Well, I learned about the Bahá’í Faith in 1986, and I suppose I met Hoda—though I couldn’t say exactly when—at some Bahá’í gathering, for sure. I was a sympathizer of the Faith at the time, and we must have crossed paths at the center or some other event. I honestly can’t recall the exact place or the first time we met.
As I said, I had come to know the Bahá’í Faith, and I also met her family. I remember meeting Vafa and Rola as well. With Vafa, for example, it took me a long time to realize she was Iranian because I couldn’t detect an accent. The girls were little—Neda and Hoda were very young. I’m several years older than them. I’m 58 now, so they were much younger.
Hoda was a calm person, not a mischievous child. I don’t remember how old she was exactly, because I don’t know the age gap between us. At first, you could feel the generational difference, but as time goes by, those differences sort of fade, and you become more in tune with people.
Hoda and I used to talk a lot. I remember she had a boyfriend once, and it didn’t go well—she wasn’t feeling great in that relationship. Later, I remember going to Soltaniéh (an educational center in Mogi Mirim, Brazil), and I met Marcos there. I remember we talked a bit about Hoda. He was disconnected from her at the time, though there had been a romantic connection. So I kind of played matchmaker—I reconnected them. I don’t remember if I gave him her contact details or passed along a letter. I think he did something there with what I brought, serving as a messenger, like a mailman.
I always saw her as someone deeply committed to the Faith—devout, upright in her actions. I think she was quite cheerful, but she found it difficult to make decisions or felt uneasy when she had to face something important.
Then she started studying art at the University of Cuyo, I remember. I’ve seen many of her works at her home. In fact, the other day I saw a painting at a cousin’s house—his sister, Fernanda Hidalgo, had the painting hanging on her wall—and I took a picture of it because it looked just like one Hoda had done. It was a typical first-year assignment, something all students did, but I was really moved to see it again just a few days ago.
Hoda was a very sensitive person, very warm in conversation, in connecting with people, in forming emotional bonds. It was always a pleasure to be around her. I’m not the type who argues with others, though I’ve had the occasional disagreement with someone—but never with her. Never.
When my children were born, she was very fond of them—when they were little, and of course, even as they grew. We shared activities in the Faith. I believe she was a very good daughter.
I also remember a story: when she began teaching, she was scared of the students, of having to stand in front of the class, of how the kids treated one another. I gave her a bit of advice since I had more experience. She struggled a bit with teaching. In a way, she enjoyed it, but the reality of the classroom affected her. I remember once we talked about the lesson plans she had to submit. I gave her a bit of guidance—not that I’m an expert—but we talked it through.
Later on, when they were planning their wedding, I remember that in October we went in our car to find a place for the ceremony. We found one past Potrerillo, in a place called Piedras Blancas or Valle del Sol, I think. They’re small mountain villages, one next to the other.
I remember it was late October. We were with Yarita (my daughter), and she vomited in the car. She had drunk some milk and threw up. It seemed Hoda’s tumor was already very advanced and pressing on her stomach (at that time she had cancer, but she recovered). She had several episodes of vomiting around those days. I remember they were in the back seat with their little girl in her car seat. I don’t know if they got dirty from the vomit—I don’t recall—but I do remember we stopped on the side of the road and shared that moment together.
Then, when the wedding took place—I believe it was on December 19, 2009—we were unsure about going. My ex-wife was very apprehensive, and Yarita had a slight fever. We called the doctor, and she told us, “Enjoy the day, go, do what you have to do. It’s just a mild fever, you don’t need to come to the hospital yet. Life must be lived.” So we went.
My father and mother came too. I remember Yarita fell asleep in the car, and my dad stayed with her. About a month and a half later, my dad passed away. I remember that wedding vividly—the ceremony, the setting, the prayers, the light of the sunset. I remember she looked radiant, beautiful, absolutely glowing. She seemed so happy that day, enjoying every bit. It was truly special.
After that, Hoda went to Chile to serve at the Bahá’í Temple of South America. That’s when we grew apart for a while. It felt like the beginning of her not living in Mendoza anymore. Because when they returned, they soon moved to Spain. And we barely saw each other after that.
We talked one more time—I believe she was already quite ill but stable. We chatted for a bit, and she asked me for a favor: to go pick up some things from a friend’s house—some suitcases, maybe art supplies, I think. They were heavy. I remember taking them to another friend’s house so they could be stored until Hoda came back to pick them up or decided what to do with them. The person keeping them was moving, so we had to find a solution. During that time, we had longer conversations. If I look through my chats, I could probably send them to you. I remember sending her photos of things I had done in the mountains, of my kids, and some other things… just to connect a little, even from afar.
I also remember her time as a member of the Auxiliary Board. I think she did a beautiful job in that area of service. I had served in that role too, but I could no longer continue. And she was the one who took on that service after me in this area. It felt like passing the torch.
I also remember when I found out she was expecting a baby, and when Drazen was born, and when he turned one. They sent me photos—I heard about so many beautiful things. It was very special to see them from afar. We also spoke on the phone once, for quite a while. She told me she wasn’t feeling very well, but that she was working—I think at a sports club, though I don’t remember clearly. But yes, she mentioned she was working, and she talked to me about it.
I also remember seeing many beautiful photos of her recently—ones I think Neda shared. Really lovely memories, especially from Spain.
When I found out she was really sick, in a very serious condition, I spoke to Neda beforehand. We already knew it was very difficult. Every day, I recited the Tablet of Ahmad for her—a special prayer. Sometimes I also said the Healing Prayer. I thought about her a lot. And when she passed away, I was devastated. It was very hard news for me. Every time I remember her, I get emotional, because it’s hard to believe she’s no longer in this plane of existence. However, I know that someday we will meet again.
I feel deeply for her family, who remain here with that pain, that sorrow, that feeling of emptiness, that sadness over what happened. Right now, I have a lump in my throat. It’s hard to believe—it hurts me so much.
I remember once going to the cemetery to visit my father’s grave. And I thought of Vafa, who is also buried there. And Hoda—her body lies there in Spain, so far away, and yet she feels so spiritually present. Today, every time I pass by that cemetery, I also think of Hoda.