“Shall we order first?” Miss Myers asked softly.
“I’ll be honest,” Lan responded. “I don’t know anything about Persian food.”
“It’s better than I thought it would be,” replied Minh. “When I came here with…. when I was here before, I just ordered what…” Minh stopped abruptly, his eyes filling with tears.
“It’s okay to say his name, Minh,” Miss Myers said compassionately. “He’s here with us today.”
Minh looked a bit surprised by that statement, but continued cautiously. “When I came here with… Amir… and his family,… I just ordered what he ordered. It was really good.”
Lan looked at Minh briefly, well-aware of how difficult this day was going to be for her cousin. Amir had been her classmate, too, but he was Minh’s best friend. Minh continued to stare at the menu in his hands.
The server, a tall, middle-aged Persian woman, approached the table. Mihn recognized her immediately. She was the same server who had waited on Minh, Amir, and Amir’s family when they celebrated Amir’s 12th birthday almost two years ago. There was no indication that she recognized Minh.
“Good afternoon! Welcome to Negeen. Are you ready to place your order?”
Miss Meyers looked at Minh. “What was it that Amir liked?”
“It’s got a weird name — it’s called Joojeh Koobideh. It’s kabobs made from ground chicken.”
The server smiled broadly. “Ah, the ground chicken kabobs. Excellent choice. So you’ve been here before?”
“Yes,… just once,” Minh replied.
“Well, welcome back,” the server replied enthusiastically. “And how about you, ma’am?” she asked Lan.
“Hmmm…,” Lan responded with a note of apprehension. “I think I’ll just have the chicken breast kabob. At least I know what that is.”
Minh and Miss Myers chuckled at Lan’s comment. The server smiled kindly.
“That sounds good, too,” Miss Myers assured her. “I’m going to try the marinated lamb kabob. I haven’t had lamb in years, and it’s one of my favorites.”
“I promise you won’t be disappointed,” the server said with confidence. “That’s one of our most popular menu items. And what can I get you all to drink? The choices are at the bottom of the menu.”
Lan spoke first. “I’ll have a cherry 7-Up, please.”
“I’d like a Coke, please,” Minh blurted out.
“And I’ll try the pomegranate juice,” said Miss Meyers.
“Great,” the server replied. “I’ll get your drinks right now.”
There were a few brief moments of silence at the table before Miss Meyers broke the ice. “I’m so glad we could get together for lunch today,” she said. “This is a very special day — for all of us.”
Again, Minh’s eyes filled with tears, one drop slowly rolling down his left cheek. He quickly brushed it away, hoping no one had noticed. Miss Meyers continued. “It’s hard to believe it’s been a year already. It seems like just yesterday.”
Neither Minh nor Lan responded.
Minh, Lan, and Amir had been seventh grade students at Hamilton Middle School the previous year. Miss Meyers was their cooking instructor, as well as moderator for the school’s Chess Club, which Minh and Amir had created. The club met once each week in Miss Meyers’ classroom. It was a small club. On a good day, a dozen kids, mostly boys, showed up to play chess. The usual attendance was half that many. It didn’t matter to Minh and Amir. As long as they could play chess once a week, they were content.
Lan was Minh’s cousin. She was also his classmate at Hamilton. She lived in a house next to Minh’s across the street from the school. Both were highly successful in their studies, though Lan was much more self-motivated than her cousin. Minh was continually pressured by his mother to excel academically. She had often said to Minh, “Good is not enough. You must be excellent. You must be at the top of your class. That’s what colleges look for.”
Amir, on the other hand, struggled academically. He certainly had the academic potential to excel, but grades were not important to him. Amir just wanted to have fun. He had his iPad with him wherever he went, constantly checking ESPN, Instagram, or playing any number of online games. Amir was definitely a gamer, even in the classroom. He knew how to play the teachers and his classmates. He was a master at doing whatever needed to be done to earn a passing grade, but rarely, if ever, sought to do anything more than was required. He also enjoyed the role of “class clown.” Entertaining his classmates with witty comments and asking his teachers preposterous questions gave him a sense of power, belonging, and acceptance in an environment in which Iranian-American students were often marginalized.
Minh, like Amir, struggled with self-image issues, but didn’t possess the self-assuredness to bring attention to himself. Students of Vietnamese origin also often struggled to find their place on the middle school campus. Minh just wanted to fit in — to be accepted by his peers. The Chess Club provided that opportunity, and Miss Meyers’ classroom was a safe place on campus for kids who might otherwise have been ignored, or even bullied.
Their seventh grade year had been a good one. As winter turned to spring, Minh and Amir began making plans for the summer months. Amir’s family would be visiting relatives in Iran for the entire month of July, so the boys wanted to make the most of the weeks available to them in June and August. Nothing could have prepared Minh for what happened exactly one year ago — on May 1st.
To this day, Minh does not know the details of Amir’s unexpected death. A newspaper article from the San José Mercury News indicated that Amir had died as a result of a “freak accident in the family’s backyard swimming pool.” No funeral services were held. Minh had no further contact with Amir’s family. For the last month of school, grief counselors were available to any students who felt the need to discuss their feelings, but Minh knew that his mother would never approve of his missing class time to talk with a counselor. He also had nothing to say. He was at a total loss for words, yet the powerful feelings, like a tsunami of grief, often overwhelmed him.
At Minh’s home, Amir’s death was never discussed. The only person to reach out to him in the aftermath of the tragedy was Miss Meyers, but Minh was resistant to open up to her. Throughout Minh’s eighth grade year, he rarely visited Miss Meyers’ classroom. The Chess Club died with Amir. Minh spent his free time in the school library or sitting on a bench in the quad reading books. He felt so alone.
Minh was a bit surprised when Miss Meyers, with Lan following close behind, approached him on the last day of April — a Friday — and asked if he would like to join them for lunch the following day. He thought it was strange, but he accepted the invitation. It wasn’t until he woke up the next morning that he realized the significance of the day.
After an awkward silence, Minh spoke up. “Thanks for bringing us here today,” he said to Miss Meyers. “When you asked where I’d like to go for lunch, this was the first place I thought of. Amir loved this place. I was only here with him once, but Amir’s family used to eat here all the time.”
“I think you made an excellent choice,” Miss Meyers responded. She paused before continuing. “Minh, I know this has been a challenging year for you. The loss of a friend is never easy. And when it’s someone as young as Amir,….. well,….. it’s difficult to know how to respond.”
“Yeah,” Minh replied. “I’ve felt like such a freak this year. At first, it was really hard. I tried to pretend that it never happened — that Amir had never even existed. That didn’t work. Every time I’d come to school, I’d think of him. When I’d see kids who were in the Chess Club, I’d think of him. When I’d be sitting alone, on campus or at home, I’d think of him. After awhile, though, it got a little easier.
"But just when I thought I was over it, something would happen. I’d see something, or think about something, or hear something that would remind me of Amir and the good times we had together. I thought I’d be over it by now. I just kept telling myself that everything was okay, but it wasn’t…. It still isn’t.”
Miss Meyers nodded her head knowingly. “Yes, I understand. We’re not very good at admitting that we’re hurting, are we?”
Lan spoke up. “Maybe it’s because we don’t want people to think we’re weak.”
“Wow,” Miss Meyers said. “That’s a perceptive statement. At some point, everyone is affected by grief. It’s a reality of life. One of the most challenging life lessons is to learn how to deal effectively with grief when it confronts us.”
“I just felt so alone when Amir died,” Minh admitted. “I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to know why — why it had to happen,… why Amir had to die.”
“That’s a common response, Minh,” Miss Meyers replied. “We can feel powerless at times. We don’t have the ability to change the reality of death. We do, however, have the power to decide how we’re going to respond when someone we love dies. You know, there’s no answer to the question of ‘why?’ Maybe a better question for us to ask ourselves might be, ‘What now?’ or ‘Where do I go from here?’”
Miss Meyers looked up at the server as she returned to the table with the entrées. “I’ve got a Joojeh Koobideh for you, young man,…. and a chicken breast kabob for you,” she said, as she placed the large plates in front of Minh and Lan. “And here’s your marinated lamb kabob, ma’am,” she said to Miss Meyers. “I hope you like it.”
Suddenly, the server realized that the trio had not received their drinks. “I am SO sorry,” she said apologetically. “I’ll get your drinks for you immediately.”
As the three began eating, and the drinks arrived at the table, Miss Meyers continued. “You know, Minh,… Lan told me that you’re still struggling with your loss. I need you to know that it’s absolutely understandable. Many people, when confronted with the loss of someone close to them, want their grief to end. They just want to get back to living life as usual. But the loss of a loved one changes us. We will eventually learn to cope with our grief, but life will never again be as it once was. We will be forever changed by the experience.”
“That kinda sucks,” Minh replied. “I’m sorry. I know that’s a rude comment, but why does it have to be so hard? Why can’t we just get on with life?”
“Grief isn’t easy, Minh,” Miss Meyers stated compassionately. “Losing someone we care about, especially a best friend, is a big deal. Some people try to escape feeling their grief by keeping busy. I’m sure that might be helpful for some people. Sometimes, though, the most difficult times of grief happen when we’re alone — in the silence of solitude. We need to learn to appreciate that solitude, and to embrace the opportunity it offers us to deal with our feelings.”
“That’s how it’s been for me,” Minh admitted. “It’s weird, but for the last year, I’ve done a lot of crying in the shower. No one can see me there. No one will make fun of me. And,…. well,…. it feels good to cry sometimes.”
“Absolutely,” Miss Meyers exclaimed. “That’s a great strategy!”
Minh continued, “On the weekends, when I take a break from doing homework, I like to walk around the corner to the park. I usually walk along the bike path, from one end of the park to the other. At some point, I’ll just sit on one of the benches and think about Amir. Sometimes I cry, but I’m always afraid someone will see me. It just feels good to get outside, away from my homework — and my mom.”
“Exercise can be incredibly helpful to a person who is grieving,” Miss Meyers added, “and fresh air, too.”
Minh was grateful that Miss Meyers was so supportive of him. He wished now that he had gone to her to talk about Amir’s death, and how difficult it was for him.
The server again approached the table. “How’s everything? Do you like the kabobs and rice?”
“Everything is incredible,” Miss Meyers responded.
“This is REALLY good,” Lan exclaimed. “The rice is so soft!”
Minh looked up at the server and said, “I think it tastes even better today than it did the last time I was here.” The server smiled approvingly as she walked toward the kitchen.
“Miss Meyers,” Lan inquired, “isn’t there something about five stages of grief after a person dies?”
“Wow!” Miss Meyers responded. “I’m surprised you know about that at your age. Yes, a book by Dr. Elizabeth Kübler-Ross spoke of five stages that a grieving person goes through. I’ve got to tell you, though,…. some people might experience what she describes, but no two people grieve in exactly the same way. Grief is a very individual experience. I think it’s wrong to suggest that there is a predictable beginning, middle, and end to the grieving process. It all depends on the person.”
“Yeah," Lan said. "I read her book, On Death and Dying, earlier this year. You know, Amir’s death affected me, too. We weren’t good friends or anything, but we had three classes together last year. His death was hard for me.”
“You never told me that,” Minh replied with surprise.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Lan responded. “I knew you were going through a tough time, so I didn’t want to make things any more difficult for you.”
Minh smiled at Lan. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s been hard," he said. "A couple of weeks after Amir died, I couldn’t believe how everyone just went on with their lives — you know, just doing stuff as if nothing had happened. I guess everyone deals with death in their own way.”
“And in their own time,” Miss Meyers added.
“I just hope that, now that a year has passed, I’ll finally be over it,” Minh stated.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Miss Meyers warned. “It’s important that you take your time with the process of grief. Think about it like this — if you broke your arm or leg, people would not criticize you or call you weak for wearing a cast or using crutches until the limb was healed, right? Grief is like that, too. It’s an emotional wound — and it, too, takes time to heal. You have to give yourself that time, and ignore those who might tell you that you should be over it by now.”
The server returned to the table and cleared the plates. “Would you like to try some dessert today?”
Lan and Minh looked at Miss Meyers, since she had already indicated that she would be paying for their lunches. “Of course,” Miss Meyers responded enthusiastically. “Minh, what was Amir’s favorite dessert here?”
Minh smiled. “He loved the Bastani — it’s ice cream with chunks of pistachios in it.”
“That sounds good to me,” Miss Meyers agreed.
“Me, too,” said Lan.
As they enjoyed their dessert, Miss Meyers spoke up. “There is one more thing I’d like to mention on this special anniversary.” Minh and Lan focused their attention on their former teacher. “Even though the grief we feel may be overwhelming at times, we can always be grateful.”
“Grateful?” Minh could hardly believe his ears.
“Yes, grateful,” Miss Meyers replied. Looking directly at Minh, she continued, “Not grateful that Amir died. Not at all. I just think it’s important to be grateful for the friendship you shared with Amir. Yes, it ended prematurely, and that's unfortunate, but that doesn’t minimize the value of the wonderful friendship you had with him through sixth and seventh grades. Your relationship with Amir was a true gift. So, yes,… to be grateful is a good thing.”
Lan spoke up, “I would never have thought of it like that, but you’re right.” Then, looking at Minh, Lan continued, “You guys were tight. I always wished I had a friendship like that with someone. You really were lucky to have him.”
“And Amir was lucky to have YOU, Minh,” Miss Meyers added.
Minh smiled.
Minh smiled.
© 2017
