Priča o diplomi tj o Božijem čudu (kako je tupan doživeo promenu)

Posle 11 godina... prolazim pored Poljoprivrednog fakulteta u Novom Sadu i pomislim "Dusane, konacno je doslo vreme da podignes diplomu (diplomirao sam davne 2005-te)." Gledam na sat - 12:45. Ako me sećanje dobro služi studentska služba radi od 11 do 13 časova. (Da napomenem, setio sam se i broja indeksa - 22130, neverovatno za mene koji ne pamti brojeve). "Ako sada to ne uradim, neću to uraditi još 11 godina. Na kraju će mi baciti diplomu u smeće (što mi se desilo sa zdravstvenim kartonom, koji su bacili u smeće u medicinskoj službi za studente jer ga nisam na vreme pokupio)". I uđoh na vrata fakulteta. 
U studentskoj sluzbi nije bila gužva, zasukaše rukave, uroniše u prašnjavu arhivu i posle 15 minuta, i nekoliko poziva telefonom, iskopaše je konacno. Verovatno su se pitale odkud se sad setio? ali su bile krajnje ljubazne. Ne dodeljuju često diplome visokog obrazovanja na studenskoj službi, to radi Dekan na svečanoj dodeli - osim kod onih koji čekaju 11 godina da se pojave. 
Selfić sa diplomom, kada već nema nikog da me slika :-)
Končano, diploma je u mojim rukama. Nema bacanja šešira u vazduh, ni porodice koja me fotografiše, niti proslave i svečanog ručka. Čudno je bilo nositi je u rukama, skoro smešno. Ali da ne ostane kao sasvim običan dan odlučio sam da napišem barem mali blog za ovaj "znacajan" momenat. Blog o isceljenju uma i srca.  

A gift of grieving (English)

„Please, don’t be too much upset with me. In my heart is a prayer for you, that the Lord would open your heart and somehow give you to grieve after your grandfather and your parents the right way. So, there, I love you and I pray for your heart“. This was a note I received on my facebook profile yesterday.
I am a Pastor, a priest; and part of my job is doing funeral services. I don’t believe a priest is the one who sends people to heaven or to hell, nor that church has that monopole. The monopole belongs to Jesus Christ. Through Christ we receive salvation, so at funerals it is not me who decide where one goes; it depends on their own decision while they were still living. What I try is through prayers, through sermon, to comfort people, to help them in their grief. But the question was how do I grieve my own griefs?                        
My mother died in a car accident when I was 18. In our dysfunctional family everything stopped that moment, we were prohibited any joy (what if our neighbors hear us laughing???), but at the same time, we (my sister and I) were not allowed to grieve or cry, either… We were grieving like zombies, like we were the ones who died.
When my grandmother had died, I was away, on a trip, in England. I remember a moment, Victoria Station, London, UK, when received a text, letting me know that my granny had
died. She was a tough, not very emotional woman, under whose influence I was raised from very early age. We say “granny’s grandchild”, as special connection between a grandchild and a grandmother. I did love my granny, although she was difficult to love, not even neighbors liked her. But I did. And couldn’t grieve for her. When I came home, the funeral was over, my sorrow was buried in my work, in a way it was skipped.                                  
My father died two years ago. Our relation was never good, we were not close, I often struggled with my anger feelings toward him – for failed expectations, for not being present, for not solving problems. When he died I cried after him, but in my heart was (perhaps still is) anger, too. Those days of grieving I have spent sorting blue envelopes left in his room, sent by Novi Sad court, analyzing what will come on me – what debt, what trial, what trouble was left as a heritage. Anger ate my sorrow.                                
I’ve been thinking recently how, until now I haven’t, not once, grieved sincerely, from the depth of my heart. Something always meddled, stopped me from grieving. Deep in my heart I was aware that this is not good, it is not human. I even considered that I’ve been in a way crippled in my youth so I cannot grieve? Was my grieving, when my mother died, numbed by repression, by conditioning me not to show it? This was the reason why my brother prayed for sorrow and grieve.                             
The only one of elders, remaining in my family was my grandfather Janko. I wrote about him in two blog posts. The first time about his miraculous return from death two years ago, when God gave him another chance on his death bed in hospital to give him salvation -; and second time about Christ’s work in his life -
Grandfather lived with me in house for last two years. Never before we had some relationship, but after his near-death experience it started developing. We had our Saturday 8AM ritual - driving him to buy some cat food, then groceries, some milk and bread… once a week visiting his sister… taking him to medical check-ups… conversations in car… and then, one night he somehow stepped on a safety-pin, and it couldn’t heal. Gangrene and six months of struggle, then a toe amputation, hope that doctors would approve vein operation – but instead a kidney failure was discovered. And then, day by day he started fading. As if all hope was gone from him, and his body started failing him. Once disciplined to take a medicine on time, in minute, waiting by a clock for exactly 08:00 (I used to tease him that a second or two later wouldn’t harm him), he started refusing any medication. He wouldn’t eat, not even after all my nudging…. Then his kidneys collapsed and I had to leave him in the hospital. For few of his last days he wouldn’t even communicate, lying in his hospital room, eyes closed. Only when my sister or I would visit, a nod meant ‘yes’, and moving shoulders ‘I don’t understand’. One by one his organs were giving away but he was always a fighter, he wouldn’t let his life go. I prayed with him once more, saying to him ‘It is ok to let it go, you’ll be better with God’.
He died as he had lived, not being a burden. Waited for my birthday to pass, for our child to return from a trip, for my wife to preach on Sunday service, and when all important events were finished, our grandfather died. Not being a burden, as if taking care not to spoil something. Quiet, gentle, my grandfather. My sister wrote a post: “Gone is my good cat tamer, a doctor for household appliances, a nut picker, a partner for homemade tomato juice, a flattener of old rusted nails, a good, quiet, shy, and best grandpa Janko.”                    
And he left giving me a gift – a gift of grieving. I didn’t even realize that grieving is a gift. It hurts, but it also purifies. In a way it is beautiful. God has given us those two years, since returning him from death, to bond us, so I would have someone to grieve after. It heals my disappointments, hurts of past… Sorrow is a gift, so I have learned. I write this grieving, at times going out to cry a bit, but I have to say this too “Grandpa Jankic, thank you for the gift of grieving.”