Yet another senseless death. My mother died shortly after the war ended, the grief of all that had been lost finally becoming too much for her to bear. Mama lived for her family and as hard as it was for me to accept that my wife and children had been killed, it was even harder for her. She doted on her grandchildren, my daughter Jasna, and son Marko, she lived for the scribbled pictures they would send her. When she learned they were gone it devastated her, how could the God she believed so strongly in have allowed something like that to happen? I used to think she was the lucky one, because her death spared her from the continued grief that I was forced to endure.
I find myself thinking about Mama more now that I know I'm going to become a father again. Each time I talk to Tata I find myself wishing she could share in the happiness he feels. I think of how much this child will miss out on with her being gone, and then I realize how lucky Jasna and Marko were to have her. How lucky I was to have her as long as I did.
I miss her.