It all happened two years ago, summer 2016. My mom, dad and brother were spending their summer in Bosnia visiting family and finishing renovations on our house while I stayed behind working and going to school. In prior years, I would have jumped at the opportunity to go overseas and spend time with my cousins and friends but this particular summer I had an overwhelming amount of work to tackle, plus I was planning on doing a German Study Abroad program the following year and figured I would eventually make it to Bosnia. Little did I know I would be flying back home much sooner than anticipated.
Where I’m From: Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina
Current Hometown: Detroit, Michigan, USA
Favorite Balkan Song: “Je L’ Sarajevo Gdje Je Nekad Bilo” by Dino Merlin
Favorite Balkan Dish: Buredzici sa Meggle Jogurtom
It was a hot and sunny Thursday afternoon and I had just finished getting ready for work when my doorbell rang and my family friend’s showed up. Although surprised, I nonetheless invited them with the Bosnian hospitality that my mother and father had taught me, not thinking too much of their visit except a “check-up” and maybe, just maybe, they had seen me bring my friend’s dog over the day before and were over to scold me because my mom never allowed animals inside the house. Clearly my thoughts were so far gone from what they ended up telling me:
“Sit down. We have to tell you something important. Your parents, brother and grandpa have been in a terrible car accident. Your grandpa was pronounced dead at the scene and your parents and brother were taken to the hospital. Mom and Din are going to be okay but your dad is in critical condition and was taken into surgery.”
These words came at me like the head-on collision my family had experienced, leaving me in a state of shock and confusion with “No. This can’t be true. This isn’t true. Not me. Not my family.” replaying over and over again in my head until my fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. All I remember saying is, “Moram ići. Moram naći kartu,” jumping up from my seat, with tears pouring down my face and all, frantically looking for my laptop and phone.
Even though it has been well over two years, I can still recall that day and the major events that unfolded the following three weeks like yesterday. At length, in less than 24 hours I was on a plane to Sarajevo where my family was hospitalized. My mom and brother were conscious and were slowly healing but my father had multiple traumas from a skull, rib, arm and leg fracture to internal bleeding and was in a comatose state. Despite the severity of his injuries, his MRI scans after surgery were improving weekly and we were all hopeful he would make it despite the 50:50 chances.
My ticket back to the states had been booked for August 2nd because we all naively thought my dad would get better by then, however, he was still in a coma when I went to say goodbye before my flight. In hopes that he could hear me, I remember telling him:
“Moram da se vratim u Ameriku da završim sve papire, ali ću se vratiti uskoro. Znaš da mi rođendan dolazi, ali ne treba mi ništa osim da se ti probudiš. Može li to? Hajde pa se vidimo opet ako Bog da, babo.”
Translation: I have to return to America to finish all the papers but I’ll be back soon. You know my birthday is coming up but I don’t need anything except for you to wake up. Can you do that? Okay, I’ll see you soon, dad.
When I left the hospital that day, never did it even cross my mind that this could be my last time seeing him. He showed signs of improvement and even though he didn’t respond to anyone, we all saw the numbers on the heart monitor change when we talked to him. For these reasons, I was hopeful that the next time I saw him, he would be awake and we would be talking and eating ćevapi, but God had other plans for him.
My father, the person I considered my hero and rock, left this world on August 4th, just three days’ shy of my 20th birthday.
I had always heard stories about people losing their parents’ at an early age and even had a close friend unexpectedly lose her dad a few years prior, but I had this naïve belief in my head that it could never happen to me and when it actually did, I felt so lost and resentful.
Although for those on the outside looking in, it might have seemed like I was doing completely fine because I “bounced back” quickly with work and school, I actually struggled with accepting my father’s passing for a long time. Rather than grieving and dealing with the problem at hand, I tried to avoid the emotions of heartbreak, guilt, frustration and resentment building up in me. I thought that if I kept myself busy and continued living a “normal” life, I would be fine. Yeah…no, not the case. But I didn’t know any better at the time because I was hurting and all I wanted was to have my family healthy and complete again. I was in denial and eventually, that denial led me to have a mental breakdown which brings me to the main purpose of this post.
No one can sit you down and prepare you for a loss.
It just isn’t a soccer play you memorize and follow-through with.
Everyone is going to have their own response and whether you’re dealing with the loss of a loved one, an ended friendship or relationship, a loss is a loss and it’s going to hurt and that’s okay. Those emotions are completely normal and you should allow yourself to feel them instead of avoiding them like I did. For me, one of the biggest problems I had was feeling guilty because I knew the situation could have been worse and people kept reminding me of it, thinking it was “comforting” but it only filled me with more guilt. Truth is, situations can always be worse and there will always be people out there who are worse off than you, but your pain and suffering are yours and you shouldn’t feel ashamed about it. Once you’re able to accept your feelings and problems for what they are, then and only then can you start moving in the right direction.
Although it’s fairly simple to understand and logical, I’ve found that more often than not our natural human instinct is to suppress everything because we’re afraid of what others will say and being vulnerable. This is why I’ve become a mental health advocate this past year and am doing my part in removing the stigma that prevents people from sharing how they’re really feeling. It’s also why I decided to share my story with you all.
It isn’t because I want you to feel sorry for me or to scare you with the reality of life, but to share some of the lessons I have learned and to help those of you that may be struggling.
I have always been a talker; can you tell? But it wasn’t until recently that I realized the importance of exchanging stories with people. There’s a certain closure it creates especially if you can relate to someone because it automatically establishes a connection with the individual and lets you know that you are not alone. Even if you can’t relate, I’ve found that if you just listen closely there are usually a few things you can take away that can either inspire, motivate or humble you.
I know this post was super long and if you’ve made it to this point, thank you for sticking around. I hope you were able to gain some insight from this. Emina and I did also record a podcast called Dealing With Loss that’s a two-part episode where we talk more about losing our dad’s and how we dealt with it. That being said, if you still have any questions or just want someone to talk to, please don’t hesitate to message me! I love listening to your stories and talking with you guys!
Yours truly,
Z
Zerina spent the past six months traveling and studying abroad in Munich, Germany. In between managing her blog and working with Heal-Move-Shift, an organization focused on changing the stigma surrounding mental health, she is currently pursuing a career as a Physician Assistant (PA).
Connect with Zerina: Instagram | Facebook | YouTube
Listen to our podcast episode with Zerina HERE.