We are standing a 1000 minute vigil for Amir starting at 2:20 AM this morning. So 2:05 is T-15 minutes (or days). This would be when Amir arrived in Iran, and met family members he had never seen before. The two weeks he had with them was something he looked forward to ever since he took a trip to the Middle East with his brother in law Ramy, witnessing him meeting his relatives for the first time. 
 
I can only imagine how nice it must have been, and how much they must have liked to have met him. His parents had left Iran during the revolution more than 30 years before, and seeing this young man must have brought back memories of their time together.
 
This was August 15th. On August 29th, Amir did not show up at his family’s house. He had been staying at a cousin’s apartment, and when the family went there, it was empty. They had no idea where Amir had gone. 

It wasn’t until December that the family definitively knew where Amir was and why he had been taken. The darkness of this abandoned park is a poor comparison for what they must have felt, but as I sit on the bricks within my self-imposed limits that match his cell’s size, I can only wonder at the pain both he and they felt. 

 
It is not lost on me that his ordeal is one thousand four hundred and forty times longer than my own little picnic in this park. that’s how many minutes are in a day, So while you only have to wait until 4:17 AM to find out what happened next in his story, it was months for him.
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