Khwa Hafiz Baba

This week, Kurdish Baba passed away.  As I talked with the family at the funeral home, I remembered that pain.  I remembered the feeling of talking with people when all you really want to do is curl up in a ball and cry.  I was escorted from sibling to sibling, and greeted each time with a smile and a hug, then questions about my family.  This family as always, acted as gracious hosts.

The Kurdish traditions surrounding the death of a loved one were unique and specific.  There was no body to view.  Men ate a large meal right there in the funeral home, then went into a room to pray.  Women and children were then able to eat, after which they went into a separate room to pray.  This continued for 3 days, 8 hours each day.  Occasionally a man would show up in the women's prayer room for a moment, but any female who broached the threshold of the men's prayer room was stopped at the door.  Though ordinarily dressed in modern Western attire, on this day, the family was draped in traditional Kurdish clothing including scarves over the women's faces "out of respect for Baba."

I found Daya, Baba's wife of 60+ years, who speaks no English.  As I held her in embrace she said something from which I understood only two words: Baba, and my name (which sounds like Rrrrondai).  I looked up to one of her sons for translation to which he said:  He loved you too, Rhonda.  Daya is gracious and kind even in this, her darkest hour.  A typical Kurdish woman.
 
I have referred to Baba on my blog previously.  He brought his family to the US when Saddam Hussein determined to kill them.  Far better than I can pay tribute to Baba, are the words of his oldest grandson:

Baba... Words can't explain what you have done for us as a family. You brought us to America with nothing but the clothes on our back and a couple extra bucks and made us to the men and women we are today. Your legacy is lived on with the younger generations of the family and will be carried with pride. Though we sit here and cry about you not being here we all know that you are watching above us. It meant so much watching you look into my eyes when you were taking your last breath I know you were sending me a message. I love you with all my heart. Rest in paradise my angel. 

7-1-1928 to 3-14-2015

Love, respect, grief, and hurt know no cultural boundaries.  Their traditions may be different than ours, but their hearts hurt just as ours would.  I am humbled by all that this family went through seeking safety in our United States.  I am honored to know their story.  I am proud that Baba told his story and that a copy of his book has been accepted into the Library of Congress.  I will tell my grandgirls about this family and remind them that they too can accomplish the seemingly impossible!

Seeking Shalom, & appreciating life, ~Shugie