My Dad

"The greatest gift I ever had
Came from God; I call him Dad!"


Masoud Amin-Rashti
August 19, 1949- December 17, 2009

My sweet father passed away December 17, 2009. I miss him. I miss him more than these words can say. The feeling of loss is harder than I would ever imagine, but it reminds me of how much I love my father and how much I have been loved.

I miss his warmth. His arms would cover me like a bear and his heart would comfort me with every hug.

I miss his smell. Even though I would always complain of his smoking.

I miss his smile. It was contagious.

I miss his eyes. So peaceful and kind.

I miss his jokes. Mostly Seinfeld related.

I miss his hands. They were hairy, big, and warm.

I miss his lasagna. He would make it especially for me because he knew I loved it. Every birthday, and every time he knew I was down.

I miss his voice. Deep, thick accent, and always so soothing.

I miss telling him about school. He was always so proud.

I miss bugging him. He would act annoyed at first, but always give a smirk to let me know I am right.

I miss always knowing I can count on him. Once he drove me all the way to Logan just to check my very broken car which ended up getting towed.

I miss his reminders. Get your car registered. Go to the eye doctor. Make sure you always have enough gas in your car. Wear a coat, you’ll catch a cold. Don’t drive and text. Don’t drive and talk. Leave early for work tomorrow, it’s going to snow.

“Did you get your invitations yet?” The wedding isn’t for another 7 months Dad. “That’s okay, nothing wrong with not procrastinating.”

I miss the way he would say my name. Saw-ra.

I miss taking him grocery shopping. Bananas. Milk. Bread. Cheese.

I miss playing games with him. Backgammon every week, he would let me win if he won too many times. And when I was little we played a betting game with a wishbone and I would always bet a box of strawberries. Regardless of if I won or not, I would have a box the very next day. Because that was the father he always was.

I miss his romanticism. He would send my mother flowers every birthday and Valentine’s Day.

I miss him at family parties. I would sit next to him in the corner and we would have our own conversation while everyone else would do the entertaining.

I miss his unconditional love. He rarely said I love you, but I knew it every time I spoke to him.

I miss his kisses. Left cheek, right cheek, left. Every hello and every goodbye.

I miss his calls. I really miss his calls. Everyday.

I miss my dad, my Baba. I love him with all my heart, and somehow I am comforted to know that he knows that. I know he is looking down on me and figuring out everything that is yet to come. I feel so blessed to have had such a wonderful, loving father that taught me how to be kind, caring, and loving. He taught me to live, but mostly to love.