Ljubica Handjal died a year ago. Ever since, this date has been etched in my mind, for she was more than a friend to me. A bit like a mother, she has left her three children to me. A bit like brothers and sisters, we are reunited on this day, the first anniversary of her death. I am closest to her youngest son, Rudi, whom I just called. There will be a mass for Ljubica in the main church in Motovun this afternoon. Olga, her daughter, as well as her oldest child, and Ivan, known to all as Duško, will be there. Only I will be missing. Conspicuously, too. There are many reasons for this, of course, but one of them is that I am way too sentimental to be there on this day. Rudi is like me in this respect, but there is nowhere for him to hide. Our conversation was short and trite. Words failed us both. “Kiss Olga and Duško for me,” was my main message. Now that Ljubica is gone, we have to stick together. Her bereft children forever united.