Are we ever ready to say goodbye to a loved one? What is it with this inherently human notion where we convince ourselves that we always have more time?

There is a part of the immigration experience that I haven’t written about before. It’s about the loss of family from far away – the loss of the person, the soul – and for the case of children who grow up in a distant country away from grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles – the loss of what could have been.

I woke up last night in the early hours of the morning to find out that my uncle Bijan had passed away. The eldest of 6 children, he was also my father’s only brother and as beloved an amoo to me as one could get.

What I always cherished about my uncle Bijan was his ability to make me feel like I belonged. During each of those far-apart and often short visits to Tehran, he was always the first face we would see greeting us at the airport, smiling and waving, flowers and  chocolates in one hand, his tobacco pipe in the other. There was a tradition he started, where he would buy me a Toblerone bar whenever we were at an airport, regardless of the occasion – whether it was a hello because we had just arrived, or a goodbye gift when two weeks later, we would be leaving again. During these short visits and after so many years apart, I would often feel the strain of the attempts at connecting with cousins and family. But with my uncle Bijan, the love was so genuine and it flowed so freely, that everything about him felt like home. He made Tehran, that city with the indomitable spirit where I was born but never felt like I was from, feel like home. He would dedicate days out of his week to picking us up, taking us out, driving us to appointments. Whenever we were out with him and he would run into people he knew, he would introduce us and declare ‘These are my brother’s children! And I love them so much!‘ Hearing him say these words, witnessing the pride on his face, is a memory that has etched itself into my heart.

Amoo Bijan won the hearts of everyone he met in the same simple way – with kindness, laughter and conversation. He embodied an energy that was contagious and a love that was sacred when it came to his family. My heart is heavy with the knowledge that I never got to say goodbye and that I never got to visit him one last time. The memory of the smile lines around his eyes and the deep rumble of his laugh will stay with me always.

Amoo joon, I miss you with a heart that will never forget you. May your soul, your smile and your heart rest in peace, in that far away place where you have found your calm. Your place is empty here, in the hearts of those who remain behind, with the hope that we will one day meet again.