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It was the weekend, Saturday to be exact. I headed to the garage to start the car and arrive early at the market to buy fresh fruits and vegetables. I sat in the car but through the glass I noticed an unusual yellowed letter in the mailbox. I thought maybe some stray bills or some debt, tax, but something did not fit with the usual appearance of the letter. This was older, as if the museum curator himself had forwarded it from some collection from the past. I left. I got out of the car and headed towards the mailbox to take out the letter. I also had something to see.
A yellowed envelope. My name written in handwriting I hadn’t seen in years.
My hands trembled before I opened it.It was from her.From my mother.
In that moment, my blood froze, and the world stopped for a second.
But how?
How is it possible that she’s writing to me now… ten years after she passed away?
Inside the letter,finally i found explanation.
She knew.
She knew this day would come.She had left the letter with a trusted lawyer, with clear instructions to send it to my home address exactly on the tenth anniversary of her death.
It was her final wish. Her last message. Her testament.But what was written inside… was more than that.
She didn’t leave everything to me and my father.She left everything—to her grandchildren.
“To a boy and a girl,” as she wrote.
I froze.My hands turned cold.I have a son.And a daughter.A little boy and a little girl.
https://unsplash.com/photos/man-in-white-button-up-t-shirt-holding-white-printer-paper-WtnFbilxYRE
How could she know?
How could she know that my wife would be blonde, small, almost just like me?
How could she know that another child would come into our lives… a child not born as mine, but one I embraced as my own?
Why did she choose this exact day to send this message?
Why now?
I stood in the middle of the room, holding a letter that smelled like the past—but spoke about the future.
And then it hit me.Not fear.Not confusion.But peace.
Is there some invisible force in a human being that clears the mind when the end of life approaches?Is there something mothers know that we will never understand?
The answer came on its own.
Quiet, but undeniable.A mother is a noun with no substitute.
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On Serbian:
Pismo iskrene ljubavi
Photo by:https://unsplash.com/photos/a-black-and-white-photo-of-a-mailbox-ojPXI0bluxo
Bio je vikend, tačnije subota. Uputio sam se ka garaži da upalim auto i stignem rano na pijacu da kupim sveže voće i povrće. Sedeo sam u autu, ali sam kroz staklo primetio neobično požutelo pismo u poštanskom sandučetu. Pomislio sam da su možda neki zalutali računi ili neki dug, porez, ali nešto se nije uklapalo u uobičajeni izgled pisma. Ovo je bilo starije, kao da ga je sam kustos muzeja prosledio iz neke kolekcije iz prošlosti. Otišao sam. Izašao sam iz auta i krenuo ka poštanskom sandučetu da izvadim pismo. Imao sam i ja nešto da vidim.
Požuteo koverat. Moje ime napisano rukopisom koji nisam video godinama.
Ruke su mi zadrhtale pre nego što sam ga otvorio.Bilo je od nje.
Od moje majke.
U tom trenutku, krv mi se zaledila u žilama, a svet je na sekundu stao.
Kako?
Kako je moguće da mi piše sada… deset godina nakon što je umrla?
U pismu je stajalo objašnjenje.
Znala je da će doći ovaj dan. Ostavila je pismo jednom advokatu od poverenja, sa jasnim uputstvom da ga pošalje na moju kućnu adresu tačno na desetogodišnjicu njene smrti.
To je bila njena poslednja želja. Njena poslednja poruka. Njen testament.
Ali ono što je pisalo unutra… bilo je više od toga.
Nije ostavila sve meni i ocu.
Ostavila je sve – svojim unucima.
„Dečaku i devojčici“, kako ih je nazvala.
Zastao sam.
U tom trenutku, ruke su mi se ohladile.
Imam sina.
I ćerku.
Batu i seku.
Photo by:https://unsplash.com/photos/man-in-white-button-up-t-shirt-holding-white-printer-paper-WtnFbilxYRE
Kako je mogla da zna?
Kako je mogla da zna da će moja žena biti plava, sitna, skoro ista kao ja?
Kako je mogla da zna da će u naš život doći još jedno dete… dete koje nije rođeno moje, ali jeste postalo moje – dete koje sam prihvatio kao svoje?
Zašto je odlučila da baš na ovaj dan pošalje poruku?
Zašto sada?
Stajao sam nasred sobe, držeći pismo koje je mirisalo na prošlost, ali govorilo o budućnosti.
I tada me je presekao jedan jedini osećaj.
Ne strah.Ne zbunjenost.Nego mir.
Postoji li neka nevidljiva sila u čoveku koja mu razbistri um kada zna da mu se bliži kraj?
Postoji li nešto što majke znaju, a mi nikada nećemo razumeti?
Odgovor je došao sam.
Tih, ali jasan.
Majka je imenica koja nema zamenicu.
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