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| Opatija, Croatia - view of the Adriatic Sea |
I just returned from a 3 week trip to Europe, visiting my husband's family - a trip we booked 2 weeks after Jon's death, out of a desire to avoid feeling more regret and sadness in the future for not spending enough time with those we love. Jet lag woke me early this morning, providing a chance to write about how much a part of this trip Jon was for me. We spent the first part of the trip in Opatija, Croatia - a small seaside town, close to Italy both in proximity and aesthetics (it actually was part of Italy until 1947 - a fact Jon probably would have somehow known). I was looking forward to "getting away from it all", only to be reminded in those first few days that grief can follow you anywhere. At times, I was so filled with sadness at the realization that Jon never traveled to Europe, and wondered, fruitlessly of course, how much a trip like this might have changed him.
As I took in the scenery, I felt how much he would have appreciated its beauty and history - unlike anything he could have seen in America. I sat in cafes lingering over espresso, and pictured how he would have blended in so well that he'd have been undetectable as a tourist. He would have appreciated the fact that there is no such thing as "coffee to go" there - the experience of sitting to drink it is as important as the coffee itself. (There is even a verb in my husband's language - kafenisanje - which describes the act of sitting with your friends over coffee - I imagined how quickly Jon would have added that word to his vocabulary.) Throughout the trip, but especially in Sarajevo where we spent the second half, we heard countless stories from locals about their struggles related to the depressed economic state, as well as to the history of conflict there, the impacts of which are still felt by many. There was the
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| Sarajevo - view of a wartime graveyard in the city |
cab driver who was formerly an executive at a local company that was unable to pay him anymore and lost custody of his son during his divorce because he didn't have a job. There was the grandmother who looked enviously at my daughter at the park and told me that the kids there are guaranteed a future of struggle, although they happily played on the old and damaged playground equipment. My husband's brother-in-law was notified while we were there that his pay would be cut another 20% (the second cut this year), and all he could say is how grateful he is to still have a job. And then there is my father-in-law who, at 85, laments the fact that he will die alone because both of his children were forced to relocate after the war. Jon would have sought out these stories, finding a way to hear as many as he could, fueled by his passion for history and humanity. I know more than anything else how deeply affected Jon would have been by it all, as his heart seemed to feel things much more intensely than the rest of us. Would an experience like this have altered Jon's definitions of success and struggle? Would he have been inspired by the strength of the human spirit? Or would it somehow have just made his heavy heart even heavier? The only thing I know for sure is that I will never have answers to these questions. I will instead choose to believe that Jon has now been to Europe, because I carried him there in my heart.
