Sheyda Shadkhoo
Sheida was born on June 7, 1978, in Tehran, into a cultured and educated family. She was the second child, and her two sisters still miss her deeply. A patient and calm child, though sometimes playfully mischievous.
Sheida was a diligent and hardworking student. In high school, she decided to study in the natural sciences stream. She was interested in continuing her education in dentistry. Although she also had the opportunity to study medicine, she chose instead to complete a degree in chemistry at Shahid Beheshti University, which she loved. She was a girl fond of poetry and literature, who, years later, would write in her diary:
“Perhaps that day when Forough wrote: ‘It is I, a woman alone on the threshold of a cold season’ she felt something like what I feel today… Perhaps she had tasted loneliness with every taste bud. Perhaps the mysterious silence of solitude had deafened her ears. Perhaps she had stared into the mirror, longing for a single look. Perhaps the snow of loneliness had turned her summer noon into an icy winter. Perhaps Forough too had loved a shadow… a shadow that, though present, was never there. Perhaps… perhaps today I am the same woman Forough once was.”
After graduation, Sheida began working in the Mina Pharmaceutical Laboratory and at Mandana Chemistry Company in line with her field of study. On September 10, 2007, she got married, and in April 2008, she immigrated to Canada.
After immigrating, she completed college courses related to her field, received quality control training, and began working at SGS. The cold of Canada could not defeat her warmth; she endured the harshness of life with the hope of reunion and the love of her family and friends. She always fought for her life and her goals, never surrendering easily.
On September 21, 2016, a tragic event changed her life forever. She was severely injured in a serious car accident in which she was not at fault. The physical injuries were so severe that she was forced to undergo three years of treatment and was unable to leave the house. During those years, joy faded from her eyes, and the liveliness of her voice grew faint. Her eyes no longer held their usual sparkle, and her laughter lost its ring of excitement and delight. Sheida endured patiently so her family would not worry about the secret pain she bore. She tried to sweep the coldness and weariness from her married life, but it was in vain, for neither fate was kind nor her partner understanding. Eventually, in May 2019, as she returned to work, she decided to separate and move into her new home.
“I have promised myself to be happy today. Perhaps there will be no tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow will come, but I will not be there.”
Sheida was once again herself: warm, passionate, energetic, and full of life, eager to build the future she had always dreamed of. “Maybe I’ll start studying again. You know, honestly, I still regret not choosing medicine, but that’s all right. I still have the motivation and excitement for it. I’ll start over and reach what I love.”
Throughout all her years away from her family and homeland, she never got used to exile or separation. She returned to Iran every year, leaving again in tears and longing. But that year was different from all the others. She came happier than ever, full of hope for a bright future. She said goodbye to her mother and sisters, planning to return in July 2020 for the birth of her younger sister’s first child.
“I am cold… cold… disheartened and alone. But what winter ever ended without the cherry blossoms of spring? And I have a God who is more than enough.”
For the first time, she did not say goodbye through tears. She told her mother and sisters, “Don’t cry, this time I’ll be back soon.”
Alas, how soon she returned—too soon—and what a return it was.
She was always concerned about the political and social situation in Iran. Every day at exactly 3:15 p.m. Tehran time, the phone at her mother’s house would ring. Sheida began her mornings before work with her mother’s voice. And still, her mother waits for the phone to ring at that same hour.
On that tragic morning, filled with stress and anxiety, she had messaged her friends: “Any moment now I might turn back and not board the plane. I am not afraid of death, but I fear that I might go, war might break out, and the borders close—what will happen to my family then?”
In her final story post, her worried face and fearful eyes revealed her state of mind. She wrote: “I am leaving, but I am anxious for what lies behind me.”
Behind me…
Behind…
Written by: Haleh Shadkhoo (Sister)
No sound file available.