Dear Dora

My fingers are gently gliding over the family photo. In the middle, a sweet quiet three-year-old girl is sitting, staring ahead. People didn't call her Dora but Doorke, because she was so sweet.

Later she learned to play the cello. I sometimes felt sorry for her, seeing her sitting on a chair, behind that big instrument. We all played an instrument at home. Music brought joy within our home.

Dora studied tourism in Bruges and later left for Dubrovnic and headed Yougotours Belgium. After a few months she spoke fluent Yugoslavian, her motto was that everyone should be able to enjoy their vacation to the fullest. She had two beautiful sons, Dean and Bojan. When the war broke out, in the early 1990s, she came back to live in our country. Courageous as she was, she still began to study for clerk and was appointed chief clerk in Deinze. She was beautiful, kind and gentle, always looking for encouraging words and a very good colleague to everyone.

Suddenly mad fate struck. The various TV stations reported her death. We were stunned. Our dear angel had become a real angel. Her ashes were scattered in the Danube River in Dubrovnic.