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	My Tata
			Stanko Matejas 1950-2006
	It was Thursday evening on a warm August day in Zagreb, Croatia. The nurse let me visit my father at the intensive care in off hours. She knew I was leaving in two days. She also knew that my father was in serious condition. I held his hand, and he held mine. Everytime I would as much as think of leaving, his hold would strenthen and I couldn't bring myself to move. I sang to him for as long as I could. After he fell asleep I began my long walk through the streets of Zagreb to my mom's apartment. The hospital was only a block away from the building where my dad grew up, where I was born, where I took my first steps, where I have the dearest memories of my parents. In my mind I rewound the past three months I got to spend with my Dad. By the time I arrived, his illness already advanced so much that he was bed-riden. But I got to talk to him. I got to sing with him at his two year old daughter's (and my half-sister) birthday party at the hospital. I got to talk to the doctors and help my father's wife Mirjana to fight through the mind numbing burocracy of the Croatian medical system. I got to talk to him and sit next to him quietly. I got to kiss his cheek and his head. I got to lay my head down on his chest and be his little girl once again. But now it was time to say goodbye. Time to go home. I had a job to do, and probably for the first time in my life I realized how important it was that I do this job well: to teach my boys what my father taught me. He taught me how to sing, how to share all I have inside without ever expecting a reward. He taught me how to laugh and appreciate the little things in life. He taught me to be happy, and how to enjoy the making of a nice pot of chicken-noodle soup. Through his illness, I watched him never complaining, always seeing everything in a positive light. Tata passed away on Friday, September 8th. Later I found out that at the time of his passing, I was in the studio recording a Croatian lullaby, remembering the night I sang to him only two weeks before. I love my tata. I love him so very much. And someday we will be reunited. We will sing again. This I pray for. This I believe.
	Tata and his older brother Branko. (They also have a younger sister Magdalena, who everyone calls Beba)	Tata's first band "Fantomi". His dad didn't let him play because his grades were not great. Still, nothing could stop my tata from singing and playing.	I was born when my dad turned 20. He and my mom rented a room from a lady who wouldn't let them watch her TV because she said if more people watched it, it would wore out faster.
	When I turned 13, tata let me sing with his band. There was nothing I liked more than singing with him.	I had warned Matthew that at our wedding, I would still want to sing a song or two with my Dad. Here is tata's sister Beba, Tata, me and my sister Sanya all singing together.	When I was little and needed to be "bribed" my dad would say: "I'll take you to Disneyland if you..." I think we both knew that was almost impossible... until one day, I moved to Los Angeles, and he came to visit me... Here is my tata with Dante
	Tonkica was born on July 2nd 2004, to my dad and his wife Mirjana.	Being a musician wasn't only my tata's profession. It was who he was. He was a heart of every party.	My sister Sanya visited tata during his radiation treatments before he ended up in a hospital.
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