I originally wrote this on January 17, 2011. While I'm well past that bleak time, while some things are better, some things are not. As a result, there's a resonance of how this all rings true to today as it did that day.
I know that many of my friends are worried
about me and how I am dealing with the stuff of life. I would love to present
this image of a strong fighter who is all full of vim and vinegar and undying
optimism. After many years of one thing or the other, one wave upon another
wave, it does get hard. It doesn't help that I have a tendency to just be who I
am and not pretend to be something else. Despite the challenges, I am
optimistic and very much a fighter. It's in my blood.
I know that some can mask themselves with ease, but not me. Despite my strength, I never quite learned that skill. It gets really hard when I scrutinize my situation, see it and fully understand it. The weight of it all can be daunting. There are some days where it is overpowering and I struggle to just get up and out of bed as I am weighed down with it.
Then I find myself and come to grips with it. I remind myself that many have survived far worse than I. Like my parents. They survived World War 2, but they paid a heavy price. My mom watched her family lined up against a wall with many others, only to then see them gunned down by the Nazi's. No way do you come away from that normal. There was my father. He was a Partisan, a Serbian freedom fighter. I know that he killed German's as he fought to liberate his part of the world. Who knows how many others he killed during that mission? There is no way you come out of that normal either.
I know that some can mask themselves with ease, but not me. Despite my strength, I never quite learned that skill. It gets really hard when I scrutinize my situation, see it and fully understand it. The weight of it all can be daunting. There are some days where it is overpowering and I struggle to just get up and out of bed as I am weighed down with it.
Then I find myself and come to grips with it. I remind myself that many have survived far worse than I. Like my parents. They survived World War 2, but they paid a heavy price. My mom watched her family lined up against a wall with many others, only to then see them gunned down by the Nazi's. No way do you come away from that normal. There was my father. He was a Partisan, a Serbian freedom fighter. I know that he killed German's as he fought to liberate his part of the world. Who knows how many others he killed during that mission? There is no way you come out of that normal either.
When Yugoslavia was liberated, it was done so
by the British forces. The area where my father was, had been liberated by a
division of the British Royal Marines. They presented those Partisans with a
choice to go home or join them and continue on with the fight. Papa chose to
join that unit and continue with the fight to liberate Europe. Their battles
got him into a part of Germany. The details are sketchy, but we know that
eventually he was captured and spent the last year or so of the war in a German
POW camp in Luckenwald.
From the history books, we all know how horrendous conditions were in those camps. He survived that experience, but at what cost. I can only imagine. Actually, I wouldn't know where to begin. I do know that Papa lost a big part of himself in those years. While there, he learned to speak 6 other languages. No question that he was a brilliant man. He also was a much damaged man and the person I got to know was a violent alcoholic who took out his rage and anger upon his family. There's much about that which surely has impacted who I am today. How could it not.
When I think of the weight on my shoulders from my present times, I come to realize that mama and papa are here in me. They were strong when strength was unimaginable. They tapped into something that was instinctive and saw them through their days. Papa went through years of it. Still, they paid a price for their survival.
But they made it. They met each other, married and came to America, where we settled in the Lincoln Park area of Chicago. My challenges are very different from theirs, but they are no less real. The difference for me is that, though the weight of the world weighs heavy upon me, it doesn't really weigh me down. So to my friends and to those who care, with the DNA of mama and papa in me, I am weighed up. How can I not be?
From the history books, we all know how horrendous conditions were in those camps. He survived that experience, but at what cost. I can only imagine. Actually, I wouldn't know where to begin. I do know that Papa lost a big part of himself in those years. While there, he learned to speak 6 other languages. No question that he was a brilliant man. He also was a much damaged man and the person I got to know was a violent alcoholic who took out his rage and anger upon his family. There's much about that which surely has impacted who I am today. How could it not.
When I think of the weight on my shoulders from my present times, I come to realize that mama and papa are here in me. They were strong when strength was unimaginable. They tapped into something that was instinctive and saw them through their days. Papa went through years of it. Still, they paid a price for their survival.
But they made it. They met each other, married and came to America, where we settled in the Lincoln Park area of Chicago. My challenges are very different from theirs, but they are no less real. The difference for me is that, though the weight of the world weighs heavy upon me, it doesn't really weigh me down. So to my friends and to those who care, with the DNA of mama and papa in me, I am weighed up. How can I not be?
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