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One Week
Anvil staff member faces struggle of losing a loved one during a global pandemic By Giselle Tabibi, Reporter
The last picture of Milad with my mom and aunt while water rafting over the Fourth of July weekend. Photo by Giselle Tabibi.
IT HAD BEEN one week. One week since we had last seen him. One week since we had left and were not expecting to go back for at least another year. One week, and now he was gone forever. Since Nov. of last year, my mom and I had been planning a trip to California to visit my family for my younger cousin’s birthday. After being exposed on flights and in airports, we spent a few days keeping our distance to make sure we would not infect the rest of our family, just in case we had COVID-19. The rest of our time was spent visiting famous attractions like the Golden Gate Bridge and the Mystery Spot. My older cousin, Milad, didn’t go out with us, instead opting to stay home and do online college work. During the Fourth of July weekend, we decided to go water rafting, a strange endeavor for my unathletic family. It was exciting to have everyone there, including Milad, because we had not hung out a lot since we arrived. I was looking forward to it. We made the long drive up to the river, bright and early, stopping for snacks and coffee along the way. At every pit stop, we laughed and goofed around, making the long drive fun. When we arrived and got out onto the water, Milad took the initiative. He made sure to steer us in the right direction and ensured our safety when we hit bumpy currents. Even after rowing and guiding us the whole way down the river and looking out for all of us, he still had the energy to jump in the water and splash around when it became unbearably hot.
I think about these small but precious moments a lot. I didn’t realize our only time together would be so short. After ten days, we said our goodbyes and boarded our plane back to Houston. One week after our return, my family and I were relaxing in our rooms; it was one of those lazy days when you lay inside all day binging movies, not worrying about anything. I headed downstairs to get a snack when my mom got a call. The call. I immediately knew something was wrong. Her expression went dark, her mouth fell open and her eyes began to well with tears. I could already piece it together. Someone had died. I could not tell who or how, but I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally got off the phone and told me what had happened. Milad had died in his dorm room. It did not make any sense. He was young and healthy. He was perfectly fine. I could not understand how someone could be here one day and gone the next. It had only been one week since I saw him in California, since I said “See you soon!” since we drove to get bubble tea and he told me to live my life to the fullest, never backing down to my fears: “You shouldn’t have to live the life other people want you to live,” he had said to me. “Do what you want, live on the edge.” I brushed the words off at the time, not realizing the importance of them until they were painfully relevant. When my mom gathered her senses, she was on her laptop finding the next flight to San Francisco. I couldn’t go with her due to safety complications and was forced to cope from afar. In this time, I thought back to my favorite memories with him; the times when we would just sit in each others’ company happily playing iMessage games or driving to get food and catching up on life. I wanted to be in San Fransisco for my cousins, aunts and uncles, but it was not possible. I called my mom every day for the two weeks she was gone, hearing a combination of the same things every time: “You wouldn’t want to be here.” “It’s not fun.” “We visited him today.” Even though it was difficult for me to sit back and watch from the sidelines, I tried my best to support everyone from afar. I knew it was hard on my mom when she went back because she had to be the rock for everyone. Her courage motivated me to stay strong while she was gone. Through this loss, my outlook on life has changed for the better. My cousin’s life - and death - has inspired me to take more chances and stop holding myself back. While I grieve for my cousin, I celebrate his life and love every day.
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You shouldn’t have to live the life other people want you to live. Do what you want, live on the edge.
14 Oct
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