I don't think the true reality had set in until the funeral was held. I mean, I knew they were dead, I'd held Jasna in my arms as the heat left her body, and before that I had shared my breath with her in hopes that I could keep her alive until help arrived. I had laid her in her mother's arms when I went to free Marko from the debris that had stolen his life from him. But, somehow I still held onto that sliver of hope that would whisper to me when I was the more receptive, the sliver of hope that would tell me that I was only dreaming, that they were still alive, and all I had to do was wake up and everything would be back the way it was.
Every morning I would wake and in those initial fractions of seconds before I was fully awake I prayed for them to be there, I prayed for this to be the day that I would find Danijela in the kitchen feeding the children breakfast when I entered the room, but she never was.
The funeral ended those hopes.
On that morning after I woke came a sadness I knew would become my constant companion, they were really gone, buried, and I was alone. I wish that morning had never come...
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