Written by Melissa Milenkovic, Iva's sister in low

 Iva passed away a year ago now.  How is it that it has been that long already?  A year we have now lived without her.  Without receiving the joy of her smile.  Without worrying about her.  Without anxiety about what is going to happen next.  The relief brings guilt.  The loss, of course, bring much sadness.  

So in this time, we have been dealing with all the grief, and trying to decide what our lives are now going to be like.  Our daughters have only known their lives with Iva.  She has been with us for nearly 2 years, and in their short lives, that represents a good portion of their memory.  Yet they have not skipped a beat.

On the day after Iva's death, our youngest, Maja, was still looking for her.  "I'm going to see if Iva is sleeping in her room."  Then she decided that Iva had turned into a butterfly and had flown up to heaven.  The next day, Wednesday, we buried Iva at the Serbian Orthodox Cemetery in Galveston.  When we got home that afternoon, Tony found a butterfly on our back door.  The butterfly let him pick it up and carry it about for a bit.  He then set it free.  Pure magic.

It's strange that in all this time everything boils down to just a few memories.  Iva making pasta.  Iva cheering while watching soccer.  Iva explaining friendship to our oldest daughter, Milena.  Iva being completely enamored of Avatar in 3D (she watched it 3 times, at least!).  Iva cutting cabbage.

We now only have memories of her.  Memories of her before she was sick.  How she loved the sea.  How talented she was.  How she loved simple things.  How well she could pack a suitcase.  How loving she was.

And then there are the memories of her being sick.  And how it changed her.  When she was first diagnosed, she struggled to understand why this had happened to her.  She thought it was something she had done.  Maybe she had been too prideful, which of course, was a prideful thing to think, right?  To think that any of this tragedy had anything to do with you?  To think that somehow the forces of fate had singled you out?  But that was Iva.  Flaws and all, you couldn't help but love her.   She was the bravest woman you will ever know.  

And then there are the things that we can't remember.  Like her favorite Starbucks coffee drink.  All these silly day to day details that suddenly become so important because she is gone.

And then there is the guilt.  The guilt for not always understanding how hard this was for her.  For expecting her to be more this or less that.  For not hugging her more.  For not saying more of the "right" things.  For not making her cookies more often.

But in the end, we are left to resolve all that it meant and all that we didn't do.  We have to go on living and doing all the things she will never do.  And yet in all of this, gratitude fills me.  I am grateful for how much we have received from all of you over the last 2 years.  How much you have shared with us, how much you have prayed for us, how much you have just listened and supported us.  How much you have opened your hearts to our family, some of you complete strangers.  It is really quite astonishing.  And then there are the donations--from so many of you--and without which Iva would never have been able to receive the treatments that kept her here with us for so long.  We will always be grateful for that.  Just as we will always miss her.