There is little I can add to this chorus of appreciation for a beautifully rendered memory of your father, except to say that I found its poetry of quiet grief and, as Iv Vasev stated in the comments, its dignity, very moving. My own broken heart recognizes its truth.
As long as our loved ones remain in our memories, they live on. Sharing about them in stories or writing means they live even further. He was a good and decent man and had good impact on others
Biljana, I’m so sorry. At least you knew him, and knew he loved you and believed in you. The dream, and that’s all it was although it has stayed with you, was showing you the opposite of your real father. It was only a dream. I never knew my father; never even met him. He left my mother before I was born, and left a huge, bottomless hole in me that I’ve never bean able to fill. Remember your father as he was. You will meet him again one day, and in the meantime he is proud of you and knows of all your achievements. May he rest in peace. With love to you Biljana from ZainahElizabeth
A moving tribute, Biljana, that indeed vindicates your use of the word 'blessing.' Without any pretension of being a poet I share your father's sense of poetry as the longing of the soul, or however we call that inner organ that gives us the liberating glories of love, and all that is precious in our experience. Sharing your reflections, whether personal or political, are a beautiful glimmer of rainbow light in the darkness of the times/
Your lines and reflections were filled with light, every sentence was a reflection of an eternal bond. I would say that having had such a father, a towering figure in your life, and such a relationship in itself is a divine blessing.
The biggest inheritance that a father can give to his children is eternal love.
Your heartfelt essay reminded me of this beautiful poem by Hafez the Persian poet:
When my father died, I already migrated and could no be with him, so this is something that speaks to me: “Written not for recognition, not for belonging, but because something within him insisted on being heard. Perhaps that is why I have kept them all these years—not as literature, but as something sacred. A quiet inheritance. Intimate. Irreplaceable. Mine.” There are memories that stay with us and make us who we are. Thank you!
Biljana, I can share your feelings of loss and guilt. While I was present when my father passed, or more correctly when his life support was turned off - which I honestly think is what he would have wanted, but I wasn't there when my mother died.
But you cannot and should not feel guilt about your dreams. Dreams do not shape reality.
You are so right, dear David. But that dream still haunts me - 44 years later. And everything is so vivid. Probably it is a common feeling to all of us … Thank you for your kind words.
There is little I can add to this chorus of appreciation for a beautifully rendered memory of your father, except to say that I found its poetry of quiet grief and, as Iv Vasev stated in the comments, its dignity, very moving. My own broken heart recognizes its truth.
As long as our loved ones remain in our memories, they live on. Sharing about them in stories or writing means they live even further. He was a good and decent man and had good impact on others
This a devastating recollection told with so much dignity! I was privileged to read some of his poems thanks to you. ❤️
Love is like a living poem! He is well remembered.
Biljana, I’m so sorry. At least you knew him, and knew he loved you and believed in you. The dream, and that’s all it was although it has stayed with you, was showing you the opposite of your real father. It was only a dream. I never knew my father; never even met him. He left my mother before I was born, and left a huge, bottomless hole in me that I’ve never bean able to fill. Remember your father as he was. You will meet him again one day, and in the meantime he is proud of you and knows of all your achievements. May he rest in peace. With love to you Biljana from ZainahElizabeth
A moving tribute, Biljana, that indeed vindicates your use of the word 'blessing.' Without any pretension of being a poet I share your father's sense of poetry as the longing of the soul, or however we call that inner organ that gives us the liberating glories of love, and all that is precious in our experience. Sharing your reflections, whether personal or political, are a beautiful glimmer of rainbow light in the darkness of the times/
thank you so much for sharing this
Dear Biljana,
Your lines and reflections were filled with light, every sentence was a reflection of an eternal bond. I would say that having had such a father, a towering figure in your life, and such a relationship in itself is a divine blessing.
The biggest inheritance that a father can give to his children is eternal love.
Your heartfelt essay reminded me of this beautiful poem by Hafez the Persian poet:
“Listen: this world is the lunatic's sphere,
Don't always agree it's real,
Even with my feet upon it
And the postman knowing my door
My address is somewhere else.”
🙏🏼
A beautiful sharing. Thank you.
When my father died, I already migrated and could no be with him, so this is something that speaks to me: “Written not for recognition, not for belonging, but because something within him insisted on being heard. Perhaps that is why I have kept them all these years—not as literature, but as something sacred. A quiet inheritance. Intimate. Irreplaceable. Mine.” There are memories that stay with us and make us who we are. Thank you!
It means a lot when people share. Thanks
Biljana, I can share your feelings of loss and guilt. While I was present when my father passed, or more correctly when his life support was turned off - which I honestly think is what he would have wanted, but I wasn't there when my mother died.
But you cannot and should not feel guilt about your dreams. Dreams do not shape reality.
You are so right, dear David. But that dream still haunts me - 44 years later. And everything is so vivid. Probably it is a common feeling to all of us … Thank you for your kind words.
So beautiful.