Can we ever find a carpet my mother wove?

I moved to Canada from Iran, and two months after my arrival, my mother passed away. She had woven Persian carpets when I was a little girl, and our home was always full of flowers—geraniums on the porch, morning flowers, and roses in the garden.

Her passing in midsummer was hard. Walking through my new neighborhood, the flowers in the gardens reminded me of her and my childhood, stirring the complex emotions I carry about my mother and my homeland.

Persian carpet weavers often remain anonymous, so finding one of her works is almost impossible. I never valued this part of her life before—back then, her weaving felt like a reminder of our poverty. Now, the carpets hold her memory and my Motherland together, carrying all the layered feelings I have toward both.