My Father

By now it is no secret that my father has a sever case of dementia and is losing his memory at a very rapid rate. Some of you know my father and many don’t. Since coping with his illness is the most difficult thing we have had to do, and since I usually express my emotions through writing, let me tell you who Dr. Nasir Behravan is.
To me, he is the symbol of humanity, innocence, caring, and kindness. He talked very little and taught us things through action. When he wanted to teach us help the poor, he helped them with out bragging about it. Only my mother, Vahid, and I knew how much he helped the needy. When he wanted to teach us care about others, have empathy, and sympathize with those in pain, he silently did it himself. I remember the first time I heard him cry. It was behind closed doors of his bedroom, when one of his patients, a very young girl had died from Leukemia. I vividly remember him walking through our garden to gently care for his flowers, plants, and trees. He would get really sad when one of his trees would die and get very happy when a tree would give its first produce. Dr. Nasir Behravan simply cared for every one and every thing from humans to plants to pets. Although he has lost a lot of his memory and almost does not speak a word any more, recently in response to a question from Alaleh about why he likes and cares for plants and children, to my amazement “because they are innocent” he replied. He is like those he cared for: innocent. He grew up in a very poor family and started working from age 6. Money simply had no value for him and he would generously give it all away. This made me angry as a child. I did not understand why. I did not have the toys the children of our other doctor friends had. We did not have a fancy car or a fancy life style like many other doctors of the same generation. I remember him saying “this way, I can sleep at peace at nights.” And he really did. Every morning through our 12 years of education in Iran he would wake us up, make us breakfast, and drive us to school. He would open his office at 7 am, work till 1:30 come home for lunch, take a nap, leave at 3, work till 9-10 pm, come home for dinner, tea, and family talk at end of the night. His memory was fascinating. He could recall every single face that he had seen in his life time, every single name, and every single memory. Now instead of those fascinating stories, I am amazed by the sad reality that he has lost that ability. He would very frequently hand pick flowers from our garden for my mother and every now and then give us the fresh smell of jasmine from his hands that were filled with petals. He would call us to the garden and show us a new flower that had just bloomed with pride. He never raised his voice on me, Vahid, or my mother, and I mean NEVER, absolutely never. I don’t believe in angels, or god, but if there were any angels, I believe my father would have been the closest earthly example to it. As a very well known pediatrician, he dedicated his life to curing ill kids, and now he himself is ill and there is no cure for him. He was famous for curing kids who no other doctor could cure and now he is left alone. My symbol of humanity is perishing right in front of my eyes and it burns every single cell of my body to see him fade like this. This saddens me to no limits and sends me to a world of nostalgia where I would have many conversations with my symbol of humanity, conversations that I can no longer have.