By Tania Romanov Amochaev
Safety was unfortunately transitory. Yugoslavia fell apart in World War II, pulled back together for forty years, then tore itself up in bitter wars at the end of the 20th century. My grandparents and their descendants repeatedly lost everything because of the endless conflicts that just wouldn’t let go of their homelands.
My brother Sasha and I started life poor in possessions, but in the end, we gained everything. We were fortunate in our parents’ character and in their decision to wait for acceptance by America. Growing up in this country, the land our parents paid such a price to reach, allowed us, like many Americans, to be fully integrated while retaining our roots and our parents’ languages.
In fleeing her country for the final time Zora left behind not just family and possessions. She left behind her native land’s conflicts. She taught us love for all of its people. We feel tied to a larger Balkan family and have the joy of connecting to people who enrich our lives.
Mama developed dementia and eventually forgot English and Russian. She would chatter away in Serbian to everyone, assuming they could understand her. In the end, it was only Sasha and I who could speak with her.
In teaching me her language, she chose the precious legacy of voice to pass on to me. It lets me tell her, po našemu, that I love her. Always.
Ljubim te, Mama. Uvek.
