You didn’t mind us not calling you “Dad“ – Brankica Damjanovic

I could write a novel about your life, but I think I won’t do that ever; just because your life, though formally ended, has never ended to me. I feel you in my vicinity like nobody else. We didn’t have time to talk as much as we wanted; there was no time, so our conversations keep going on.

They have borne you on and by the way, registered you at the end of fieldwork, on the second day of winter, and who knows whether you were borne a little bit after patron saint Velika Gospojina or some time before the day celebrating the Elevation of the Holy Cross.

I’ve told you a lot, but I also haven’t told you so much. For example, I haven’t told you that you were lying to me. Yes. You lied to me and you didn’t blink every time you told me I’d kneaded the bread “as an experienced housewife”, all the time avoiding to bite the part I didn’t bake enough, so much that dough stretched as if not touching a spark of fire.
You were lying, I swear to my honour (haha, this is your expression, that’s the way you would swear it), when you said completely seriously, “you’ve cooked the lunch as a real cook”, intending to hide from me that you put away a charred piece of meat. I suppose it was not so bad for a twelve-year old cook. You’ve lied a lot of times, although I’ve learnt the biggest truths from you.
You would say I should live in the way not to spend more than I earn. Thank you for this feeling of peace I got from that. I’ve obeyed you. You advised me not to show a weakness in front of anyone, but not to hide it in front of myself because it is the way to overcome it. I’ve obeyed you. You would say, “Your back isn’t strong enough, my child”, knowing that life can put a big burden on one’s back. My back is strong. Not that ”back”, but this back, mine. To tell the truth, it can give me a little pain today, but what is life without work, and what is rest without fatigue?
I could tell you a lot more, but there are enough days for that; and nights, too. You also walk into my dreams, we say farewell to each other, we say goodbye, but never for good. There are even times when only your words sre coming out of me. People look at me, bewildered; a woman, but actually a man. See how childhood defines us? If mother lived longer, I’d maybe be gentler. This way, I’m stronger. God knows that’s the way it was to be.
And your birthday… Whenever it is, happy is it to me, for there where you are, those administration complications don’t mean anything any more; neither does time or words; only acts done during one’s lifetime. That’s what I celebrate; and, oh, I have what to celebrate; your acts; seven children, a tough, short, but honourable life. I celebrate you.
To that, I’ll pour your favourite white wine, I’ll play the one of yours sung by Safet, “The police walking down the field, dad”, and I’ll let the road lead me; but never far from you, I know that.
Just to tell you, there are the police even today; but, they don’t chase those rebels, like then. Now they chase those who want to be free, not to do what everyone else do, those who would rather know why they live than how. But, don’t worry. Your “Marko the son” won’t be chased. Your Bane knows how to think using her own head. Lale’s daughter is she!

Source: detinjarije.com

Transliterated by Maja