When I think of all the visits and conversations we'd have had and the memories we'd have made over these past 6 years, I am physically shaken by the thought of how much we have missed. This is torture. I don't advise anyone deeply grieving to explore those thoughts. It hurts too much.
I read this quote in the NY Times a few months ago, about a man who lost his wife and children in a plane crash in the '70s: "His life was utterly bifurcated by the accident. There was Act I and Act II."
I know this sad truth so well. The profoundly different second act of our lives began on that horrific Saturday, November 22, 2014. The first act is a sublime, vivid, essential catalog of memories. But there are no more memories to be made with Amir. That heartbreaking fact will never be acceptable or understandable.
That said, I am ever grateful to have those vivid memories. Here's one that makes me smile often: Amir was 6 or 7, we were in a restaurant with our parents and we were studying our menus when Amir declared he wanted the "RAW-di-serry" chicken. I doubt he'd ever seen the word "rotisserie" nor did he know what it meant, but he was eager to show off his advanced reading skills and his grasp of multi-syllable words. To this day, whenever I see the word "rotisserie," I can only hear it in my mind as "RAW-di-serry" -- the result of a proud attempt by a whip-smart kid to impress his family with his growing vocabulary.
Amir, we miss you more than any words could express. Friends, please conjure your own memories of Amir today - remember a funny moment, something brilliant he wrote or said, the warmth of his smile, his silliness, his wit, his unmatched Amir-ness. There is no one on this earth like him, nor will there ever be.
