Pari’s Grace
I was quite thirsty tonight as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. It felt so good to feel the water and toothpaste in my mouth. As sometimes happened over the past thirty years or so, for some inexplicable reason, memories of Pari flashed in front of my eyes as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Pari had died of cancer. For over a year she had not been able to eat nor drink anything. She managed to stay alive with the help of the tubes running into her poor pain and cancer ridden body. She was unable to eat any food or to slake her thirst with any sort liquids. You might be wondering why she wanted to live so badly under such terrible circumstances? She fought with all her being to stay alive because she had a teenage son she worried about. Pari was married, but once her husband discovered she had cancer, he abandoned her and their son. Because of her illness, the poor boy drifted from one school friend’s house to another like a lost soul. Sometimes he came home when she was not at the hospital. It was unbearable for him to watch his poor mother die. Pari had an older sister living nearby who might as well not have been there for all the support, love, and care she extended to Pari. Each time I think of her, I get a vile taste in my mouth and feel disgust at the very thought of her.
I met Pari when I joined a women’s group. We met once or twice a month. We were a youngish group of women who were in our thirties and forties. There were about forty to fifty of us in the group. A few of us became close. Of those friends, I have lost touch with all of them, except for Deborah. When Pari fell ill, Deborah, a girl called Judy, and I teamed up and took care of her, for her family was useless. One of us would visit her every day and try to ease her burdens the best way we could. Her insurance would not allow her to stay in the hospital for long periods of time. She had to be shuttled back and forth from home to the hospital constantly. In her condition, it was a harsh and cruel way to be treated! I remember driving her to Lennox Hill Hospital often times. That did not include the times that Deborah and Judy did the same. She was always attached to tubes. How cruelly she suffered.
What amazed us, her friends, was her demeanor. She never broke down. She never complained. She had a certain grace about her. We wondered greatly admired her strength, courage, and dignity. To this day, I still do. Her demeanor still haunts me at times.
Once, while she was in the hospital, she felt a great need to speak to her rabbi. I do not know the reason why he failed to go visit her. Instead, he sent a young rabbi who must have just become ordained. I was with her when the young rabbi timidly entered her room. He had never met her before. He appeared to be quite nervous and uncomfortable. She sensed that immediately. Instead of him comforting her, she gently put him at ease by asking him about his interests and his family. I could not help but be in awe of her.
Peter sometimes came with me to visit with her. He paid attention to her and made her laugh with his witty sense of humor and stories. She looked forward to his visits. If she knew he was coming, she would apply some makeup, dab some perfume, and cover her head with a colorful scarf, and her face would wear a happy smile.
Pari and I both came from Iran. When she was not in the hospital, we would speak on the phone each morning. Every day she would ask, “What are you making for dinner today?”
I would answer, “I don’t know. What do you suggest I should make?”
Over the phone, I could almost hear her salivate. She would swallow hard, then she would suggest a dish that she fancied. From that point, we would describe the ingredients needed and going to a Persian supermarket to get them. She then asked me to describe in detail the steps I took to cook and serve the dish. It was heart-wrenching, but that was the closest she got to eating and drinking.
One spring day, I convinced her to let me drive her to a small park near our house. It is an exquisite jewel of a park. Its main feature is a little lake over which the regal swans serenely glided across. There were ducks and geese and a pair of ibis, amongst other waterfowl residing in that little paradise. The trees surrounding the lake teemed with life. The air was filled with the happy sounds of its occupants. It was a beautiful day. It was a long time since she had seen anything except hospital rooms and her bleak, sad, and lonely house where she had once led a vibrant, healthy, and happy life. Now her house felt grey, sad, and lonely. It was as quiet as a tomb. I felt certain that she would enjoy the lake. I cannot recall whether she had a wheelchair or not. She must have. I must have slowly pushed her around the lake. I wanted her to enjoy its beauty and serenity. I wanted her for even for a moment in time to forget hospitals, cancer, loneliness, and the fear of dying. I hoped I succeeded.
Soon Pari began to decline rapidly. From that moment, it was a short matter of time before she would be gone. All of us gathered around her to show her our love. Her body began to shut. I had never seen that before. I watched in disbelief! She asked if she was dying. Judy said yes. She then asked what would happen to her son. I told her we would keep an eye on him. I am ashamed to say I never did, for the father reclaimed him. In Persian, she asked me if she was dying. With a heavy heart, I answered her that God was going to fold her in His arms and take her pain away. Who gave me the right to say that? I am not God! Her family now gathered around her. Deborah, Judy, and I felt that they would take care of her during her last hours. For many long, painful, and intense months that we took care of her. I remember thinking that we had done all that we could. It was her family’s turn. It was painful and very emotional to watch her die. That night when I went home, my body felt leaden. My heart was extremely heavy. I remember feeling so sad and so emotionally tired. I sank into bed like a heavy rock sinking to the bottom of a lake.
Early in the morning, Pari’s sister called. “Come. Pari’s gone,” she said. Slowly I got up and dressed. I drove to the hospital. Her doctor was sitting at the nurses’ station. He was slumped against the desk. His face was covered with his hands. He had fought for her all these years. He felt defeated. He had lost the battle of saving her life. I looked at him with great sadness. I did not know what to say. I quietly walked into Pari’s room. Pari’s body was covered with a sheet. Some of her family had come in from California the day before. I think she waited for them to come before she could die. “Too late! Too late,” I thought to myself. Deborah and Judy were there as well. Nobody said anything. Everyone sat silently. I sat as well. What was there to say? She was gone. I looked at Pari’s covered body. It seemed that she was breathing. I hurried out to the nurses’ station.
“There is some mistake! She’s not dead! She’s breathing!” I exclaimed.
I was told that the body does that after death. It emits all the gases from the body. It was final. She was gone.
Pari was buried in a cemetery in Forest Hills about thirty years ago. She left a profound impression on me. I cannot but admire her courage in bearing all that pain and misery because she did not want to leave her son at the mercy of an irresponsible father.
In the end, death had won the day…