A month ago I went home. Not just home, but home home. Back to the beginning of my roots.
For me, that meant a long trip to a small neighborhood in Bosnia. Just a couple miles and a border away from Dubrovnik, where my husband and I had the opportunity to stay. At one time, my grandpa’s neighborhood and the city of Dubrovnik were situated in one country. But my grandpa’s sister’s granddaughter had to cross TWO borders to pick us up and take us in. And it was worth every mile and border we had to cross.
The day we arrived in Dubrovnik, there were 4 bottles of olive oil on the table at dinner. Anyone who knows my bread and olive oil fetish will understand that it was at that moment I knew my roots were here.
Choose your olive oil was the delightful game we played throughout our meal. (My husband wasn’t quite as delirious as me.)
It was the next morning that we got picked up by my Serbian cousin and taken to my grandfathers (Djedo’s) home.
  And because words on a page only go so far, here’s a glimpse of what transpired next:

We ended the day in front of the tomb of our great grandparents. Though my grandfather was buried in the states, his parents and siblings are all buried in this spot.

As the wind blew I could feel his spirit whisper,  “Lauritza Annitza, you came to my home.”
Yes Djedo. It was the memory of who you were and what you did for us that brought me here.

And now a piece of my heart is complete.

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