This past Sunday I got a chance to attend the second Maziar Cup, a soccer tournament created to remember Mazi Maghsoodnia, who was lost to the earth community March 13, 2016. It was a gorgeous day, sunny but with a breeze and a hint of cool that made it just perfect for soccer. It was on a hill, which, being closer to the sky, was just right, somehow feeling closer to Mazi to me (I don’t know why this image of heaven being above us lingers, but it does). There were the occasional high floating clouds, which seemed almost like otherworldly observers. Like soccer players on the other side were hanging out up there with Mazi, like he was elbowing them, ‘look! That was Auveen who crossed it so perfectly!’
There were athletes of every age playing with such a fierce intensity that my knees cringed at every twist and fall. Only the young bend and don’t break, and these competitors weren’t all young. There were young men and a little bit older men and men a little bit older than that, and women and girls, and they were all having fun, and no one gave anyone an easy time of it.
I wonder if Mazi was there watching, moving among his friends, slipping around his family, smiling and adding his kick to make a ball go just a little harder. I wonder if the breeze that kept lifting Lida’s hair was Mazi’s touch. I wonder if he stood in awe looking at his family, all of them broken hearted and thriving. I wonder if he saw how Nader has grown, and how he and the other boys not quite big enough to join in the fierce competition on the field found an unused net and started up their own half field game, taking turns in the goal. I wonder if he saw Ollie the diabetic dog hunt down any sliver of shade, standing in the shadows of spectators as his eyes kept track of Lida. I wonder if he heard Auveen tease Kian for taking off on his trip too soon. Did he love the shirts with his name on the back?
Did he love the shirts with his name on the front?
Who knows why someone is gone too early? Maybe it’s just random. Maybe there is a reason. Maybe all we can do is hold each other’s hands and share the memories about the one that is gone.
In the end it was a gathering of people with a common interest in an uncommon man. A man who was, so clearly, so abundantly, loved. And isn’t that what we’d all like, in the end, when we leave? To be loved and remembered. Like the Raymond Carver words:
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
Looking around at the people gathered at the Cup, at the rich network of friends and family spending their day honoring him, I have no doubt Mazi would answer, “I did.”