A small black and white picture, for years it's been the only thing I've had to remind me of the family I lost a lifetime ago. It was taken at Jasna's birthday party, the year she turned four, we had no way then of knowing it was the last she would ever have, or that the picture of the birthday girl and her mother would be the only reminder of a family lost too young to war.
I can't tell you how many times I've held that small photograph in my hands over the years since it was taken. In those early years it brought me sorrow, more for the one who wasn't there then for those that were, for I never had the luxury of even that small a reminder of my son. Later, I found myself using it as a way of sharing my life with them, I guess I thought that somehow by talking to it my words might find their way to them wherever they were.
I don't find myself relying on the photograph as much these days but, that doesn't mean I miss those captured in it's image any less, they like Marko will always be with me, a part of me. Who knows, one day there may come a time when I may frame the photograph and hang it on the wall, but, not yet, no, I'm still not ready for that, for now, I still need to keep them close to me.