My wonderful, wonderful dad. He moved to Brazil around 1960 (I have been trying to figure out exactly when). He married my mom, Dora Cunha Petric, a Brazilian, in 1967. They met at a graduation course, both were architects. My dad was passionate about chess, Bach and drawing. His caricatures gave him many immediate friends. He used to draw on anything: a piece of napkin, envelopes, the paper towel of a restaurant. He was also a dog lover, and that for sure my sister and I inherited. In Rio, he was loved by his colleagues and his many, many friends. He had a magnetic, charismatic personality. I was his first child, born in 1971. My sister Mariana came in 1973. I know how much he loved and valued this family that he built so far away from where he was raised. He always told us stories about the former Yugoslavia, which was always, always in his mind. I remember when his mother, then sister, then best friend died there. Being so far away must have been torturing - I came to know that feeling today, as I myself also moved out of my native country. He was very sad during the Kosovo war. He died with a heart attack during that time. His name is misspelled in this stone - it has an "O" instead of an "E." I was wondering what he'd say about it - and as remember him and his self-deprecating humor, he'd say "damn, I didn't get it right not even in death" and he would laugh. His remains are in Rio. For fear of political retaliation, my dad left his country and never went back. But I am glad his name is here, because his heart was in Belgrade. I adored my father and he is still the main person in my life (I am 50 and he died when I was 27). Marina Petric Austin, Feb 13, 2022
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