One of many whom I owe

Oh dear, dear Neda, I am so sorry. I’m am sorry for your terrible suffering and that you had to lose your life, be separated from your family, friends, your piano, your travel. I am sorry that my words lack the dignity you deserve when being remembered, because they come from a soul filled with resentment, a person perhaps too small to rise above the anger at silence that nourished evil, and continues to do. I pray that soon I can find a better way to think about your life, and I can only hope my contemplations will be half as beautiful as you.

In the end it may turn out that you died for us as well as your own country, and one day perhaps I will shed tears of joy at the mention of your name. You did so much with what you were given; indeed, you reached out for more, with a fullness of life many people only dream of or imagine. Would that the inspiration to utilise the gifts we all are given be as strong in each of us. You are a martyr, a flower, an angel, a giant, a lifting of burdens that each one of us seeks out in the darkness of this long night. The sky is blue for you now, but one day may its sun shine down on gardens splendid with the brilliance you bring to our hearts.

When morning comes, I'll look for you, one of many whom I owe.