I lost my parents at an early age.
Wow.
I’ve never actually written that down before.
It’s a simple phrase, said like you would mention losing your wisdom teeth or appendix. And I guess the analogy is not unfair, I always felt like a part of me was missing.
The losing was so far back in time that I tend to think of them as another son’s parents, and that too is not an unfair analogy. We are shaped by the events of our lives. The boy they gave birth and raised to be a good muslim bosniak was not the same child that grew up in foster care under the christian faith. At least, I can only assume.
Of course, it’s not true. I know what happened. What I learnt many years after the fact lead me to believe that my father is dead. Not lost, or mislaid. Not waiting somewhere to be reunited with his son. Dead.
But can the same be said for my mother?
This is ridiculous thinking that will get me nowhere. How do I even start looking for a woman who I knew only as Mama.
As I said, that boy is gone, just as dead as a dead father.
Nothing can come of this.
A Strange Life 