My late Grandma (Katarina Oravská) was born in Ukrain, in a pretty town close to the Slovakian border.
Still a child, she was forced to flee her country. She was put on a train – alone – by her weeping family who stayed behind, while she was transported into the rest of her life as a refugee. She grew up, she changed her name, got married and tried to forget what cannot be forgotten.
This very night, to my surprise, Grandma was in my dream.
She was alive, and she approached me with a serious look on her face. She handed me a letter, then turned around and was gone.
The letter said:
To all of you that come after me, remember;
freedom is not for free
democracy is not for free
nor is the air we breath
the clean, fresh air that we draw deep down into our lungs
a luxury we can take for granted
the nourishing rain is not for free
the most fertile soil can dry,
can crack, turn in to dust of the desert
To all of you that come after me, remember;
you all write the story
you all are the story
