Welcome to What We Remember, our reader-submitted obituary series. Submit your story for next Sunday’s installment here.
Hamida Sahaf, 76
Spelling bee champs
My mother was street-smart and fearless. She spoke Kashmiri, Urdu, and English, but as an ungrateful child I bemoaned the misspellings that littered her handwritten notes excusing me from school. Only in my adulthood did I reflect on the fact that she nevertheless schooled two daughters to becoming school spelling bee champions by making us take dictation from the Buffalo News.
When I entered middle school she enrolled in community college and came home one day announcing that we should mourn Columbus Day, after learning about the genocide of Native Americans. She would pen long essays by hand for her classes, copying directly from textbooks. When I explained that was plagiarism she looked at me like I was from another planet: “But those are the right answers!”
Hamida (Mir) Sahaf was a homemaker and EKG technician. She died May 22 in Amherst, New York. — By her daughter Mona Sahaf
Frank Asher, 69
Mushroom soup
I met Frank five years ago at a yoga retreat near Cumberland, Maryland, where he helped cook meals for attendees. I was attracted to him, and a month later, I called him to see if I could visit. He said yes. I arrived late on a Friday evening in early November. He had made mushroom soup, hearty and perfect for a chilly fall night. Frank tended a wild garden next to his house. In the middle was a fire pit where he lit a fire. He also had a light-emitting wheel that cast colors on the side of the house. There were lots of stars in the sky that night. The next morning, I woke to see the beautiful Allegheny Mountains in the morning light. A year later, he told me of his cancer diagnosis. I cried after our phone conversation. I cried again when he died this summer.
Frank Larue Asher Jr. was a gardener and artist who once ran the Old City Farm & Guild, a garden center in the Shaw neighborhood of D.C. He died July 15 in Cumberland, Maryland. — By his friend Dawson Nash
Tony Campanaro, 80
Baby No. 1, Baby No. 2
Tony was a D.C. institution. An immigrant from Italy, he realized his dream of owning a barbershop and spent 55 years cutting hair in Washington, serving generations of families. Working by appointment, he gave every client 30 minutes, 10 hours a day, six days a week, and always considered his work a “vacation.”
But Tony offered more than well-done haircuts. He was endlessly inventive and shared his ideas with whoever sat in his chair. One funny one: Children should choose their own names when old enough. Until then, they could simply be Baby No. 1, Baby No. 2 and so on.
Only later did I discover another side of Tony: He was a gifted, self-taught craftsman who painted, constructed wood furniture, pruned his own fig trees and made his own wine. The remarkable work throughout his home, all done by his own hands, remains another beautiful legacy for his family.
Antonio Campanaro was a barber. He died Feb. 17 in Chevy Chase, Maryland. — By his friend Paul Coppola, whose hair he cut for more than 35 years
Ina Hambrick, 95
Starting yoga with a joke
Ina taught yoga for over 40 years, and owned her own studio in the 1970s. I met her when she taught chair yoga at a recreation center and was turning 90. She often began class with a joke, for laughter yoga; while explaining poses, she would share stories from her life, including how in 1945 she had lied about her age to marry at 14. It was the start of a happy and romantic marriage that lasted 69 years.
When Ina was given a week to live, she invited everyone to visit her in hospice and bring all her favorite foods, including spaghetti bolognese. She told stories while lying under a handmade blanket, listening to the birds from a bed that had been rolled out to the patio.
“I’ve had a great life,” she said, “and I don’t want you to be sad. I am ready to go.” Namaste, Ina.
Ina C. Hambrick was a yoga teacher. She died April 15 in Denver. — By her friend and student Sandy Reavey
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The Post is publishing reader-submitted obituaries as part of a weekly feature, What We Remember.
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