25 years ago, I was living in L.A. when news broke of the brutal murders of O.J. Simpson's ex-wife Nicole and her friend Ron Goldman. In the weeks that followed, Ron and Nicole's families appeared in the media often, sharing their pain and their pleas for justice. I remember being particularly struck by Goldman's heartbroken father and by his sister, Kim, whose deep pain and anguish at losing her brother read so clearly on her face. She was my age and she was going through the worst pain I could have imagined in my life: losing a sibling. Two decades before I experienced her sorrow for myself, I truly ached for her.
Like so many others, I followed O.J.'s trial closely and was shocked when the jury acquitted him in spite of formidable evidence against him. I could not imagine the unspeakable toll that verdict took on Ron and Nicole's families. How could they bear the anguish of, first, losing their loved ones in such a horrifically violent way and, then, seeing their loved ones' killer walk free?
Years later, never having made sense of the injustice of the trial, my interest in the crime lies mostly in thinking about the families. So, when I learned that Kim Goldman had created a podcast about her family's loss, the trial and its aftermath, I was intrigued. Even before I'd lost my own brother, I'd felt a certain kinship with her because, any time she spoke of Ron, she described their incredible closeness and how few people could comprehend the immensity of her loss. Having enjoyed that same exceptional closeness with Amir, I could not fathom having him ripped from my life.
Goldman devotes the first episode of her podcast (Confronting: O.J. Simpson) to remembering her brother and sharing stories about his life. She speaks to friends about Ron and what he meant to them. She does what I've attempted to do with this blog for the past 4+ years: she invites anyone listening to understand the person her brother was, how he lived his life and how deeply missed he was.
It is extraordinarily difficult to convey how essential it is to me that people remember Amir. As the five-year mark of his death approaches, I may write less often, but it is no less important to me that he remains among us in our hearts and minds, in stories and writings and memories. I will continue to ask Amir's friends and family to share stories about him, be they short or long or seemingly inconsequential. I want to hear them ALL and put them on the record. I am persistently hungry for any tidbit about his life, any small glimpse into his mind, any delicious dollop of his humor. I treasure these morsels and hoard them in my memory as if they were the rarest of diamonds.
*This post's title comes from the first episode of Kim's podcast, in which she and her father relate the details of Ron's death. Her father, Fred, begins his remembrance by saying, "I'll never forget that phone call." Sadly, Fred, I know exactly how you feel.
