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Bom To Live by Nelja Romanovska They say that childhood is something shiny and carefree, a world like a colorful fairytale. That is what people say, and I must take their word for it. As for me, I never knew such a fairytale. I was bom into a family where peace was un known, save perhaps at night when everyone was asleep. My parents quarreled all the time, their quarrels often leading to blows. After school, I would hang around with my schoolmates and follow them to their homes just to avoid going to my own. When I turned nine, my parents were divorced, but, as it turned out, this was not the greatest tragedy of my childhood. One morning, I woke up and went into our yard to greet the bright sunshine. Mother was doing laundry. Suddenly, she screamed and fell on a goose berry bush. I though she was doing it as a joke for she loved to joke. But why the gooseberry? It was prickly. I ran to her, grabbed her hand, stroked her face. The dearest person in world to me was shaking in convulsions. Just then, something hit me and jarred my body from head to toe. I realized it was an electric cur rent. It had burned my mother, but I was still alive. People came running. Someone pronounced the dread ful verdict: mother was dead. Sometimes, that is what happens in life: you are sleeping, then you wake up and everything seems to be normal again, but suddenly that "everything" is no longer there, and your entire life is turned upside down. That's what happened to me. I did not want to live. I couldn't imagine living without my mother; I wouldn't know how. Neither screams nor tears could alleviate my pain. I jumped to my feet and ran to the house—I wanted to grab a knife and kill myself. Life without her was unthinkable, and I didn't need it. I barely reached the hall way, fell on my knees, sobbing, and began to pray, asking Heaven how to live without my mother. That terrible moment was the first time I turned to God for help. I had an older brother. He was doing military service, but after my mother's death, he was discharged and became my legal guardian. It is said that grief unites people, but it didn't unite us. The tragedy of my mother's death affected his psyche; he became nervous and irritable. He beat me every day and my bruises were the outward sign of his aggression against the whole world. Several times, I attempted to end my life by committing suicide, but I never succeeded. Today I know why: God's mercy toward a nine-year-old child is unbounded. And later on . . . later on I kept began to wan der around churches begging for assistance. Still later, my brother went abroad, leaving me, a fifteen-year-old teenager, all alone. I attended a religious service held by pentacostal evangelists. I went to confession. I looked for answers. I had no means of supporting myself, so I felt that the only thing left for me was to enter a boarding school for orphans. This, I thought, would make things easier. An orphanage, however, is like a small prison with its own brutal laws of survival of the fittest. I sur vived while my girlfriends succumbed and were raped. I was never touched in that way for I always felt God's protective hand over me. During those times, He was very real to me. I would lock myself in a room and touch His garments with my youthful tears. I always felt His close presence and sometimes not an hour would pass without my prayers being answered. It was as if I cried on His chest and He wiped my tears with His fatherly hand. In those years, I didn't know what he was like, what the Bible taught, or what the spirit world was all about. I just accepted Him as He appeared to me. I loved Him with pure, youthful, unconditional love. The affection and tenderness that Jesus offered me then was the greatest I had ever experienced. I will skip the details of the experiences of my life in the orphanage—they no longer matter—but all that time I felt God's protection and I loved Him, not out of gratitude but simply because He was with me. Is there a reason we love our parents? Several years have passed. Everything I dreamed of and prayed for has come true. But dreams never end, just as God's mercy for us never ends. For me to believe is easy; I don't know another way. Today I am a university graduate. I am the au thor of several scholarly articles and a collection of poems I have called "Heaven Is in My Heart." I have written for the local press and have been featured in an American journal, Our Life. My poems have been re cited over the radio. God has given me a beautiful fam ily—a loving husband and a wonderful little son. I am happy. I owe everything to His mercy. What is behind me was my earthly terrain; now I travel toward the stars to eternal life. This story, originally written in Ukrainian, was translated by Assy a Humesky (UNWLA Branch 50 of Ann Arbor, Michigan). It was forwarded to Our Life by Ms. Humesky with a note explaining that the author, who lives in Ivano- Frankivsk, Ukraine, has had a longstanding relationship with members of Branch 50 who have contributed to her development as a poet and published writer with scholar ship funds over the years. Ms. Romanovska's story was previously published in Ukraine. 16 “НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ЛИПЕНЬ-СЕРПЕНЬ 2004 Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
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