I Love My Ducks

Watch this creative video representing the love we have for our school and for our team!!!

I've watched it at least 57 times and each time I do I find something that makes me fall in love all over again!!!

I'm sooo proud to be a DUCK!!!!

Green & Yellow never looked sooooo GOOD!!!! Wait till you see my O!!!

And as always,

PeAce

A Petition for her Life (Pt.5)

Life has a funny way of asking, DEMANDING that you slow down. Take a few deep breaths. Notice those flowers on your way to work. Enjoy the sun on your face. Hold those you love tightly and say "I love you" more often than you should. Prior to being told that my mom was dying my schedule consisted of three jobs and a full time school schedule. I had to be reminded by my godmom to slow down and enjoy my college days. Looking back, I didn't enjoy it nearly enough.

From the moment I got the call my life changed drastically. I was sensitive to everything. Smell, noise, traffic, emotions... everything brittled my skin and jostled my mind. With every bad news, life tugged at my inability to STOP and STAND STILL. I had come to terms that my mom would not wake up. I had accepted that I would have to continue sacrificing things that made me happy and allowed me to reach closer to my dreams in order to come home and take care of my dad. The words, "I will survive to keep on surviving" played like an anthem in my mind.

There was a moment in the ICU where we were all gathered and one of my mom's friends said, "Your mom is not going anywhere. We have all petitioned for her life and God will not break that contract." It filled me with such a sense of hope... I clung to those words late at night when my nightmares haunted me.

One night after a long day of sitting around in the ICU my mom's longest friend came to us after having visited my mom's bedside and said that my mom yawned. We ALL clapped. Yawning means the brain needs oxygen... and if her brain was communicating that she needed oxygen than she couldn't be brain dead!!!! It was a glimmer of hope. And we wrapped it around our necks and wore it with an urgency that can't be described in words.

So much happened, so fast... The Doctors had decided to schedule a time to take her off the ventilator. They wanted to slowly remove all the machines and see if she could live on her own. They warned us that if she couldn't breathe on her own, even if she woke up one day, she may be stuck on a ventilator for the rest of her life. I flew back to Oregon on the day that they had scheduled to remove the ventilator. Flying that day was difficult... I was terrified of the messages that would be left on my phone.

When I landed in Eugene I had not had any voicemail. My friend Stacia picked me up from the airport and nearly gasped when she saw me. "When was the last time you ate?" I couldn't answer honestly. She took me to breakfast where I barely could swallow bites of french toast. I told her in detail what was going on and she told me I should call my Aunt. I didn't want to. Sometimes, no news IS good news... and if by calling her I'd receive bad news, I couldn't pretend that I didn't know the obvious... which would mean I'd have to remove my glitter of hope necklace and put on my coat of despair.

We left the restaurant and were returning to campus when my phone rang. My body went cold. I, shakily, answered. It was my oldest cousin and this is what he said, "What did I tell you, Paria? Your mom is a fighter!!! They took her off the ventilator at 7 this morning and she's been breathing on her own ever since!!! She's even snoring!!!" I could hear the laughter in the background. My mom's snoring is a joke among all of us... we'd fight over who'd sleep the farthest away from her because her snoring could wake up a dead elephant. True story. But on that day, her snoring was music to the ears. I cried. I cried. I cried. Finally the tears were not razor blades on my skin... the tears felt like warm, liquid heaven. I couldn't stop thanking God that day.

The bad news streamed in constantly but the good news did the same. The following day I was told that the Doctors had told my family that my mom woke up and answered to her name. When asked what her name was, she clearly replied, "Fati." I was to return to LA two days later and I lived in this surreal dream... It seemed between the time she woke up to the time that I arrived back to her bedside, she improved by leaps and bounds.

We were told she was very aggressive and demanding. Shocking to those of us who knew her best. My mom is about as demanding as a Priest. She doesn't raise her voice to strangers, but apparently being drug induced empowered her. They had to keep her on a feeding tube because she refused to swallow the horse pills necessary to prevent her from stroking. She also demanded that they give her her phone and watch back. Now.

When I finally did get to her bedside she looked frail, sleepy but excited to see me. To say that I floated on air would be lying. I was beside myself with JOY. She recognized me. She was not blind. She was not deaf. She was not paralyzed. Her memory was not gone, although weaker than before. She was vibrant and childlike in her curiosity. She still had her appetite for sweets which she showcased to me and my aunt. While being fed by the nurse, my mom quickly became bored with her dinner and pointed at the slice of cake on the tray. My aunt and I chuckled and hugged each other. Now THAT was the woman we both knew and loved.

She was fully awake and alert on Mother's Day. I got a call on my cell phone from the ICU that nearly sent me into a heart attack. They knew not to call me, everything went through my Aunt and Uncle first. How did they get my number? The Nurse spoke quickly, "When are you going to be here?" She sounded frenzied. "Right now, soon... what's wrong?" "Your mom keeps yelling, 'where is my daughter? I want my daughter!' and she won't be quiet. She's waking everyone up." I smiled and the fear whispered out of my body. "Tell her I'm on my way."

While we knew the battle was not over we all celebrated having bits and pieces of my mom return. During her first few days awake the nurses monitored the fluid build up in her brain. If her body could not efficiently drain the fluid, they'd have to put a shunt into her brain. We prayed that that would not be the case.

We got quite a few scares. Her brain was building up excessive fluid and it was making my mom very tired. The Docs wanted her to sleep as much as possible, saying her brain and body needed all the rest she could get, but while awake she seemed very groggy. Abnormally groggy. She also seemed to ask the time ALL the time. "What time is it?" was her favorite question. In a 5 minute time span, she wanted to know the time at least every 30 seconds... the scary part was that she asked as if she had NO clue what time it was. My Aunt and I exchanged worried glances every time we were witness to that behavior.

One morning we came to the ICU and were told that my mom fell asleep in the middle of eating her dinner and her entire tray and pillow were soaked through. They had taken her in to tighten the stitches around her scalp. There was never a moment that I walked into that ICU without my entire body being seized by fear. I anticipated the worse and it drained me.

During my mom's recovery, my dad returned from Iran. He missed out on the hardest, most dreary days of her illness. He got to witness only her waking up from a deep sleep. He made her dinner late at night and stayed by her bedside all night for days at a time. While I couldn't stand being in the ICU, couldn't bear to see my mom so frail and so sick, wanted to leave as soon as I got there... my dad never wanted to leave. He didn't want her out of his sight. He'd rub her legs and feet and he'd update us like a proud parent whose child had just returned from war. He showed me how very strong and capable he is of taking care of himself. I quickly figured out that I didn't need to be his parent. He was mine.

We all decided that it'd be best that I return to school without constant visits back and fourth. My dad was back and my mom was rapidly healing and life was tinged with a hint of normalcy. The night before returning to Oregon I sat with my mom and tried to explain to her all that had happened, all that she had missed out on. We had met families during those weeks who shared in our grief; some who mourned a loss and others who celebrated a happy ending. Being able to share those stories with her made them feel like a far away fairy tale where the bad guy loses and the good guy gets the girl.

The last couple days of my stay in LA, a 17 year old boy had been medevaced into the neuro ICU. He was riding his skateboard down a hill and fell, hitting his head against the concrete. He had sustained a brain injury so severe the Doctors didn't think he'd ever be able to walk again. Their presence turned the cold, empty room into a full, lively one. Teenagers, family members, children lined the walls. Posters and banners were made with the boys name and messages written all over it. His parents carried the grief the same way I did; in their eyes, around their shoulders, through their tears.... My heart ached for them. I understood the road they were about to travel.

I knew their dark days were ahead of them... bad news, good news, bad news, good news... a rally of support and prayers would link all those people together. Their love for that young, handsome, blonde boy would be felt through the waiting room walls and it would seep into his sleeping, possibly disabled body. He didn't look good. The few days that we'd go in to visit my mom, we'd stop by his bedside and say little prayers, place our hands on his parents shoulders, exchange a knowing look and hope that his outcome would be as good as ours. His mother and I had a brief moment where we could both feel each others pain. A parent child connection is the strongest bond in the world... just as I watched my mom touch the brink of death, this mom would watch her child flirt with it too. On my last day in the ICU, I hugged her and said, "Talk to him. He hears you." And her tears were salt to my wounds.

I gave my mom a see-you-soon kiss... promising that I'd see her in the middle of the summer. I was going to finish my last couple weeks, visit my soldier at his boot camp graduation and try to save up some money before making another trip to LA. It would be nearly two months before I'd see her again.

When I walked out of the ICU hallway, I turned back to look at all the people in the waiting room and I said a prayer for all of them. We were one of those families that got out of there lucky. We were able to bring our loved one home with us. Many during our time at USC Medical Center left that hallway, that hospital empty handed. I prayed that that young boy would survive, I prayed that he'd be able to ride a skateboard once again and that his parents would be able to cheer him along. From the looks of it, they too were signing a large petition for his life and I stand firm in believing that God does not break contracts.

Life has a funny way of reminding you that not everyones story is the same. Not everyone gets to cry tears of joy.... in the circle of life we are just a heartbeat, a breath, an injury, an aneurysm away from dying. The day my mom was released from the hospital was the exact same day my soldier graduated from boot camp. It was as if Life was giving me gifts to celebrate and to make up for all those weeks of darkness. I carried Hope within my bones and Hope rewarded me for believing in her.

If I have learned anything during the time spent grieving the possible loss of my mom, it would be that we should never let a day go by without saying "I love you." "You are my soulmate." "You make my world a better place." "Thank you." Like a thief in the night, the very soul within your body could be taken from you.... try to make your last breath one to remember.

And as Always,

PeAce.

The Day After

Yesterday my two worlds collided.

One of our own went on a rampage on Fort Hood in Killeen, Texas. The city that carried my heart for over two years on a military post that felt like a second home to me.

I say my two worlds collide because I was at work when the news came in on the wires about the shooting. In a moment of complete numbness I was forced into full throttle. Chaos in the newsroom as we moved rapidly into place to make sure that we had troops moving to Ft. Hood to cover the story for all of our platforms. In the midst of all the chaos I was making calls to those I knew on Post: to gather editorial information and most importantly to make sure that those I cared about were not in harms way.

I LOVE my job. I was so grateful to be in the newsroom gathering information, rather than at home watching the images on tv. The fear would have paralyzed me but something about the pace of my job, the efficiency required to get the details correct, makes it easier to move past the fear, not feel the pain.

It wasn't until I left... after a 14 hour day... that I realized that it had only been a month to the day that I, myself, had been at Fort Hood.

It was the largest massacre on a military post in US history. And I had the honor and the privilege of covering it as a member of the Press. I am one lucky lady to have the connections I do with the US Army.... but the news of such hatred, such brutality on our soil, among our very own leaves us feeling less safe, farther away from promoting peace, and embroiled in misconceptions....

*Images gathered from different news websites

My prayers are with all those who are suffering from this tragic incident.

And as always,

PeAce.

Breaking Hopelessness (Pt.4)

My mother was dying.

If I could have tied those words together and hung it around my neck, I would have... just to avoid hearing my own voice say it.

I lived in this perpetual slow motion fog that bleakly resembled my every worse nightmare coming true.

My mom was dying.

And we all muddled around the ICU with our hands clasped together, our voices hushed, prayers on our minds, an urgency to stay and leave that horrible place all at once.

My maman-jan was dying.

And their wasn't a damned thing we could do about it. Any of us. Except to keep moving forward.

When I arrived back into Los Angeles, my mother's condition had remained the same. My godparents and godsis had returned from their trip and I began to take residence at my Godparents house. I mentioned my support net in Oregon and briefly mentioned those who surrounded and supported me in LA. Among the top tier: My uncle and Aunt, my mom's best friend Nazi, Jessie, a woman who I babysat for- turned friend: Kelly, and my cousins: Niloo and Kami, my Godparents and my godsis. During moments of tragedy you really take stock of those who step in while the rest of the world steps out.

The moment my Godparents returned it was without question that while all this was going on, I'd semi-permanently live with them. I had the comforts of home: home-cooked meals, my godmom waking me up in the morning, grocery shopping, and any trace of normalcy I could find in my second home.

I spent my days at the ICU and my nights at the Cohens. I should take a moment and mention that this family has never denied me anything. They have been there, over and over again, to pick me up, dust me off and reassure me that I'd make it. My godmom lost her mom at a very early age and whether she knew it or not, she became a symbol of strength for me. I knew that if she could survive the death of a parent in her early teens, I could surely survive the death of a parent in my mid-20s. At the same time, I remained sensitive to the fact that watching me go through all that suffering, probably reminded her of her own loss... and as much as I could I tried to wear a brave face.

In moments of grief you are forced to look into yourself and pull out all the tools God gave you to keep moving, to keep breathing, to stay hopeful. With each passing day my hope weakened. I quickly became aware of how fragile hope is... how it's the first thing to be tested during times of sorrow.

Those I love, those who love me back kept hope alive. Like warmth leaving the body, I always had someone who realized that my hope was running out... someone who shook me awake and reminded me that if my mom could survive all that she survived, I had to give her the chance to survive this too.

My mom is a gem. During her weeks in the ICU I spent a lot of time walking through memory lane... and I spent a lot of time crying over all the cliches that you read about, or hear on tv. I wanted her alive to see me graduate, I wanted her to be with me while I picked out my wedding dress, I wanted her to hold her first grandchild. I knew that if she died, nothing in my life would ever feel the same. There would be a big gaping hole in every picture perfect memory of my life.

My Uncle joked during our many family gatherings that when I was a child I'd call my mom 15 times a day. He'd never seen a 5, 6, 7 year old so devoted to their parent. I think it was because, even in childhood, I recognized all of her sacrifices and I never took them for granted.

Those who know me, know that I walk around with a weight on my shoulders. I don't want to do great things because I feel that I am destined to be great. I have to be great because my mother raised me to do great things. She spent her birthday (Valentine's Day) walking me up and down Ventura Blvd, passing Valentine's candy to homeless people. The same homeless people who years later she befriended (almost on a name basis) because she walked that Boulevard to work everyday. When the entire family was invited to go to parties, my mom volunteered to stay home and baby sit the kids. Not once did she ever argue, fuss or fight. The first to volunteer her time and the last to leave a sticky situation. She was the Aunt who helped with all the homework assignments and projects, the friend who listens for hours all the while doing your laundry and washing your dishes so you have less to do during your time of troubles, the Mother who set her own life aside, so her child could have one. My mom, while out of a job, gave money she didn't have to random people during times of need and never judged an enemy for their actions. The most endearing trait is that she is the LAST person to remember her own acts of kindness.

I walk around with a weight on my shoulder to do profound things with my life, because I witnessed a profound woman sacrifice so that others had more while she expected less. For years, my mom had headaches. For years. Ask those around her, how often she complained. I lived with her and I never knew. She suffered silently. All of her life she suffered silently.

During my visits to her bedside, I couldn't help but notice how true to form she looked lying on the white sheets... she looked like an angel. All those whose lives she touched and changed showed up to surround her with their love. There were some who were too afraid or unable to stop by for a visit, so they did the next best thing, they took care of her daughter. People contributed to paying for my flights back and fourth, others who drove me to and fro, and yet others who sent me daily reminders of their love and prayers.

During all of this, I had a constant whisper in the back of my head... a nagging feeling that nothing would be okay until I could hear his voice. Antoine. My soldier. My new Private in the Army. I worried that he thought I stopped caring as soon as he stopped receiving my letters. For those who don't know, phone calls are scarce and can only be made by the soldier during Bootcamp, the only other form of communication onto Post was through snail mail. During his time at Fort Benning, I'd made sure he received at least two letters a week... after the day I found out about my mom my correspondence with him came to a complete halt. I knew with each passing day his concern would increase. I was reminded, again, how helpless I was. That voice never disappeared and in moments of utter despair, his name ringing in the back of my mind brought me comfort.

The Doctors didn't have anything good to say to us, but we all continued to visit daily. Close to the end of the second week, I realized that I couldn't allow our finances to fall through the cracks. My mother was dying, but the bills do not stop to give you moment of pause. They just keep piling up. I asked my Uncle and Jessie to come with me to my apartment. I could survive the news of my mom's sickness, I could rise above all the bad news of her decreasing health, I could walk into the ICU and see her moments after surgery..... but I could not.... walk into my apartment. The place I called home for over 17 years.... the place that felt like home because every time I walked in through the door, my mom was there to greet me. The aroma of Persian spices, her favorite tv show blaring, or her music beating farsi tunes, her smiling face behind a book, or her light snoring in her bedroom. Home, to me, is not where the heart is, home to me is where my mother is. As much as I loathed the ICU, during those weeks it felt more like home than my apartment.

Walking into the dark living room left me dizzy, her absence clung to the still air. The place was spotless. I tried not to take too much in and walked into her bedroom. Objects met my eye and were imprinted in my minds eye. Her purse with gum, a pen and notepad, a set of keys. Her pajamas strewn across the bed. I walked into the closet and pulled out the bills and checkbook just as she had advised the night before surgery. I walked over to her drawers and pulled out a few other items and suddenly lost all sense of control. I did what I promised myself I wouldn't do. I took out one of her shirts and burrowed my face into it, inhaling her scent. My tears gushing, light moaning and inhaling making for quite a perfect scene in a movie. Jessie grabbed me around my heaving shoulders and sternly reminded me, "she's NOT dead. She's not dead and you don't need to do this to yourself." My Uncle said the same in farsi. In her room, I could feel her everywhere. I found a notepad that had her writing in it, her handwriting brought me such joy.... I felt like I could touch her, that through her writing she could touch me. In the notepad I found little jewels: quotes on strength and enduring... even in her comatose state my mom was handing me strength. Speaking to me on how to carry on, how to be steadfast.

Walking through the house, I realized that this was never my house, it was never my dad's house, it was my mom's house. She made it what it was: cozy, warm, welcoming. Finally I asked that we leave. On our way out, I noticed a frame I'd never seen before. A poem I wrote for my mom when I was a child, titled, "Wind Beneath my Wings." That caused the volcanic eruption of moaning and tears. Our mother-daughter connection..... indelible.

Walking out of that house that day, I was angry with the Universe. I was angry with Life. I was angry with my mom. I felt they all could have done better, worked harder to bring her back. I willed my mom's spirit to fight. I cursed the Universe for handing me something I couldn't handle, something that would clearly leave me emotionally paralyzed.

Writing the bills, balancing the checkbook, I imagined that to be my future. I'd have to quit school, come home to take care of my dad and possibly a vegetable mom, or no mom at all. I couldn't grasp which would be worse.

Life has a funny way of showing you what your made of. A funny way of testing your faith, of breaking your hopelessness, of ripping your guts out and handing it back to you, all the while laughing in a far-off corner, pointing and whispering, "didn't you know you could survive all of this? Don't you know only those who are most capable of bearing the weight of the worlds suffering on their shoulders are tested beyond capacity. Didn't you know, my child, that in you, I've seen you cannot crumble? That your entire life, I have prepared you for this exact moment. That this too shall pass." And all I wanted to do was give Life a big kick in the ass and tell it to go bully somebody else. That my family had seen its fair share of suffering, that unlike those who have had one or two tragedies in their life, we had burdened enough for an entire lifetime.

I have friends who've had their cars broken into and they carry an anxiety that supersedes anything I'd ever felt, even though they couldn't compare their "travesty" to my life experiences. While my mom fought for her life, I had moments where I became really bitter. Really annoyed at every one making light of difficult issues, and exasperating light issues. There were moments when I'd walk into a room and my entire body craved screaming, "MY MOM IS DYING AND THERE ISN'T A DAMN THING I CAN DO ABOUT!!!!!!" But I never did. I allowed the good battle the evil within, without allowing the outside world to play audience (or judge and jury) to my internal war.

Even with my incredible support network, I have never felt more alone than I did in those weeks. I worried about everyone else; worried about my mom, worried about my dad, worried about taking too much of everyones time, worried about school, worried about finances, worried, worried, and worried. Then at night, I bundled all that worry up into one emotional knot inside my throat and swallowed real hard. Tomorrow would have a whole new set of worries and I wasn't about to be left hopeless. I'd survived enough hardship to know that in order for things to get better, they had to get worse.

To be continued...

Razor blade Tears (P.3)

The next time I saw my mother she was hardly recognizable. Her left eye the size of a baseball, her entire body still and her head wrapped in white gauze.

They took her in at 8 in the morning... the night before surgery was the hardest of my life. I just kept praying that she'd make it through, that'd she'd live to have surgery and that she'd survive the surgery itself.

We gathered in the waiting room of the ICU; my aunt, uncle, cousin, his wife, all of my mom's closest friends, Jessie. We waited. And waited. And waited. Nearly 9 hours later the Doctor came in and told us the surgery was a success. The aneurysm was clipped, the blood sewn up... we could see her.

The nurses decided to only allow two people in at a time, explaining that she needed as much sleep as possible. My uncle and I walked in first.

Somehow, walking from the waiting room to her bedside felt like 12 miles... I dragged my feet, my heart in my throat, my lungs unable to take in enough oxygen. As the heavy doors opened, the tears that fell from eyes felt like razor blades on my skin. My hands seemed to get in my way. My breathing felt like hot fire against my throat.

When we finally got to her, she was still, peaceful, almost... lifeless. Suddenly the nurse began to shriek, "Fatemah! Fatemah! Fatemah! Open your eyes, Fatemah!" I asked her why she had to yell like that and she responded, "she's in a far away place." Fine. But her shrieking didn't help my jittery nerves.

My mom jumped and I jumped too. Her eyes popped wide open and she looked frightening. She slowly moved her head and I gasped. The baseball eye, the slack expression, the light moaning. My body began to tremble.

"Hi mama." I whispered.

"Fatemah, Fatemah! Do you know who this is?" That question made my heart freeze, the blood in my veins coursed icy... of course she knows who I am! I'm her one and only daughter! I'm the reason she lives the life she lives! I'm her kid, goddamit! She knows who I am!!!!

"That's my daughter." I beamed. The smile hurt my face, smiling was an unfamiliar expression at that point... and then my uncle asked her how she was.

"I'm fine, how are you?" She answered in farsi. The response made me smile again. My adorable, generous, loving, kind mother. Even after brain surgery, even being that weak, she remained polite. I will NEVER forget whose daughter I am. What a responsibility I have to be a good person. She raised me to be nothing less.

She began to moan about her head. The nurse then asked us to leave. But before doing so, she made my mom open her mouth to swallow a HUGE horse pill. I asked what the pill was for.

"This pill is to prevent her from having seizures. The blood clot in her brain and the surgery to her veins are very sensitive right now. If she seizes it may cause the surgically snipped vein to burst."

Tears gushed down my face. As if seeing her vulnerable, swollen and in pain wasn't enough... the war was not over.... it was just beginning.

I kissed her gently and said, "I love you mom" and she said, "I love you too." I, then, turned to the nurse and with the last strength in my body I said, "Please take good care of her. She is my soulmate." The weary nurse double took at me and quickly glanced at my mom, who so quickly went far away, and nodded.

I turned around and looked at my mom one more time before exiting the room... nurses all around her. Her body lifeless. Her face peaceful. I said a prayer and left the room. It would be days before I got the strength to go back in.

During that time, my Aunt really carried the family on her shoulders. She was always the first to go to the hospital and the very last to leave. The Doctors all knew they had to remain in correspondence with her. She made the tough decisions and I believe lost the most amount of sleep. To say I am indebted to her would fall short of what I feel for how she handled the situation. She was my rock, in every sense of the word, while my mom fought for her life.

The next morning when we all gathered back at the ICU, my Aunt was already there. All the same faces, all the same broken hearts. While we sat and quietly chatted, the family who was there the same amount of time as we were, learned that their father passed away. It was so difficult to watch their grief, so close to what we all felt, so helpless in how to make it go away.

Once the family left, we all found a reason to grieve ourselves. Two doctors asked to speak to my Aunt and Uncle. I followed.

All I heard was, "She's unresponsive. We don't believe she has any brain wave activity." My knees wobbled, my legs turned to mashed potatoes and my breath went woooshing out of my body.

My Aunt and Uncle came back and told us in detail what was going on. She wasn't responding to her name. Whereas yesterday they'd ask her to look, she looked, to open her mouth, she opened her mouth. Today she only stared at them blankly. They would have to undergo another mini surgery to insert a monitor in her brain... try to keep track of her brainwaves, or lack thereof. The Doctors told them that they didn't think she'd make it.

My mom's best friend, Jessie and I all went outside. We found a quiet place to sit and to pray. My mom's best friend found a passage in her Koran that she read from and asked that I find a passage from the Bible. I don't remember what I chose. But it comforted me. Then the three of us held hands and prayed. We screamed. We cried. We prayed.

I still was not eating much and I had to decide what my next game plan was. How soon I'd return to school.

I refused to go into my apartment. Too many memories of my mom. I couldn't bear to be so close to all her belongings, while knowing that she was very possibly losing a battle for her life.

I stayed with my uncle and aunt and for the first few days, Jessie stayed with me and accompanied me everywhere. She too was a guiding force for me. She put her life on pause to cater to my every need. But the burden began to wear her out and she had to return to a little normalcy. She stopped going to the hospital with me.

At night I prayed and sent emails, keeping those I loved informed of what all my mom was going through, a play by play of her condition. Which only worsened.

The day before I scheduled my flight to Oregon, we were handed another scary card. Earlier that morning my mother had, what the Doctors thought, a heart attack on the table. Her body went into shock and her brain began to swell to nearly double it's size. The Doctors had to remove the left side of her skull in order to allow the brain to expand without it being compressed.

My Aunt told me the news as soon as I entered the waiting room. She made me take a walk with her down the hallway. I remember remaining very calm as she told me. I kept clutching my own chest while trying to breathe. "She's not going to make it! She keeps getting worse," I whimpered. Angry with God. Cursing the Universe. Wishing I could trade places with her. My Aunt took my shoulders and looked me dead in the eyes, "IF YOU GIVE UP, SHE GIVES UP." I quickly woke up.

She was unable to breathe on her own and was put on a ventilator. I needed a ventilator. We were not allowed to see her and so I decided it'd be ok to return to Oregon. I was helpless in that ICU. I left her in worse condition and didn't know if I'd have to return to LA immediately upon arrival in Eugene.

I had another support net in Oregon. You remember Stacey and Jamie? Well there was Brittany, Erika, Stacia, select few church members, classmates, professors, and co-workers.

I couldn't go to my empty home so I stayed with Stacey and Jamie. The Athletic Department knew how desperately I needed to keep my mind off things, so they allowed me to work and were very flexible to my needs. I had to catch up on everything I missed in over a week in a matter of a weekend.

I learned, later, that Stacey had made a call to Jessie while I was gone, asking about my eating habits. Jessie, knowing me too well, told her not to force me, "If Paria wants to eat, Paria will eat."

So Stacey would make dinner and leave it on the stove. She'd gently tell me it was there if I wanted it. She'd make me my favorite peanut butter sandwich and leave it on the counter for me... making sure I'd see it sitting there in case I wanted to take it with me for school or work.

One night, after helping me shoot a commercial, Stacey, Jamie and a few other girls had a dance party. The rules were we couldn't stop dancing. Or laughing. That night saved my life.

These are the photos Stacey took of me the next day.... if you look at them close enough, you'll see that I'm dealing with pain, my eyes are glazed over and my face is pretty pale.

However, one thing these photos do portray, is my fighting spirit. The same spirit that my mother has carried within her, her entire life. We were both born survivors. These photos remind me that while the nights were dark, the days were long, the future uncertain.... I carried a strength inside my bones.... knowing that my mom would make it. Knowing that if she didn't, I would find a way to be ok...

To be continued.....

Patience is Running Out (P.2)

I didn't sleep much through the night, my body reverberating against the idea that morning would bring even worse news...I began to fervently pray that my mom would make it through the night, that I could at least say good-bye.

I hugged Stacey good-bye at the airport and promised to keep her posted.... I boarded the plane, nervous and scared to find my mother in worse condition than was described to me. In moments of complete anguish I found myself reflecting....reflecting on my childhood, my time with my mom, my life. Boarding the plane I took in my surroundings: everyone seemed so care free.

Don't you know what I'm going through right now? Can't you tell by my bloodshot eyes that I just received the worse news of my life? Why all the laughing? All the joy?

I walked in a dark cloud and I was so sure that it was visible to others. I wore my sadness like a cloak but what I did not realize at the moment is that I wore a smile on my face to mask my pain. The woman I sat next to brought that to my attention.

"Where are you going?" She asked me.

"My mom is having brain surgery this morning."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I was a nurse in the neurology department 10 years ago...."

I found myself so comforted by this complete stranger. She began to go on and warn me that post operation, my mom may not look like herself, that there would be a lot of bruising, possibility of swelling... that she may be unrecognizable. I told her why she was having brain surgery and she sucked in a little too much air. The reaction made me very uneasy.

"Have you eaten?" I shook my head and gave her a shy smile.

"I can't swallow." She nodded.

When the flight attendant made her way to us, my new friend asked her for two cans of ginger ale and a handful of crackers.

"She has a rough day ahead of her."

When the plane touched down, I realized the lump in my throat had tripled in size. The reality of why I was there jolted me almost as much as the wheels hitting the runway. I turned and gave the woman a hug and quickly made my way outside. When one of my best friends Jessie picked me up, I was comforted to know that my mom was still alive. I had no scary voice messages on my phone. She immediately drove me to the hospital.

My feet felt like heavy logs as they carried me through the hospital corridors to my mom's room. I saw my Aunt first. She was outside with the Doctor who was explaining my mom's diagnosis. My Aunt immediately gave me a hug and we listened closely to the Doctor.

"A hemorrhaged brain aneurysm is caused by a weakened blood vessel in the brain. The blood vessel creates a bubble of blood and when it ruptures, the brain usually drowns in the blood. In the case of the patient, her bubble of blood is slowly leaking into her brain. What we have to do is go in and in a controlled environment cut the bubble, absorb the blood before it can damage the brain any more than it already has and patch up the blood vessel."

I tried to take it all in and finally was led in to see my mom. She was breathtaking. Strong. Almost girl-like. Had she been sitting anywhere else other than a hospital bed, you would have thought she was having the best day of her life. She smiled big when she saw me and teased me for leaving school.

"Mommy, you look goooood, " I breathed.

"I told you I'm fine."

She was very loopy and highly medicated. Any time she complained of a headache they increased her dose of morphine. She couldn't move too rapidly or get out of her bed for anything other than to use the restroom-which was the equivalent of a bucket next to her bed... Any sudden movement could cause the tiny bomb in her head to explode: which would be the end of my soulmate as I knew it. We were waiting for a bed to open up in the neurology unit at USC. The hospital we were at was not equipped with the tools for proper surgery.

At one point every one left... my relatives had been with her for two straight days and this was their opportunity to get some lunch, get some rest. I sat in a the curtained section with my mom. I could only kiss her hands over and over as she fell asleep. I got angry with the tears that put her serene face out of focus. I wanted to take her in. I prayed with words that didn't make much sense. I bartered with the Universe. I'd sell my soul to the Devil to keep her alive.

The rest of the afternoon was littered with visits and naps. At one point we were finally able to reach my dad who was in Iran and still had no idea what was going on.

I gasped and breathed and shrieked into the phone.

"Mommy is having brain surgery.... it doesn't look too good Daddy."

My dad's sobbing racked my body with even more fear... he was with my mom's family and they were all beside themselves with grief. No one could understand what was going on.

"But she's only 45.... but she was fine when I left..... but this can't be happening...." But, but, but.... All the buts in the world could not make this go away. Although it felt like I was moving in a dream like state, every time the machine next to my mom's head beeped that her blood pressure was rising reminded me how very real it all was. I'd leap out of the chair when that machine made a noise, or when she softly moaned, "oh my head." I'd rush one of the nurses behind the curtain to come. Fast. And they'd make the beeping go away. Her moaning stop.

I had to call her uncles in Texas to tell them... one of whom nearly passed out on the phone. My mom's best friend asked me what my plan was with school and when I didn't answer she gently suggested that I may want to take a year off... that if my mom survived it'd be a long process to rehabilitate. It was all too much. Too much. Too fast. I just wanted to be 23, carefree...I wanted to be sitting in a classroom, worried about my midterms, stressing about how I could study while working round the clock...I just wanted to be anywhere but where I was.

The time kept on ticking by... it was the longest day of my life. I did circles around the nurses, "when is a bed going to open up? why is this taking so long? Don't you people realize that she has a ticking time bomb in her brain????"

Jessie's mom use to work in the Neurology department at USC for seven years. She made some phone calls. No one could understand why or how it could take all day to have my mom admitted for surgery.

During all of the chaos outside of the curtains that hid my mom, within the curtains my mom slept soundly. There was a moment when it was just she and I.... she was sleeping on her bed and I was sleeping in my chair. It was dark outside by the time I opened my eyes. I watched my mom's rhythmic breathing, listened to the beeps of the machines that surrounded her, the only sounds in the room.

I walked over to her and began to caress her hand. I so badly wanted to jump up on the bed and lay beside her. Cuddle her as she use to do me when I was little and had a tummy ache or a fever.

"Don't leave me Mommy. Please don't leave me. I can't live without you...."

My phone rang. It was Jessie's mom, "Paria, USC has a spot open. Go tell the nurses that they have had a spot open for over three hours." My body shook with rage. I pushed the curtains aside and spoke to the same woman I had been speaking to all day.

"There is a spot open at USC. I want to have my mom transported to USC immediately." All afternoon she promised that she'd notify us the moment a bed opened and now the words that she spoke sounded like lies. I shook my head, angrily. Tears spilling from my eyes.

"I was just told that a bed has been open for three hours and I need you to call USC right now and reserve that bed for my mother. Right now."

I am soft spoken. I don't feel comfortable demanding anyone to do anything for me. But when it comes to my mother and her life, the pit bull that lives within me is revealed. I've learned since then to harness that pit bull. It has come in handy in my life.

After a few phone calls proved that Jessie's mom was correct, time began to speed up. An ambulance would come to pick my mom up and transport her to USC immediately. I notified my aunt and my uncle, Jessie and my mom's best friend, Nazi.

The two men who readied my mom for the ambulance trip were amazing. They joked with my mom and she joked back. After they lifted her off the bed and had her settled on the new one, I leaned in, "Mommy, I love you. You're my soulmate." And my mother replied, "and you're mine." That would be the only time I'd see her eyes fill with tears. The only request that she had was that she could hold her little Qu'ran in her hands during the ride and during surgery. They were very kind to her. As Nazi, Jessie and I watched them roll her through the corridors and to the ambulance, we jumped and recoiled every time her bed on wheels hit a bump. I sucked air in through my teeth as they lifted her up and into the ambulance. She waved to us, and all three of us fell apart. As the ambulance turned on it's sirens and rushed her away, we clung to each other. That is an image that is etched in my brain forever. Nazi began screaming to God. And I had little energy even to speak.

My uncle, aunt, Nazi and a few other relatives were by my mom's side while Jessie and I got lost trying to find the hospital. By the time we arrived, they had already left.

In order to get into the ICU Unit you had to call and request to see your patient. Then the big heavy doors would open with a loud humming sound. That sound haunted me for months. Walking into the ICU took my breath away. Ten beds. Ten patients with severe brain trauma. Death enveloped that room.... and for the next few weeks it would be home to my mom. The thought sent chills down my spine.

Jessie and I immediately spotted my mom. Jessie hugged and kissed her and said she'd see her in the morning and then left to give us some space. There were even more machines that surrounded her, more beeping, more sounds, more reminders that this was not a dream. My mom clutched her little Qu'ran in her hands and with her eyes shut she filled me in on how to pay the bills, where the checkbook was, on and on with how to take care of the finances while she underwent surgery.... and in case....she. didn't. make. it.

I asked her what she wanted me to do about school and she was quick to respond, "You need to finish. You don't give up school to come home and take care of me. Promise me you will get your degree." I promised.

That is when I felt about 40 years old. The weight of the world strapped on to my shoulders, as I clung to the edge of the mountain.

"Mom, what do you want me to do if they say you might be...." I couldn't finish the sentence. And with more strength than she had all day, she said, "Even if there is a 50 percent chance of me surviving, you tell them to fight for me." My body let out little trembles of stress as I nodded and tried to gulp in air as fast as I could. The room began to spin around me.

My entire life my mother told me that if something should happen and there was even the slightest chance of her waking up paralyzed or as a vegetable, to pull the plug. I didn't know then if she was speaking or if it was the medication. I forced myself to ask her the question again.

"Fight. You fight for me." That was all she needed to say.... and fight is what I did.

To be continued.....

The Phone Call (P.1)

On April 29, 2007 I got the phone call that nearly changed my life forever. The phone call that made my world spin, brought me to my knees and knocked the very breath out of my body.

"Paria, your mom is in the hospital."

My entire life I waited for that phone call. I imagined the day I'd receive that phone call. I had nightmares about that phone call.

It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day in Eugene, Oregon. Unusual weather for Spring in Eugene. I chose to walk to work that day. I lived only a mile away and wanted to do something called a prayer walk. I had joined a Church earlier that year, a church that was ridden with conspiracy of being a cult. The church taught us to live, breathe, and bleed the Bible. I broke up with Antoine in order to please the leaders of the Church because they taught that you must yolk with the same believers and Antoine was not willing to join that Church. Trust me, I'm going some where with this. Among the many things the Church expected you to do, a prayer walk was one of them.... you walk and you talk with God.

Up until that day I struggled with the ways of the Church. A month earlier my mom had come up to Eugene and met the leaders and my fellow "brothers and sisters." She told me she got a bad feeling about them. A woman who never judges anyone, who never talks ill about anyone, her feeling sent a chill down my spine and alerted me to the many warning signs of the Church. But I continued to go to Church, continued to pray the prayers, follow the "rituals," believe their beliefs.

The day I got the phone call I woke up feeling very close to God, driven, in fact, to follow him in a capacity that I had not dedicated myself to before.... and I told Him all of that during my prayer walk..."God, today I turn to you and only you. I will walk this path, this life, this journey to please you and no one else. I dedicate my life to you. If that means having to turn away from my parents because they don't believe like I do, then I will. If that means shutting out the people who whisper lies about this Church, then I will. Just please continue to give me signs that you're listening."

I walked into the University's Athletic Department with a new pep in my step. I said hello to my co-workers and began working with such joy and pure love for life. A new beginning.

It was a long day and we had a meeting after work. My phone was in my pocket. When it began to vibrate, I took it out and saw my uncle's number on the screen. Instantly I was seized with worry. My father was in Iran at the time and although my uncle called me regularly during my time in college, somehow this ring felt different. I looked at my co-worker and dearest friend, Stacey and said, "something is wrong with my mom, my uncle just called me." Stacey knew me well enough to understand that that was my paranoid nature speaking.

Once the meeting was over I got up and began to walk down the path toward my house, phone over my ear as it rang my Uncle.... and with minutes he spoke those words,

"Paria, your mom is in the hospital."

He began to ramble on and on about how she didn't want me to know because I was taking my midterms that week and she didn't want me to worry and words, words, words that I can't remember anymore. Finally, I asked:

"Please be honest with me, is she going to die?"

He chuckled and reassured me that they had no idea why she was there, she was feeling ill for a few days, complaining of a severe headache and this was just a precaution.

At that point I turned around and walked back towards the Athletic Department, I knew instantly my trembling legs, my convulsing body would not carry me home. Once I got to the parking lot I heard someone in the background say, "tell her she should come," and when I heard that, the floodgate of tears turned on and I screamed into the phone,

"TELL ME SHE IS NOT GOING TO DIE!!!!!"

Then my uncle began to cry and he again went back to speaking words that were nonsensical and pointless at the time. Finally I hung up and saw a couple of my colleagues gathered around a car and breathless I said, "my mom is in the hospital and I think she's going to die and I walked here and I can't walk home and I need a ride and," I passed out. I fell to the ground and instantly began to weep into the grass. And my friends, worried and shaken, tried to help me up and give me water and it was all so very pointless.

They spoke words and words and words and I just needed everyone to freeze, to shut up for a moment, to help me breathe, to remind me how to breathe. I then grabbed my phone and called Stacey and as soon as she answered all I had to say was, "my mom is in the hospital," and she replied, "I'm coming back to get you, where are you?" Within 5 minutes she showed up in the parking lot with another one of our colleagues in the passenger seat. I fell into Stacey's arms and tried to tell her what I knew and she didn't need to hear any of it. "We're going to your house, you're going to pack a bag and you're going to stay with me." In the car I called my Godmom, I needed to hear her voice, I needed to feel her strength over the phone.

She told me to call my cousin, my uncle's oldest son, and ask him what was really going on. Sound advice, because my Uncle was trying to protect me and my cousin would be honest. When I called him he told me that they thought my mom had spinal meningitis and that maybe I didn't need to come home, to stay put and he'd update me. I called my godmom and spoke to my godfather and told them what I knew. Then I got the second worse possible news I could get that day. My godparents and best friend were flying out the next day to go to a wedding for a week..... (Sidebar: I had always prayed that if anything devastating should happen that I'd have my godparents, my sister, and my soldier around... and all three would not be there: at the time Antoine was in bootcamp so I couldn't even reach him).

Stacey literally carried me through the rest of that day. After packing a bag and going to her house she instantly began to look up flights for that day in case I did have to go immediately. As she was on the phone with her mom and searching the internet, my cousin called me back.

"Paria, you need to come home. Your mom had a hemorrhaged brain aneurysm and right now it is slowing leaking blood into her brain...she is going to have to have brain surgery. You need to come home."

And the world shook around me and I, once again, forgot how to breathe. I told my godparents, I called my other best friends in LA to give them the heads up and to ask them to pray. Stacey gave me the third bad news of the day, there were no more flights into LA, I'd have to take the first one out the next day.

I knew enough about aneurysms to know that they are a ticking time bomb. A friend lost her mom to a brain aneurysm that killed her instantly. One of my best friends, Jessie, immediately went to the hospital to see my mom and she told me that she looked good, she was a little loopy because of the medication, but she was talking and laughing and in good spirits. We arranged to have her pick me up from the airport the next morning. I then spoke to my mom, her voice a different pitch, as she said, "you don't need to come, I'm fine. You have to stay at school and finish your tests. Everyone is here taking care of me, I'm fine." I think it was then that I smiled for the first time since getting the news. My whole life, that woman has always put me before her. She sacrificed her life to save mine and now she was trying to dissuade me from being by her side because she was worried it'd hurt my grades. Oh mom!

Stacey began to cook dinner and I sat down to write my college counselor that I would be leaving in the middle of midterms due to this family emergency. She responded immediately and said my Professors would be notified and that I was in her prayers. Good to hear.

That was the first semester where I would begin learning all the tools of Journalism: editing, script writing, shooting and tracking our voices. I had waited all of my college career to take those courses and before the fun would start I got the phone call.

Thoughts began swirling in my head: what if she dies? What about my dad? What if she dies? What if I don't make it in time? What if she dies? I can't do this. What if she dies? I need to get a hold of Antoine. What if she dies? Antoine will know something is wrong when he doesn't receive any letters from me (my only way of contacting him) What if she dies???? I can't do this.

Stacey's roommate (Jamie) came home at some point and she instantly moved from care-free college student, to concerned friend. I couldn't choke down dinner that night, I could barely breathe, so Jamie went to Dutch Brothers and bought my all time favorite coffee drink. A huge one. It made me smile when I saw it. The two girls never left my sight for the rest of the evening. I sat, half numb, half paralyzed on the couch trying to think positively while the words WHAT IF SHE DIES? echoed through my body.

At the end of the night I got into the shower.... I can still remember how my body shook so hard it made my bones hurt. And in the shower I could do what I wanted to do all day but held in. I began to wail. I wailed and wailed and wailed. The sound bounced off the walls and hit me and hearing there echo made me wail even harder. I could hear the pain as strongly as I could feel it.

In the same breath that I cursed God I begged him to save her. In the same body that promised just a few hours earlier that I'd dedicate my life to him, I began to give him ultimatums. And I wailed. I let the water run over my body and I allowed my mind to go to the dark, unimaginable depths of pain. The darkness was a world void of my mom. Void of her laughter, void of her love, void of her goodness.

And I suddenly felt about 5 years old and regardless of who could hear me outside of the shower walls, I spoke to my mom. "Don't leave me mom. Be strong. Be strong. Be strong. Please don't leave me. You're my soulmate and I can't do this without you."

My mom has not had an easy life. Because it is her business and not mine, I will not go into detail. But suffice it to say that she has burdened challenges, pain, storms without rainbows, and cruel bad luck for most of her life. And to this day, I can not remember a moment in her life of her complaining. EVER. To anybody. Not a word. Not a curse to the universe. Not a why me. Instead she has lived her life for God, for others, to give, to share, to lighten your load despite the weight of her own.

I am who I am because of her. And in that moment, in that shower, I didn't want to know the world without her.

To be continued.....

And as always,

PeAce.

Remembering Senator Kennedy

1932-2009

"For all those whose cares have been our concern, the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives and the dream shall never die"

Thanks to you Senator Ted Kennedy, the dream will live on forever. You will be missed but you will never be forgotten.

And as always,

PeAce.

Quotes I Live By

“I became a journalist to come as close as possible to the heart of the world.” — Henry Luce

"It's not the critic who counts, not the one who points out how the strong man stumbled or
how the doer of the deeds might have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who
is actually in the arena; whose face is marred with the sweat and dust and blood; who
strives valiantly; who errs and comes up short again and again; who knows the great
enthusiams, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause and who, at best
knows the triumph of high achievement and who at worst, if he fails, at least he fails
while daring greatly so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who
know neither victory nor defeat."
--Theodore Roosevelt--

"Good character is more to be praised than outstanding talent. Most talents are, to some extent, a gift. Good character, by contrast, is not given to us. We have to build it, piece by piece -- by thought, choice, courage, and determination."

“Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.”

"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." — Plato

"And there's the smile I want to take with me.." (Army Wives)

"When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say "I used everything you gave me."-Erma Bombeck

"Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength."~ Corrie Ten Boom

“I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians.
Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."- GHANDI.

"Love is the ability and willingness to allow those that you care for to be what they choose without any insistence that they satisfy you"

"It is during our darkest hour that we must focus to see the light"- Aristotle

"You can tell how big a person is by what it takes to discourage him."

“Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting."
~ Elizabeth Bibesco

"A Woman's Heart should be so LOST in God that a man needs to Seek Him in order to FIND her"

"To each there comes a time in their lifetime a special moment when they are figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered the chance to do a very special thing, unique to their own talents. What a tragedy if that moment finds them unprepared or unqualified for that which could have been their finest hour." -Sir Winston Churchill

"Patriotism is supporting your country all the time and your government when it deserves it."
--Mark Twain

"Know your limits, not so that you can honor them, but so that you can smash them to pieces and reach for magnificence."

"To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible"

WILL Power

I've blogged about Will Page here and I wanted to update you on how our lil guy is doing....

I urge you to visit his site, where his wonder- woman of a mom updates his whereabouts in a beautifully and deeply moving journal. She can tell you better than I can.

Among the many things the Page family has endeavored and survived they have created WILL Power bracelets. Check out the poster for more detail.

I received mine in the mail and two more are en route to my soldier and his mom, who is battling terminal cancer.

Wearing the bracelet causes many to ask questions... and I love telling people Will's story.

He is quite possibly one of the most generous, strong and brave kids I know.... while he battles leukemia he continues to be free-spirited, adventurous and giving. As I mentioned in my earlier blog, he and his mom (Angela Page) made Soldier Brownies for my soldier and they continue to send him packages (even though he is home from war) because Will loves to share his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle goodies with Antoine. It makes me sweep just thinking about it.

Go ahead, visit Will's site, order yourself a few bracelets, follow him on his journey, leave a few words in his guestbook. That little guy has carried me through moments of darkness and now by wearing a bracelet dedicated to him, I too can carry a little WILL Power in my walk through life.

And as always,

PeAce.