THE LETTER OF REMEMBRANCE OF MY GRANDFATHER TODOR

Inventing Memories

I invite you to step into my imagination as I share a tale about my grandfather. Sadly, I didn't get to know him personally when he was alive. His absence left an emptiness in my early life. I was only two years old when he died. I needed to fill this void, so I resolved to establish a connection with him, even if it necessitated the act of invention — through the art of letter writing.

My intuitive sense, which is an active influencer in my life, holds as a sacred truth that crafting a letter to my departed family member builds a bridge between the past and present, and it is a way to keep his memory alive, a link to honor his existence. This act comes from a place of love and respect. Through the written word, something important happens. I create a ceaseless bond and become a time traveler. In a letter, I can express my deepest feelings and thoughts, find closure and healing, and fashion a new narrative that supports personal and spiritual growth through the release of the “karmic past.”

I strive to generate this fictional connection with my grandfather to understand his experiences, and to enter into his mind. Although he is no longer physically present, his influence has shaped the lives of my parents, and in turn, has shaped mine too.

I wish to put myself in his shoes and really understand what he went through. This leads to more compassion, not just for him, but for others who have faced similar hardships. Many people in the past went through hard times that affected them emotionally. These experiences molded their views, values, and how they raised their children. I hope to find a relatedness between his ordeals and my own experiences and appreciate how vulnerability and resilience can be passed down through generations.

Reaching Across Time

I am now ready to craft the letter for my paternal grandfather Todor Djordjevic, nicknamed Toša.

Dear Grandpa Tošo,

I hope this letter finds you in a place of eternal peace and happiness. I write to you today with a heart full of curiosity and a deep longing to know you.

My name is Zelko Leon, and I am your grandchild. Growing up, I heard stories about you from my father and other family members, but it has always felt like there was a gap in my understanding of who you were as an individual. I would like to bridge that gap, to connect with you in some way, even if it is through these written words.

,

Although we never had the chance to meet in person, I have caught glimpses of you through the photographs that preserve your face and body. Even so, you left this earthly plane, I find comfort in knowing that you have been reunited with your dear wife and all of your sons in the spiritual realm. As for us, your grandchildren, we continue to tread the path of life here on Earth.

I wonder about the life you led, the dreams you cherished, and the challenges you faced. What were your passions, your favorite pastimes? Did you have any secret talents or hobbies that brought you joy? What stories would you have shared with me? What advice would you have imparted? There are so many questions I wish I could ask, and so many experiences I wish we could have had together.

Unbreakable Spirit

Your journey through life was marked by unimaginable hardships and the devastating effects of multiple wars. You faced trials and tribulations that tested the limits of human endurance. Your determination to survive and provide for your loved ones is remarkable.

During the First World War, both you and your brother Djordje volunteered to serve your country, participating in numerous battles. I was saddened to learn that you were captured and became a prisoner of war in Hungary, confronting harsh conditions and laboring on a farm. The accident that resulted in a broken leg further added to your burdens, leaving you with a permanent reminder of the misery you endured.

Returning home from the war, you and Djordje came across yet another devastating blow—the inability to locate your parents. Their fate, swallowed by the chaos of war, remains a painful mystery.

A Century-Old Photograph

I recently stumbled upon a surprising discovery - a wedding photo that has survived for over a hundred years. I was amazed to see that it was still in good condition, giving me a view of the past. Your grandson, Dragan Djordjevic, found this precious treasure.

In this captivating image, a tale unfolded before my eyes. Your bride looked truly happy as she stood beside you, eagerly entering into marriage with the man of her dreams, even though her own family disapproved. Her eyes sparkled with a fierce determination to follow the path of her heart by choosing you as her life partner.

As for you, your body language said a lot. You were tense, maybe because you were a responsible person by nature. It seemed like you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders, doubting your abilities and wondering if you could meet the high expectations set for you. Through this visual portal into the past, this wedding picture, I gained a glimpse of understanding of the life you lived.

Dreams Deferred, Dreams Realized

To support your family, you undertook various jobs and traveled to distant places. During the severe economic crisis that afflicted Serbia in 1938, the town of Pirot where you lived with the family was no exception when it came to the scarcity of job opportunities. Faced with the grim reality of unemployment, you sought out alternatives to support your family. Fortunately, you had relatives residing in the cities of Pančevo and Vršac in the northern part of the country.

You planned to move the family to Pančevo or Vršac, where work prospects were promising. It seemed as though the clear path was paved for you to establish a new home in these places. However, the outbreak of the Second World War abruptly shattered your aspirations, bringing an unforeseen halt to your plans for relocation.

Fast forward three decades later, and the course of destiny took a fascinating turn. It was your son, Aleksandar, my father, who fulfilled the dream that you were unable to achieve. In a synchronistic parallel to your own aspirations, he moved his family to Pančevo. He found happiness there. Now your oldest grandson and my brother Slobodan is moving back to Pančevo continuing the thread you started.

The story did not end there, for even I was destined to follow in your footsteps. Fate guided me to Vršac, where I, like you, found employment and purpose. It is both thrilling and heartwarming to reflect on how your unfulfilled dream of settling in Pančevo or Vršac lived through your son and, ultimately, through me, your grandson.

A Cycle of Trauma

However, on a historic day in April 1941, you hurried towards the railway station in Belgrade with two big suitcases full of everything you had while working in Vršac to answer the call of duty and defend the country from the attack. You never boarded the train to take you to Pirot because the city of Belgrade was subjected to a devastating bombardment by Nazi Germany. In the chaos and danger, you had to abandon your suitcases and flee for your life. The material possessions that represented years of hard work and sacrifices were left behind, as survival became your sole priority in the face of such destruction.

The impact of trauma you experienced had a profound effect on my father, shaping his choices and decisions for many years. It influenced him to avoid living in Belgrade, the place where the event took place, for a significant period of 15 years. Despite numerous opportunities to secure a good apartment and make the move, my father avoided it. However, in 1989, he eventually yielded to the pressures from my brother and my mother and finally made the decision to move the family from Pančevo to Belgrade. I was already in the United States at that point, so I didn't witness how the move impacted our father, your son. However, my brother recounted to me on multiple occasions that he fell into a state of severe depression as if the act of moving had triggered a resurgence of the trauma you experienced on April 6, 1941.

It almost feels as though my father had some premonition about the events that followed 10 years later. In 1999 Belgrade once again faced a devastating bombardment, this time by NATO forces, which lasted for three long months. Daily alarms became a haunting presence, and the ravages of time became palpable as the wounds of war were etched onto the faces of the people. The collective trauma of the people of the city served as a painful reminder of the past, amplifying the emotional burden my father had carried for so many years.

But for you, returning to Pirot to reunite with your family, was your primary objective, despite that your hometown was swiftly taken over by Bulgarian forces, aligned with the Germans as their allies. The war continued to wreak havoc, and you found yourself working in both Bulgaria and Serbia to provide for the basic needs of the family.

The Hidden Toll of a Furrier's Craft

You were not just any worker, but a true craftsman, dedicated to your trade as a furrier. While you took on various jobs, when necessary, it was in the craft of transforming lamb, sheep, and goat skins into luxurious garments that you truly excelled. Your skills were finely honed, and you mastered cutting and sewing, creating pieces of clothes that not only provided warmth but also exuded a touch of elegance for those who wear them.

Your craftsmanship was not confined to your personal achievements; you were also a mentor and teacher. It was through your guidance and expertise that my father, too, learned the furrier's craft. During the war, he was your apprentice and helper.

However, your dedication to your craft came at a cost. Countless hours spent in the workshop exposed you to the fumes and particles released by the dyes, tanning agents, and cleaning solvents. These chemicals, although integral to your trade, had a detrimental effect on your health. You inhaled their toxic presence, unknowingly sacrificing your health in pursuit of your artistry.

Eventually, the toll of this long-term exposure became evident. After the war was finally over, you soon retired. Your declining health and advancing age necessitated rest. Tragically, when you were on your deathbed, my father, your son, was absent, fulfilling his military obligations elsewhere. The burden of guilt he carried for not being present during your final moments weighed heavily upon him, for he loved and respected you deeply.

Nurturing the Seed of Tradition

During the early years of my brother's life, you provided support and guidance to him. He felt special as your firstborn grandchild. Because of that, he recognized the importance of the "Pater familias." He daydreamed about being born into an era where family cooperatives thrived in Serbia. In his imagination, he envisioned a harmonious society where the wisdom of the "father of the family" ensured the unity and prosperity of an extended household. Each family member would embrace their designated role, contributing to the well-being of the community as a whole. Recently, he shared with me that he longed for the presence of older male figures who could have provided him with the guidance and mentorship he briefly experienced with you.

It became clear to him that he had an inclination towards a traditional worldview, one that emphasized the significance of age-old customs, rituals, traditions, and respect for the elderly members of the community, revering them as beacons of wisdom and guidance. In accepting his affinity for tradition, my brother believed that the strength of an individual and the community lies not only in the ability to adapt and evolve but also in the capacity to honor and learn from the wisdom of the past.

Legacy Unmasked

Your legacy encompasses qualities of resilience, an exceptional work ethic, and dedication to the well-being of your family. Through your son Alexander, these qualities you manifested have transcended generations, sculpting my own character and contributing to my success both professionally and as a parent. As a quiet man, it is evident that you may have an innate predisposition towards anxiety, a trait that you unknowingly passed down to my father and me. In my book, "The Wisdom of Fear," I explore how fear can have a positive impact on our lives. Despite its influence on some of the choices you made in life, it never debilitated you. On the contrary, it enabled you to develop self-reliance, relying on your own capabilities and refusing to depend on others, including your brother Djordje, who failed to offer assistance during times of your greatest need. My father staunchly embodied this imprint, even in situations where it was unnecessary or counterproductive.

To overcome the negative aspects of this vulnerability, I intentionally cultivated trust in others, recognizing that discerning individuals will be there for me when needed. Through a mystical experience, I was supported by the light of unconditional love when I asked for it. This transformative experience allowed me to release the illusionary control I once believed to be essential for my functioning. I discovered that surrendering to the greater forces at play enabled me to navigate life with a sense of freedom and confidence.

Your legacy, combined with my father's influence and my own evolution, has created the person I am today. I am eternally grateful for the values you imparted as I continue to pass them down to my own children.

Dear Grandpa, as I write this letter, I want you to know that your strength, perseverance, and sacrifices have left a long-lasting legacy. Your story is imprinted into the fabric of our family's history. You are an inspiring figure for many of your qualities including your kindness, gentle nature, and endurance. Your spirit lives on within our family, guiding us as we navigate our own challenges. I honor your memory, not only as my grandfather but as a symbol of resilience.

With deepest respect and gratitude,

Your grandson Zelko