitter weeping, that I had never seen in you even as a child, was going to haunt me afterwards: then, later, now, and forever.

My sweetheart, not without you, I can ever again be the same. I have lost all my inner strength. I can not stop myself thinking and linking these two incidents to what happened to you. Now, sometimes I ask myself that whether not buying the little black dog was a sign to your subconscious mind for the loss of your life in a certain future? Or, was your loud crying because of what was going to happen to you and us?!!

Other times, I think about our backyard’s sandstone wall, as I cannot not to relate its destruction to what happened to you. In particular, when very, very painfully, I saw the same replaced yellow blocks at the place where your beautiful body merged the dust. That makes me even believe more that the accident might have not happened without the breaking of the wall that broke so deeply your heart!

My sweetheart, this is the reason that, so often, I ask myself whether the loss of the wall of your dreams’ Magical Garden was another sign on your subconscious mind that indicated the loss of your life! Or was it to you a premonition, by which you felt so terribly down at the time and later? Some other times, I wonder that demolition of the wall might have a destructive butterfly effect upon your life and you had somehow sensed that and transferred it to my mind, as well! This, of course, makes me think your dad and I are, directly and indirectly, responsible for what happened to you and all of us.

So, not only I cannot forgive myself for these two occurrences, but also for disappointing you from me as your mum. I failed anyhow to keep you safe and sound! Was it the Nature or Universe or God that was examining us or playing with us, or it was just our own failure and ignorance that brought the bottomless pain of your loss to us! Torn, I cannot answer my own questions; I only know that I have to combat the pain of your loss if I want to survive!

Now, living without you, with so much emotional, mental, and even physical pain in my heart, I wish I could take a quick exit and get rid of all these emotional pain, guilt, and regret. But aren’t you reminding me through others that I have to be here for your brother and sister! Since, as Robert Frost says, I have promises to fulfil. I am Maziar and Mona’s mother. They love me; I love them. And I know that you love us! I also know that you want we take care of each other to fulfil your desire for our well-being in this world. I love you, Ramy! Forgive me for my failures and faults. Let’s now think to the deep message of this beautiful poem by Robert Frost:

There was a young man, the same age that Ramy is now. He was here to give his opinion for the bathroom renovation. I invited him to sit down, as I found out his name is Yahya. He first looked around and then chose the same sofa where Ramy would always take. Answering his mobile-phone, he was giggling, just like Ramy. His dark brown eyes - similar to my son - were shining. I felt as if he was Ramy who was looking at Hassan and me, as he was sitting in his usual place and talking on his phone so happy and relaxed. Watching him, I asked in my mind, ‘Ramy, did you bring this good-looking young man here to ease the sense of yearning in me and your dad for seeing you?’

Soon, Yahya finished his phone call and, then, his conversation to us. He stood up to leave. In the middle of the room, standing in front of each other, I saw Ramy’s affectionate look on the young man’s face, as if he was worried about a bruise that I had got on the right side of my face. He knew about Ramy, but he didn’t know that I was thinking that through him Ramy was watching me. Seeing his silent concern, I explained to him that I got that bruise by taking out a glass of hot milk from microwave and some of that hot liquid oddly splashed on my face.

He put his hand on my shoulder. Just like Ramy, affectionately and with sincerity, without the word mum, he expressed Ramy’s complement to me: ‘Don’t worry! Don’t worry! You are still beautiful.’ The familiar words and the similarity of the tone of his voice to Ramy stunned me. Bewildered and appreciative, I remained silent and just smiled.

He soon said goodbye and left. I walked then to Ramy’s photo, kissing his picture, I thanked him for being around in any possible way with his concern, kindness, love, and his loving words.

Sometimes when I am thinking of some people my heart is overflowing with so much love and tenderness that makes me astonished. I can only relate this intense sense of affection to Ramy. I believe if he relies on some people and has faith in them, the impression comes to me as a feeling of fondness towards them. This overwhelming sense of affection makes me wish those people stay well and also close to me as a kind of extended family.

Tonight this love and tenderness that has filled my heart is directed to my friend Mariam, her husband, and their seven-year-old son. Mariam and I would often talk about Ramy on the phone. I know that every now and then Ramy tries to get in touch with her through vivid and astonishing signs.

It looks, however, strange that my son has lately tried to intensely get the attention of Mariam’s husband who, by contrast to his wife, is neither spiritual nor believe in metaphysical world or the existence of one’s soul after death. Being a logical and reasonable engineer, yet he finally felt compelled to confide in me and let me know what he had seen on the previous day, following his dream at the night.

Taking their young son to Sunday School, Mariam’s husband told me that as he was walking in the schoolyard towards the gate, he saw Ramy in one of the classes. Looking around eight or nine years old, Ramy was standing close to the window, staring at him from behind the pane for a good while, before disappearing in front of his eyes (Ramy used to go as a child to the same school to learn Farsi – Persian language).

He said, shocked and startled, when he was back home, he felt hesitant and confused and didn’t know what was the right thing to do. Even though, his wife insisted him to tell me about the occurrence, he didn’t call me because he intended not to disturb me in any way.

At night, however, he had dreamt of Ramy who came into his sight and walked directly to him. Approaching, with one metre distance, Ramy had stayed in front of him. Looking at each other, he had noticed that Ramy was strong, tall, charismatic, and young, at the same age he left. Very stylish, in a chic dark suit, Ramy had put on an eye-catching, elegant, red tie over his pale blue shirt. With inquiring eyes, staring at him for a long time in silence, then, Ramy had smiled and turned back and walked away from him.

Startled, he said, he had woken up at that moment with a feeling that he had to share with me what he had seen at the school. Nearly sleepless during the rest of the night, he had waited for the day to call me and tell about the event.

I thanked him for letting me know about his experience of seeing Ramy at school and also in his dream. Throughout our conversation, however, I felt that the bright red tie had a kind of deep impact on him, by which he couldn’t stop talking about it, neither could he realize why.

Listening and thinking, at the end of our conversation, I reassured my friend’s husband that by his words not only I was not in any way disturbed but I felt happy and appreciative towards him and Ramy both. After the phone call, I reflected on whatever I had heard. Interpreting the dream for myself, I thought that Ramy is in a good place. I said wherever he is, he is respected and quite well, which are symbolised through Ramy’s tall and attractive appearance and his elegant suit in the dream.

Sadly, and very painfully, to me, the dazzling red tie symbolises the loss of Ramy’s precious blood, which is anyhow equal to his physical loss. His silence and inquiring eyes imply Ramy’s untold request: to be told to others if he has successfully materialized. I also felt that Ramy’s attempt to show himself at the school has not been just to become visible, but to reveal the immortality of one’s soul after death; in order, to give hope to his loved ones and to ease the pain of his separation.

Ramy’s smile in the dream portrays his confidence that if in reality he has done something as great as he did – to get somebody’s absolute attention – for sure he is not going to be ignored. Also at school, Ramy has emerged as a child to expose his innocence; while, he tries to compare one’s spirit inability to the state of being a child for passing on clearly the ideas (it is usually said that the spirits on the other world are not permitted to directly transfer any information).

After all, as Ramy is constantly giving signs to my friend Mariam, he has materialized himself in front of her husband who would deny the signs. Perhaps Ramy has also tried to make him appreciate the events and beliefs that his wife values. At the same time, to me, Ramy has revealed his trust towards that family and his awareness of the purity of their souls.

It’s 9.30 pm. Maz and I have decided to watch Star Wars. First time, I watched this film with Ramy. And now, the memory has come back so vividly to me.

Ramy and I are in the cinema. Sitting in a chair next to me, Ramy has a large cup of Coca-Cola in one hand; he is joyfully eating popcorns by his other hand. Considerate of me, every now and then, he offers the popcorns’ big bag to me as his eyes are eagerly fixed on the big screen, watching the film enthusiastically. His presence at my side, his kindness, and his nice gestures of being so loving and thoughtful pour hope and happiness into my heart. I feel so appreciative that my son is watching my favourite film with me! I cannot thank him enough!

I shake my head, trying to stay in the present, convincing myself that I should be happy, because Ramy is here next to me and his brother, watching the film once again with us. I can feel his loving presence: he is gently and constantly touching my forehead. It makes me happy. I told about that to Maziar. We both smiled sadly!