Dear Oryana, another holidays passed and you were not with us...Mayra celebrated her birthday without you. A year ago we were in the mountains and you played flute on a fonduefork and made a big concert with your friends to celebrate your sister's 1st birthday. We did not know it would be the only one together. How proud you were of her. I actually thought I am your mother and I teach you how to live. And now...every day I realise: you are my daughter but more...you are my teacher. I guess this is the hardest lesson but step by step you teach us, you teach me, how to live without you. Or maybe: how to live without you physically... How much you loved Italy ("Grazie Mille" you called it) and the beach. I saw you also this year: you ran with Mayra against the wind, you sat with Yarin on the ship to Elba, you flew with the seagulls
over the sea, you giggled and laughed with Yarin and Mayra in the morning, you jumped on the bed, you made funny hairstyles, sat the wrong way on the toilet, invented new words..."Manidopf" means to open, "dorindopf" to close, "Jammysmöl" means tasty and "shinshan" means shit. We laughed with you, we cried with you and in every place we left your name and we knew: one of the gold threads, one of your many many goldthreads is in Follonica, in Elba, in Israel, in Spain, in France, in...wherever we travel, you travel with us...and really: a little traveller you were and wherever you went to, there was a golden thread after you.
Dear Ory, holidays without you are not the ones we wished for. But you are with us and we do miss you...there are many stories to tell, many stories to remember. One by one we will...
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