My father died tonight. I should have been there with him, we should have been there with him, Niko and I, Abby, Joe, all of us, but we weren't. We were here, thousands of miles away and he was there alone. No one should have to die alone.
No one will blame us for not being there with him of course, they'll say we couldn't have known, he was doing so well when Niko and I left, it's why we thought it was safe to come to the States. But, we were wrong. So, while we were here, laughing and having a good time, he was there, among strangers, alone. I should have known better, I'm a doctor, I know all of the signs, why couldn't I see them for him?
I'll never forgive myself for not taking Abby and Joe with me when I went home to see him, for not giving him the chance to see the two people who have given me back my reason for living. I would give anything to be able to rewind time and allow him the chance to hold his grandson in his arms, even if only for a few short moments.
The death's of Jasna and Marko was something we rarely talked about, I'm sure mainly because he wanted to spare me the pain of reliving them. I know there were times he tried to bring them up, but, I always managed to stop him, and I know for many years he worried that I would never again allow anyone to fill the void their death's left in my heart.
How do I forgive myself now for not giving him the chance to meet the woman who makes me feel the way Danijela did? For the longest time I know he worried that I would never know those feelings again, that I would never be a husband and a father again. Why did I go alone? Why couldn't I have taken them with me so he could have seen that the one thing he had tried to tell me was possible all those years ago, the thing I refused to believe, really had come true?
You were right, Tata. All those years I wallowed in my grief, all those years I wasted on self pity, you always told me there was someone out there for me, someone who would make me feel the way Danijela made me feel. I didn't want to hear you then, especially when you told me I would even know the joy of being a father again, because I thought to know that meant forgetting the babies I'd lost. Why couldn't I have said these things to you when you were alive? Why, do I always learn the lessons too late?