My mother, on the left, and two of her sisters.

They were twelve children in her family, six boys and six girls. Now there are only half of them alive. My mother is the oldest and sometimes, when they gather and are in a good mood, they bet on whom will be the next one to pass away.

I think they have a really macabre sense of humour, but perhaps it is that I do not understand them. They belong to another generation different from mine: they are really tough - most of them had to endure a civil war - and they are not used to expressing their real feelings.

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