Sixty-one days passed since the departure of my beloved wife (RhA) from this ephemeral world to the eternal one. May she rest in peace (RIP)!
To honor her memory and to attempt to wrestle with the void her departure had forever etched in my heart, I shall post milestones from our life together in a series of vignettes (also referred to as acts) titled, "Derivatives of Life & Integrals of Death". Below is Act 1!
Differentiation and integration are at the heart of calculus, the math field that was the brainchild of two physicists of repute. Differentiation involves the use of derivatives, which are, at the heart of it, mere rates of change or slopes of curves and straight lines. Integration involves integrals, which are essentially summations of areas under curves and lines.
So you might ask, "What does any of this relate to life and death?" Well on the face of it not really. But, this is what popped in my bewildered head in one of the dreams I had recently. I interpreted it as a means my brain was trying to rationalize and eulogize the recent death of my beloved wife, Ricki Rae Babcock Nadji (Rahimaha Allah [RhA], may Allah engulf her in His Mercy, which is in a sense the Muslim version of RIP). There must be a significance to the title and there has to be some hidden meaning to it; otherwise why would it just pop up into my head, and in a dream? Ricki (RhA) and I lived a life together that accepted fate as a norm. Espousing such a mantra in one's life means that things happen for a reason and as such one must trust that they would deliver them goods in the end. Thus, I decided to accept the title of this tribute and run with it and see where it would lend me in the realm of homage and grief writing.
When dealing with derivatives, especially those of curves, one encounters the idea of inflection points. Those are points where the rates of rates of change undergo a change from positive to negative or vice versa. The first inflection point in our case was set in the fateful evening that Ricki and I first met. I was at a dance club on a Sunday evening, oldies night, when two women approached me. The song was "Surf City" by Jan and Dean and it meant that I would dance with the two of them. I love dancing; I happily accepted the offer but one of the two beauties definitely showed interest in me more than the other. The song ended and the following song was a slow one. Ricki signaled to me to remain on the dance floor to continue our dance; the interest was confirmed, the spark of passion was kindled, and the torch of love was forever lit!
The encounter grew into encounters, the dance offer flowered into multiple dances, and the sparkle of love turned into a raging brilliance of sweetest of emotions. New Year's Eve party celebration, which Ricki arranged and planned throughout, marked a new inflection point in the burgeoning relationship. It became clear then that our love relationship was on a positive first derivative trend for good. The following summer I had to leave for Algeria to straighten my governmental paperwork. The three-month separation was atrocious and the relationship underwent a negative slope were it not for the letters; yes, old fashioned snail-mail letters! Ricki and I penned a flood of love letters back and forth. Ricki's were monsoonish while mine were pendular. I was miserable and so was she; the Atlantic separation felt like a galactic one, no a universe-wide separation was more like it. A pivotal moment of both of our lives, the mother of all inflection points, came in a marriage proposal that witnessed its birth within two lines in betwixt two of those summer romantic letters. Destiny took its course, life etched its fate, and our lives became forever intertwined!
The wedding was swiftly set and Islamically blessed in the Masjid of Lansing as soon as I returned to the US. The celebration was not extravagant, the cake was delicious but humble, and the atmosphere was charged with love, tenderness, and the sweet company of closest of family members and friends. But as soon as the reveling subsided, the realities of life hit us with a new inflection point.
Act 2 shall follow...
To honor her memory and to attempt to wrestle with the void her departure had forever etched in my heart, I shall post milestones from our life together in a series of vignettes (also referred to as acts) titled, "Derivatives of Life & Integrals of Death". Below is Act 1!
Differentiation and integration are at the heart of calculus, the math field that was the brainchild of two physicists of repute. Differentiation involves the use of derivatives, which are, at the heart of it, mere rates of change or slopes of curves and straight lines. Integration involves integrals, which are essentially summations of areas under curves and lines.
So you might ask, "What does any of this relate to life and death?" Well on the face of it not really. But, this is what popped in my bewildered head in one of the dreams I had recently. I interpreted it as a means my brain was trying to rationalize and eulogize the recent death of my beloved wife, Ricki Rae Babcock Nadji (Rahimaha Allah [RhA], may Allah engulf her in His Mercy, which is in a sense the Muslim version of RIP). There must be a significance to the title and there has to be some hidden meaning to it; otherwise why would it just pop up into my head, and in a dream? Ricki (RhA) and I lived a life together that accepted fate as a norm. Espousing such a mantra in one's life means that things happen for a reason and as such one must trust that they would deliver them goods in the end. Thus, I decided to accept the title of this tribute and run with it and see where it would lend me in the realm of homage and grief writing.
When dealing with derivatives, especially those of curves, one encounters the idea of inflection points. Those are points where the rates of rates of change undergo a change from positive to negative or vice versa. The first inflection point in our case was set in the fateful evening that Ricki and I first met. I was at a dance club on a Sunday evening, oldies night, when two women approached me. The song was "Surf City" by Jan and Dean and it meant that I would dance with the two of them. I love dancing; I happily accepted the offer but one of the two beauties definitely showed interest in me more than the other. The song ended and the following song was a slow one. Ricki signaled to me to remain on the dance floor to continue our dance; the interest was confirmed, the spark of passion was kindled, and the torch of love was forever lit!
The encounter grew into encounters, the dance offer flowered into multiple dances, and the sparkle of love turned into a raging brilliance of sweetest of emotions. New Year's Eve party celebration, which Ricki arranged and planned throughout, marked a new inflection point in the burgeoning relationship. It became clear then that our love relationship was on a positive first derivative trend for good. The following summer I had to leave for Algeria to straighten my governmental paperwork. The three-month separation was atrocious and the relationship underwent a negative slope were it not for the letters; yes, old fashioned snail-mail letters! Ricki and I penned a flood of love letters back and forth. Ricki's were monsoonish while mine were pendular. I was miserable and so was she; the Atlantic separation felt like a galactic one, no a universe-wide separation was more like it. A pivotal moment of both of our lives, the mother of all inflection points, came in a marriage proposal that witnessed its birth within two lines in betwixt two of those summer romantic letters. Destiny took its course, life etched its fate, and our lives became forever intertwined!
The wedding was swiftly set and Islamically blessed in the Masjid of Lansing as soon as I returned to the US. The celebration was not extravagant, the cake was delicious but humble, and the atmosphere was charged with love, tenderness, and the sweet company of closest of family members and friends. But as soon as the reveling subsided, the realities of life hit us with a new inflection point.
Act 2 shall follow...
