This will be my shortest post … What can I, so small and unimportant say about this? I only know that I had to come …
That everyone must come at least once … It is the least that can be done, not to forget …
We went to the cemetery. That a cemetery. Zejtinlik…
I knew it was inaccessible, I knew that the wheels of my wheelchair would be buried in the pebbles leading to the chapel, I knew the ground could puncture my tires and then I would have to spend half a day looking for a repairman. I knew that I could only say thank you from afar, but …
There were workers on that day.
That day the main entrance was closed.
That day, at least I like to think so, the cemetery could only be entered through the side entrance where it’s much more accesible, and on that day I arrived closer than I hoped.
The gate opened.
The path divides that part of the cemetery into two parts. Ours and theirs. We were allies. I do not turn my head to that side because of the evils they did in the nineties.
Over our tombstones cypresses. Brought from Hilandar as small seedlings. Now they are great trees.
On the right of the path I found a cross with the surname Velickovic. Here is someone known to me among these “giant-heroes” as King Alexander called them. I will adopt him, if the true heirs forgive, as my great-great-grandfather. We can all be his family. He was great enough considering he was burred here.
What a privilege it is to have a great-great-grandfather from Tesaloniki! All the people that died here were heroes and they indebted all of us.
Eternal Glory and thanks to them!