Death In The White House

Mass gravesites uncovered after the war dot the suburbs around Prijedor.  I was witness to the last breaths of many of the thousands buried there – but not those of my two brothers.  Both perished, and while one has been properly buried, the other’s remains have yet to be found.  Compounding on the already insurmountable sadness of it all, is that my two brothers are as many more – perpetually displaced from their families, without someone to mourn over their bones.


Today, twenty-five years later, I am a proud husband, father of two, and successful businessman.  My sadness will always be a part of me, but I have chosen and embarked on a path not dwelling on all the sorrow I’d experienced, but rather one dictated by an intense desire to create a life that is worth living.


I sometimes think there is a special energy encapsulated within me, keeping me stable and pushing me forward.  I’ve also wondered on the origins of this energy, and the answer is somewhat cliched, but very true – I’ve been through a lot, and what didn’t kill me has made me stronger.  


I had been given a hunger, throughout and since the suffering I experienced and it has yet to be abated.  


A hunger for peace.  

A hunger to tell the truth.  

A hunger to help others.  

A hunger to be strong.  

A hunger to succeed.