Dedication.

That's me! With a creepy doll.

...and this is Grandpa's childhood photo.

I did not cry....


I did not cry when my grandfather died.

I was a child, and yet I had to cross a fucking border and organize his funeral. Take care of his lot, suit, guests and all of the finances. A child who grew up a bit too soon.

And yet, I still kept my promise to him not to cry at his funeral.

...Now, I do. 

Twice a year, in September and February, on my birthday and his deathday, memory of the man who raised me and taught me everything I know, comes back and punches me in a face like a freight train at full speed. 

And I cry. Oh, brother, do I cry...

I miss you, grandpa. I miss your lessons in math and astronomy, your piles of books to read and flip through, lessons on how to survive in wilderness, lessons on how to properly prepare poisonous mushrooms and how to build fire, how to survive in subzero snow or how to swim in mountain river.

Lessons how not to cry when life hits you below the belt. How to grind your teeth, get up, shake off dust and try again. Against all odds. Because your dreams are worth it.

And lessons on how to cherish friends and people you love. 

How to see the world with your own eyes - and I am not talking just about straight eyesight here. 

...I cry out loud, remembering people who are no longer with me. 

People who were everything. Who made me who I am today.

This blog is dedicated to my grandfather, the greatest man I know.

My Grandfather during the war.