Fleeing war-torn Iran to start over in America, Soheila Adelipour and her Jewish family thought hard times were behind them. But in spite of obtaining an education and great jobs, personal tragedy followed this family to their new home. Dancing to the Darkest Light is Soheila’s powerfully inspiring story of finding happiness in the face of unspeakable loss. Enjoy her guest post below and visit her site to learn more.
I decided to follow flowers
The dreamy fields of wildflowers pictured on the Italian calendar mounted on my wall pulled me away from my work and down memory lane. I wondered if the magic of nature hidden in those luscious deep red poppy fields could lighten the fog of grief surrounding my heavy heart. Ralph Waldo Emerson spoke the truth when he wrote, “The earth laughs in flowers.” Those colorful and beautiful creations of nature were laughing and dancing while looking up at the source of their happiness: the sun.
I looked down at my computer, the source of my misery, with resentment, where I was writing about the heartless and cruel angel of death. The angel that has cheated me from my happiness. The angel that had felt so at home with our family that he’d paid us three separate visits -- stealing my son, my sister and then my brother... three times in only six years. I was trying to make sense of the tragedies that had hit my family and understand the logic behind this life. Pouring my grief and emotions onto the page proved cathartic, but draining.
Enough of death, I thought. It’s time to live.
I needed to embrace life and feel fully alive again. I had to remove myself from the endless whirlpool of grief and sadness pulling me down and feel joy again. I must follow nature, dance and laugh in fields of flowers and feel like myself again. If I felt as though I “needed to... had to... must...” then, why didn’t I?
“Enough dreaming Soheila, time to act!” I told myself. My handsome, kind and caring son would have said the same if he was still with us, I was sure. “You are right, it’s time to act. I miss you so much, Stephen.” I said aloud, “Life is not logical, it’s magical.” That very moment I decided to pull a Mary Poppins, hold onto my umbrella and skirt and jump right into those beautiful colorful pictures.
I googled “Poppy fields in Tuscany,” emailed my Italian teacher in Florence and started collecting information as to the whereabouts and “whenabouts" of those beauties! Early May and in the outskirts of Tuscany were the answers.
I called two of my closest friends. “How about a road trip in the heart of Tuscany, following glorious nature and flowers?”
“When and for how long?” they asked.
“Early May for 10 days, with one carryon each.”
“A carryon for 10 days? Impossible!”
“Not much room for luggage in a small Italian car. We need to wash and recycle! Travel light!”
“But how?”
“It’s simple! Nothing fancy, bed and breakfasts, local restaurants and cute coffee shops, friendly people and beautiful flowers... tons of flowers, thousands of flowers, endless vast fields of breathtaking flowers. That is the theme of our road trip.”
“I’m in,” each answered quickly.
“We need the essentials: an Italian GPS, which I have, an auxiliary cord to play music, and love for life and all the beauty it offers. The rest is unimportant.”
Arriving in May, we landed in Rome, rented a car, drove to Florence and followed the flowers-- different flowers, all kinds of flowers, every color and fragrance imaginable. The attractions we sought had no lines, no entry tickets, no restrictions and no programs. The stunning vistas were simply there, provided by mother nature, available to whomever had the love and appreciation for them.
We drove aimlessly, made random turns and followed winding roads with no objective in mind. We had no idea where we were heading as we set off each day. The only guideline we stuck to was what my Italian teacher had advised, “stay around Val D’Orcia, in Tuscany.”
Our first discovery was an ocean of yellow. Miles and miles of bright yellow flowers framed by towering Cypress trees and blue sky. We rushed out of the car like little kids and ran towards those beautiful creations of God. We played music on my iPhone and danced in that magnificent field. We posed and took tons of pictures of each other.
“Hey guys, look, I match the flowers!” I said.
“You certainly do!” My friends replied.
I was wearing a yellow sleeveless camisole topped by a light green scarf. I couldn’t have matched my surroundings more perfectly if I'd tried. I’d followed my own rules for this trip: I brought very little clothing with me in my one allotted bag. Scarves, however, being my “go-to” accessory were a must. Bright scarves of all sizes and colors took up a big part of the space in my carryon.
That evening we stayed at a bed and breakfast for 100 Euros a night and hit the road again the next day.
As I drove through the quiet countryside a message began flashing intermittently on the center of the dashboard next to the speedometer. At first I ignored it, but eventually, thinking it must be a warning of some sort, read the words. My heart seized. My hands gripped the wheel. I could not
believe what I was seeing. It couldn’t be... but it was. Still, I couldn't trust my own eyes. Thirty minutes and a hundred flashes later, having caught my breath, I finally spoke up.
“Guys, look at the dashboard, and tell me what you see.” Both my friends bent forward and peered at the dash.
“Oh my God Soheila, is that true?”
“I can’t believe this, how is this possible?”
“How are you so calm?”
Right there in front of me, directly under the time, 13:25 in the afternoon, three words were flashing: “Steffen’s iPhone, Connessione” (connection). The name was spelled in the Italian way, of course, but the pronunciation was exactly the same as my son’s name. Steffen. Stephen!
My friend reached over and took a picture, “If I don’t, no one will believe us.”
I looked up into the beautiful blue sky and whispered, “I know you are here, Stephen my love. I am following flowers. I am following life. I am living. Please stay with me.”
My prayers were answered. My son’s name flashed continually throughout the following days on our trip. Our next discovery was a field filled with lush pink flowers. It was incredible: an endless tapestry of intense pink and pistachio green colors against the shimmering blue skies.
“Guys, I match again, did any of you notice my pink scarf?!”
“But how? You do!”
Strange, very strange... I am perfectly dressed to match my surroundings, every day, I thought. Once again, we posed and took tons of pictures.
The yellow and pink fields had been dreamy, but I still wanted my red poppy field. We saw a bunch here, a few there--but nothing like the image I had stared at from behind my desk. We drove by a field of golden wheat dancing to the music of the wind. Music that only they could hear; not us. They were all in perfect harmony, moving and swaying in a seductive way. It was magical. Still, the days passed, and no poppy field.
I stopped the car every once in a while and asked, “Dove sono i papaveri?” (Where are the poppy flowers?)
In response, I invariably received a very Italian answer. “Dove sono i papaveri?! Eh! Eh! Da per tutto!” Translated simply in English: “Whaaaaaa? Everywhere!”
On the fifth day, around 7 pm we decided to look for a place to sleep. In a tiny village, close to a town called Capalbio we found a small coffee shop. We got out of the car and asked the bartender if there was a place for us to stay overnight. He turned to the waitress for an answer.
“My parents have a bed and breakfast 4 kilometers away and one room with three beds is available.”
“Perfetto!”
I asked for the address, she explained that the navigation system can not recognize the location and it would be better if we followed her directions. So, we did. We made couple of turns, saw a small market on the way and stopped to buy local cheese, bread and tomatoes. By the time we found the house it was dark. The owners of the place were waiting in the driveway to greet us. Our hostess showed us to our room and asked what time we would like our cappuccino in the morning. The room was clean and had all the essentials. My friends and I prepared our simple, delicious dinner and talked until late in the night. Finally, we went to bed.
The next morning, I was awakened by a noise at the door leading to the patio. I quickly put something on, opened the door and saw a small table just outside our door. It held three capuccinos and a small vase filled with red poppy flowers. My eyes were fixed on the table and when I looked up to thank our hostess, I had to gasp for air. What I had been staring at behind my desk and searching for was right in front of me–just a hop, skip and a jump away from where I stood! My glorious poppy flowers in shiny striking red, with a hint of radiant orange, were dancing and laughing in the light breeze under the morning sun. I had finally found my poppies-- acres of them, millions of them, surrounding the house we were staying at, stretching endlessly to the horizon. It was stunning. It was majestic. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed in my life.
Tears rolled down my face. I was overwhelmed by their beauty and humbled by the grandeur of this spectacular sight. I looked up at the bright early-morning sky and whispered, “Thank you Stephen, thank you my love, I know you are by my side planning my road trip for me and showing me that life could still be beautiful. Life is beautiful. Life is magical. Life is for loving. Life is for living... not understanding. I do love life and I love you Stephenjoon.”
I looked down. I wasn’t wearing a scarf, but my tank top was a perfect match. RED!
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