Shokouh Darvish, who typically makes dinner for the whole family four times each week, has done the cooking tonight.
"You should come on Friday," Bobby says of the spread on the table, covered with his mother's dishes. "This is nothing."
Among Shokouh's preparations are gondi — a dish of turkey or chicken with chickpeas — and a stew of chicken and potatoes. She stands next to Bobby, feeding him mouthfuls of food.
Later, sitting on the couch, she speaks just above a whisper, describing a poem she wrote in Persian about her sons, at the time they started the nonprofit. There is a Persian metaphor where candles, a butterfly, a bird and flowers signify completion. In the poem, she compares candles to her sons, burning with fight and determination. She is the butterfly, flitting around them, and HIBM advocates are the birds. The flowers, she says, represent the people who have donated to the nonprofit.
Everything is in place, she says, for a cure.
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