The ink stops, but the mission continues

Minoo, the reason Mama Jaja’s Angels began. Now, I wish she could be the one writing this story, but I will try my best to portray her as accurately as possible. 

There are some people whose light never dims, even after they’re gone. For me, that light was my aunt, Minoo.

Minoo was the reason for all of this. Growing up with her and losing her shook me to my core. The pain that turned into purpose, a love so deep it couldn’t help but want to reach out to others.

She was the loudest laugh in every room, the biggest smile,and the one who knew everyone’s name. Whether the news from her doctors was good or bad, she would leave her appointments smiling, and somehow making THEM laugh.

Minoo lived by the words:

Live passionately, love wholeheartedly, give constantly, and pray faithfully.

And she truly did. She was a woman of fierce faith, someone who never just said she’d pray for you, but actually did. Every night, she prayed through a long list of names in her phone, remembering the tiniest details people shared with her. Her love was not passive; it was intentional, steady, and real.

Born and raised in Tehran, Iran, alongside three siblings, Minoo was ambitious and compassionate from a young age. At sixteen, she found her calling in nursing. She earned her nursing degree in Iran, and in 1979, came to America to continue her education and board exams, eager to serve and care for others.

For 35 years, she worked as a nurse here in the U.S., treating each patient like family. Her kindness was her trademark. She was selfless, stylish, and full of life, always adorned in her statement pieces, her music playing (especially Paul Anka), and her heart open to everyone she met. She never missed a birthday, never forgot a holiday, and made every person feel seen.

Minoo was the life of the party, the fun aunt, the faithful friend, the prayer warrior.

At 62 years old, Minoo left behind a legacy of laughter, prayer, and unconditional compassion,  a legacy that lives on in Mama Jaja’s Angels.
Cancer did not win her nor define her.

 Her love did. Her faith did. Her light did.

And that light became Mama Jaja’s Angels,  a reflection of everything she was, and everything she taught me: that care is sacred. It becomes a purpose. It becomes healing. It becomes a community.

So, when we sit beside someone during chemotherapy, when we bring them fresh juice, and when we serve our community, her legacy of care continues to carry on.

 This is for her.
This is for everyone who’s ever needed an ‘angel’ by their side.