A Summer Symphony
When I was a child, I eagerly awaited the arrival of summer, for it meant I would be heading to my favorite place: Slavonski Brod in Croatia. On the day of our journey from Bosnia to Croatia, as the sun started to rise, my entire family hurriedly made their way to the train station, brimming with excitement to board the train that would transport us to our desired destination. Stepping onto the train, my heart surged with anticipation. The night prior, sleep eluded me as my mind raced with thoughts of the fan activities that awaited me - moments spent with cousins and friends, carefree days stretching ahead. I was so thrilled that it was hard to remain still.
The days that followed in Slavonski Brod were filled with joy and happiness. From morning until night, I was fueled by a sense of adventure. Running, oh how I loved to run! With the agility of a jackrabbit, I dashed through the streets of my neighborhood, my bare feet barely touching the ground. Venturing into the woods and finding my way to the river Sava for a refreshing swim is another memory I cherish. I can picture myself strolling alongside a vast cornfield, its stalks swaying gracefully in the gentle breeze, resembling a majestic sea of gold. Whenever I remember these years, a smile comes to my face uninvited. Ah, what a wonderful time I had, except when my thoughts turned to the cemetery.
The Mysterious Aura of the Cemetery
The cemetery, situated nearby, stirred up an uncanny sensation within me. It rested quietly on the outskirts of the city, in close proximity to my grandmother's house. Throughout the summer, it became an integral part of my daily routine. As I walked the road leading to the city, distinct energy enveloped me as I approached the cemetery. Sometimes, unexpectedly, I would come across funeral processions, unintentionally becoming a witness to these somber events. While passing by, I caught glimpses of mournful family members with expressions of sorrow and sadness.
The cemetery possessed an intriguing attraction that both fascinated and unsettled me. Its mysterious landscape simultaneously captivated my attention and disrupted my senses. Over time, I heard the whispered tales shared by those who either worked on its grounds or visited it during the nighttime hours. They recounted eerie unexplained occurrences, ghostly apparitions, peculiar lights, and other phenomena that unfolded under the veil of darkness. These narratives, filled with mystery and the supernatural, evoked a blend of fear, curiosity, and reverence for the realm of the departed. It was as if the cemetery held a secret language, known only to a select few who had been initiated into its mysteries.
As I made my way to the cemetery, a strange feeling crept through my veins, twisting and turning inside me. It was a peculiar mix of fear and excitement, entwined like partners in a gory dance. Each rustle of leaves carried an odd sound, hinting at the existence of something beyond my comprehension. The boundary between the realms of the living and the dead seemed fragile, flickering like a fading flame, leaving me suspended in a state of wariness.
The Loss and Echoes of Grief
In the midst of my summertime experiences, the grip of death visited my family when I was merely eight years old. It snatched away my step-grandfather, the only male figure of such prominence in my life. My own paternal grandfather departed this world when I was two-year-old, and due to my tender age, I lack any recollection of him during his lifetime. Similarly, my mother endured the painful loss of her own father long before my birth when she was just eight years old herself. Consequently, it was my step-grandfather who assumed the role of a loving grandfather figure, becoming the embodiment of male guidance during my summertime escapades in Slavonski Brod. His name was Pavo Medved.
Grandpa Pavo and I had a strong bond and often enjoyed doing things together. When my mother returned from his funeral, she delivered the news of his passing to us. It was clear that she was grieving; a black ribbon adorned the sleeve of her dark red winter coat, symbolizing her sorrow. Her voice was softer than usual, with a subdued tone. She carefully chose her words, gently and slowly conveying the news of Grandpa Pavo's passing. Looking back on that moment, my emotional response was more influenced by my mother's changed demeanor than the news itself. I fell silent, pausing the game I was immersed in. I felt numb, devoid of any emotions as if I were in a state of shock.
Tragic Endings of Young Lives
Since that first unforgettable moment, death has haunted the lives of many young individuals, abruptly ending them through a series of occurrences like car accidents, unforeseen illnesses, drownings, and even suicides. Among my memories, one incident stands out—the sorrowful tale of a young man swept away by the currents of the river Sava. This tragedy had a profound impact on the entire city of Slavonski Brod, as its waves of grief touched every resident. Not only did his passing devastate his immediate family, but it also affected the entire community. Witnessing and experiencing this collective mourning was entirely new and unfamiliar to me.
In stark contrast, the suicide of my classmate when I was 13 remained shrouded in secrecy. Whispers spread cautiously, their low voices and secretive talks hanging in the air, gradually revealing the horrifying reality of his death by hanging on a doorknob. It's likely that the tragedy of his final act was driven by the torment of familial abuse he had to endure, which added an extra layer of complexity to the tragic incident that took away his young life.
The Hidden Struggles of a Unique Soul
As my thoughts wandered, they reached into the depths of the past, drawing me toward one of the most dreadful incidents that had left a deep impact on my youthful mind. It was the suicide of a classmate's sister. While I didn't know her very well, I still experienced her as someone who had lots of interesting ideas and saw the world in a different, unconventional way. Her peculiarity left me baffled whenever I interacted with her.
I was taken aback when she suddenly disappeared from our social circle, leaving me curious about the reasons behind her absence. Later on, I learned that she had been admitted to the renowned psychiatric facility in Belgrade, where she was diagnosed with manic-depressive illness. During the 1970s, mental illness carried a much stronger social stigma than it does in present times, which resulted in a collective reluctance to openly discuss her condition.
I distinctly recall an occasion when we gathered in the basement of one of the buildings, we often frequented. It was a pretty memorable day because she was acting all flirty and got tempted to have a drink that was offered to her. Her sister, my classmate, promptly intervened, preventing her from indulging. I guess her family must have told her to keep a watchful eye on her, considering the medications she was on. It really hit me then how much her illness must have affected her family, always having to worry about her safety and well-being.
Around that time, her family relocated from a two-story building to the city's newest and tallest apartment complex, where they resided on the top floor. I had the opportunity to visit them once in their new home. It was during this visit that I unexpectedly ran into my classmate's sister, whom I hadn't seen in a long time.
Something about her made me feel uneasy. She didn't seem as emotionally responsive as before and struggled to interact socially. It was clear that she wasn't herself, but back then, I didn't know what was causing it. Now I realize that her mental condition likely necessitated the use of potent antipsychotic medication, which frequently carried adverse effects leading to a robot-like demeanor.
Regrettably, soon after my visit, I was devastated by the news of her tragic demise. She had leaped from the twelfth floor, meeting a violent death. Although I didn't attend her funeral, the incomprehensible nature of her choice haunted me for a long time.
I started thinking about what kind of state of mind could push someone to see death as the only way out of their suffering. This experience had a big impact on me and shaped my future decision to become a psychiatrist who specializes in manic-depressive illness.
It wasn't until more than three decades later, during a gathering of my classmates, that I shared a connection between the tragedy recounted above and my career choice. In this group setting, I spoke about it in the presence of a classmate who lost her sister. Perhaps the combination of a few glasses of wine and a sense of comfort to be in the company of old friends made me less inhibited. Without a second thought, her name escaped my lips as I disclosed the impact her death had on my decision to pursue psychiatry as my career.
Following that event, a wave of unease flooded my thoughts. It occurred to me that, even though my intentions were good, my words might have brought back painful feelings of sorrow and loss for my classmate. I was entangled in remorse, as I contemplated the repercussions of my action. Consequently, I contacted my classmate due to worry that my comment might have unknowingly caused her distress. I sincerely apologized to her. Fortunately, she kindly reassured me that she understood my intentions.
Embracing Transience
As I explore the memories of these early brushes with death from my childhood, I find myself intrigued by the impermanence of life and, ultimately, death itself. During my formative years, the idea of death, although often distant and hard to grasp, became a real and vivid part of my life. Seeing the tombstones with names and lifespans of those who had passed away made a strong impression on my young and easily influenced mind. Witnessing the sadness on people's faces, the solemn atmosphere, and the collective sorrow that accompanied the sudden end of life made me think about the temporary nature of our existence. Instead of causing fear or hopelessness, these experiences motivated me to appreciate the present, cultivate meaningful connections with others, and engage in activities that infuse purpose and fulfillment into the transient chapters of life.
The memories I've described in this text are not mere remnants of the past; they are intrinsically woven into the fabric of my being. They form the foundation of my existence, enriching my perspective and shaping my navigation of the world. As I come to terms with the fact that I won't live forever, these experiences serve as reminders of the kind of life I want to lead and the legacy I hope to leave.
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