...tasliat...

He passed away this morning, which is why Mahmoud Khan called, as I thought.

Watching my mother break down is something I hope never again to experience, in my life ever. The hardest thing is knowing there is nothing that I can do except put away the groceries, and clean the house, because even in the face of grief it has to be done. And be the one in the family who doesn't cry but greets people as they come in, and answers the phone with polite courtesy.

The time between when we found out and the time the first mourner showed up was 43 minutes. And they will continue to come. Don't contact me for a couple days. Just sit there, and try to comprehend that someone brilliant, and funny, and so gentle who was close to me doesn't exist anymore.

I hate the word, tasliat. I don't really want to hear their condolences. It's empty, from most of them. But then there are those people who share my mothers grief, sincerely, and I think I will always remember that Homa was here first before anyone, truthfully faster than I would have thought possible, and held my mom and it helped.