Bisenija “Bibi” Kisovec died yesterday. And much of what little joy remains in this world died with her.
Bibi was a loving and devoted wife. There was no greater testament to this than Adrian, her husband of 68 years, crying out her name continually after dementia robbed him of his mental faculties. She could still ground him – even in that state. (He died on December 30, 2014. He was 96.)
Bibi was a loving and devoted mother. There was no greater testament to this than Katherine, her only child, wanting so much to return her mother’s love, she effectively mothered Adrian and Bibi for the last 13 and 17 years of their lives, respectively.
Bibi was a loving and devoted friend. There was no greater testament to this than friends, from her childhood, marveling at the many things she did to sustain their friendships well into her 90s.
Yet, remarkably, Bibi was so much more – as anyone who had the pleasure of meeting her would readily attest. Nobody made more meaningful human connections. And each person she connected with would swear that nobody was more considerate, jovial, generous, and wise.
She also had an enviable mix of grit and humility. Only this explains the derring-dos she orchestrated to help her family escape Yugoslavia and settle in America in the late 1950s. Hint: It helped that she was as endearing as Miss Marple and as multilingual as Elizabeth I.
But few ever knew of the challenges Bibi had to overcome. She, like so many women her age, was an unsung hero of The Greatest Generation.
Bibi died of natural causes in Arlington, Virginia. She (too) was 96.
Farewell, moja tašta. (Moja najsladja mamice – uvek ceš biti u mojoj duši tvoja mala maca)
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Adrian Kisovec…
My mummy…
My daddy…
My big brother…