There was a time when my brother and I were inseparable. When we were boys I looked up to him, he was older then I was and everything he did I wanted to do, everywhere he went I wanted to go, he was my hero. If you had told me then that there would come a time when we would not even talk I would never have believed you, but that's exactly what happened.
After I lost my family I felt like my life was over. When I left the displaced person's camp after leaving Vukovar, I tried going back to Zagreb, and then to my Grandparent's farm, but there were too many memories and as much as I hated to leave I knew that I couldn't stay.
Janko and I argued for days over my decision, he accused me of running away, but I didn't see it that way, I couldn't see it that way. Leaving was the only thing that made sense in a world that hadn't made sense since my family had been killed. In my mind everything about Croatia was tied to Danijela and my children, and only by leaving could I start living again.
I miss my brother, miss what we had between us, but, I had to make a choice between staying in a place that stirred memories that brought such sadness, or leaving in the hopes that I could find myself again. My feelings about him had never changed, but I had, I guess I always hoped that one day he would understand. Maybe one day he still will.
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