The Gift of Being Seen

Growing up as the youngest of three sisters was not easy. It always felt as though I was playing catch-up to their dynamic lives. They had what I didn’t have: a treasure of memories with our family before I was born. 

My extended family lives in Iran while my immediate family is in the U.S. In the early days after we moved to the States when I was a child, we stayed in touch with my aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins through occasional phone calls. These conversations were full of pleasantries: exchanges of loving words and promises to see each other soon. I knew that my relatives lived in a place that was nine and a half hours ahead of our time zone – and that just made me feel even farther away. Airmail photos, sent back and forth across the distances in thin blue envelopes, revealed the faces behind voices that I spent much of my life hearing over the phone. What would it be like to see them up close?

Summer trip 

During a summer trip to Iran when I was 12, we gathered in my grandparents’ orchard in the Alborz Mountains just north of Tehran. Of all my relatives, my father’s aunt is said to be the one I look most like. When I finally got to wrap my arms around my great aunt and to look into her eyes, we had an instant connection.

Over the next few months of our visit, there were many family gatherings. Dozens of relatives gathered to cook, eat, play games, pick fruit, and go for walks by the rushing river nearby.

In the midst of all this activity, my father’s aunt asked if I wanted to spend time with her, just the two of us.  We went into one of the guest rooms, closed the door and smiled at each other. What we talked about has faded from my memory over the years, but the gift of her time and attention is what resonated with me.  During a period of being disconnected from relatives because of the ocean between us, she bridged that gap.  I showed her the necklace that was my souvenir from our current trip, and she reminded me that whenever I wore it, the part of my family living in Iran would be with me. The necklace would protect me from any danger, even across the distance. She advised me to wear it as much as I could so that I would never forget the roots of my identity.

Time on our own

Our alone time was interrupted by the call that lunch was ready.  As I rushed to help set the “sofreh” – the table for serving food – my mind whirled with all the preparation that went into the meal. 

I was astonished by the work of my grandmother and crew of women, who had been cooking and preparing for days. The steaming platters of saffron-infused rice; bowls of stews; and baskets of fresh herbs were passed from hand to hand until the entire table was full of delicious dishes. 

During the meal I sat across from my great aunt and she winked at me. It was an unspoken promise between us that no amount of distance can ever break.  Even after she passed away, I never forgot her kindness. My great aunt gave me the gift of being seen in a large, extended family.