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Baba’s Passing—February 2005 H PERSIS M. KARIM In the snow-covered streets, alleys of Tehran, people hail taxis they cannot see. It is the largest snowfall since , the twenty-sixth anniversary of the revolution. Red and green lights strung up celebrate, not Christmas, but the holiday for those gathered in heavy coats, shouting,“Marg bar Amrika!” “Death to America!” Here in America, death has arrived at my house. My father, who left that place more than fifty years ago has faded into the white light of winter. The week-long vigil at his bedside, waiting for a sign is over. Death arrived and we, we welcomed it for him. The fight he gave after the stroke, BABA’S PASSING 129 the squeeze of his hand, the twitch of feet and palms made me pray for a sign. The answer rang in my ear. Through the crackling telephone my broken (heart) Persian feels weighted by the grief of my uncle. Del-be-Del Rah Dareh. I say it, with certainty, exactly as I heard Baba say it: Our HeartsTravel the Same Road. 130 PERSIS M. KARIM ...

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