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Many things change when you hit your own middle ages, aka mid-life. Some, like regret for not having done certain things in your “youth” and always being cautious of how from here it will be all “downhill” may be expected, but other realities are stuff most do not consider.

One such item for me, is the fact that the previous generation in my family is now at an age when it is rare to not lose someone in a period of a year, sometimes a lot shorter. As Mitra and I are in our third year of marriage, we have already had to deal with loss of (close family counted only) two of her uncles, plus my own grand-father. Over the last weekend our list got a bit longer, as we had to add my own uncle as well.

This one was particularly hard for me as I truly adored my “Amu Ahmad”. It was hard not to, and most who knew him did also. He was a worldly and bright man that didn’t need to pretend he knew a lot, as any short interaction with him made it obvious to most. He represented his country around the world, primarily as a representative of our various sports federations or Iran’s Olympic Committee. He also coached many of our talented track and field athletes, some still holding national, competition or Asian records to this date.

He also insisted I learn to run 100m and 400m hurdles, then switch to jumps after a knee injury. At an age where most would retire, he took me to the track on Amjadiyeh stadium nearly everyday during Tehran’s very hot summers, often having to find creative ways to get over my excuses for not wanting to go. But for most parts, I did want to go, as spending time with him was fun, regardless of the day’s agenda.

He spoke English well and had traveled so much, he’d write me a city guide before I moved to anywhere in the world. “Don’t forget to eat at any of the restaurants in Old Montreal” or “Tokyo Tower is a waste of half a day”, he’d write, always leaving me in amazement as to how he knew so much and how well he had retained all the details.

As a very young adult, he befriended a British traveler in Iran, even inviting him to stay with them when the stranger ran out of money. Years later, “David” left Iran but they never lost contact, still writing to one-another regularly as far back as I could remember.

He also never took his tie off after the revolutionaries made it a symbol of westernized corruptions. His, always had an old Olympic Committee emblem embroidered on it also, including the lion and sun symbol of pre-revolution Iran. He also loved his wife and family, never failing to show it either.

Ahmad Moallemian is being missed greatly by all of us, as he truly was a great man with an approach to life that was decades ahead of his own time. He will surely live in my heart for as long as I am alive.