My parents first had two daughters. When time came for me to be born, the doctor and Mom were the first ones to welcome me into this world. At that time, Fathers were not allowed into the delivery room. When Dad came to visit Мom and the baby, the nurse greeted him,
“Congratulations, you have a baby girl!”
“A girl? I really wanted a boy!” responded my Dad.
“It is a girl and you are taking her home!” the nurse answered firmly.
After ten days of hospitalization, Dad brought Mom and me home. They had two weeks to register the name of a newborn child.
“What name should we give to our daughter? Maybe Oksana or Natasha?” my Mom asked my Father.
Dad left to register the name. When he came home in the evening, Mom was surprised to see that the name on the birth certificate was Olga.
“Why did you choose the name Olga?” she asked my Dad.
“It is beautiful and easy to say. It will sound beautiful when she is young and as she gets older,” Dad answered.
The name Olga means “Holy, Blessed and Successful.” I was lucky to be born to parents who loved me, cared for me, gave me values, taught me right from wrong, and provided me with a faith to guide my life. Even today, they continue to provide a point of reference, answer my questions, tell me what they think and give me honest advice. I value their opinion and their love.
When my parents had a fourth child, they were considered a large family, so the government gave Mom a two-year maternity leave. She stayed home, and Dad continued working. One day, while doing a repair at his job, Dad injured his right wrist. It was cracked, became very sore, swollen and infected, and eventually turned into cancer. The doctor told my Father, in order to live, his arm needed to be amputated.
Everyone prayed for our Father. No one thought he deserved it. He was a good Christian and a youth leader in their church. My Father’s parents believed God was powerful to heal their son and tried to talk him out of the surgery. They also worried how he would be able to support his family.
I remember one evening, when our Father sat on a bed and hugged us all, there was a big lump on his right arm. That was the last time I saw him with both arms. He agreed to amputate his right arm above the elbow, so that the infection would not spread to his whole body. His surgery was done on his 30th birthday. My Grandfather could not visit my Father for a whole month. It was too painful for him to see his now disabled son. In addition to pain, the newly acquired disability cost my Father his career.
Both of my Grandmothers had big families and could not help much. So, Great-Aunt Hanna, who never married and loved our Dad since he was a little boy, helped our Mom. She watched the children, while Mom visited Dad at a regional hospital, riding the train two hours each way, three times a week. Hanna stayed with us, cooked meals and washed our laundry. She sent us to school and gave us lots of love.
Great-Aunt Hanna My Mother and I
Even though we were little, I remember seeing my Mom praying many times and asking God to heal our Father. We prayed with her. Our Father stayed at the hospital for a few months and then came home to complete his recovery. When people came to visit him, some of them encouraged my Mom,
“Stay strong, believe, God will heal him.”
But others didn’t see any hope for the recovery.
“Prepare for the funeral,” they whispered in Mom’s ear.
When Mom’s maternity leave ended, she could not return to her previous job because of ill husband, four small children and cattle to feed. She requested a transfer to a closer location. Mom was offered her a job at the office, but she chose to work as an operator, three shifts: morning, evening, or night. It was a walking distance from our home. She was able to come home during her lunch hour to feed us and the livestock.
Our Mom’s love helped our Father to recover, get up each day and continue living. Great-Aunt Hanna and all the relatives helped us as much as they could. Sometimes we had no money for food. In those times, it seemed people were always willing to help us. We even received a parcel from Germany, from people whom we didn’t know. We accepted it as from the hand of God.
Our Father could no longer be a machinist. With tears in his eyes, he would watch the passing trains near our home. As he became stronger, he started a bee farm and sold honey. Our family grew tulips in a hot house and sold them on March 8th, the International Women’s Day. We also grew produce for our family and lots of radishes, which we sold every season. My Father was creative and did more work than many men with two arms did. Both my parents worked very hard and never complained.
Attending church for the first time after the illness, a very religious member of the church told my Father he had a message for him from God. “What happened to you was My will. Don’t ask why. A long way lies before you. Your feet will step where you have never been before. Your family will always have food and clothes, and I will take care of you.” At that time our parents had no idea what this prophecy meant. It came true eleven years later, when we emigrated from Ukraine to America.
My parents, brothers & sisters. I am the second one on the right.
While Mom worked, we spent time with Dad. We raised produce for food, helped in the garden, picked berries and cared for animals. Dad made work fun. Often, we played with our cousins, swam at the lake or river and played games.
In school we were polite Christian children. We always earned good grades and excelled in art. The Principal often praised us at school assemblies. At the end of her speech, she always added a conclusion, “There is no God. Whoever believes in God will lose a lot in this life.” The school children made fun of us, as Christians. Acts like these were accepted as normal social rules of conduct, never spoken, but always understood.
In the 1980’s only a few people in our village had cars. You had to have cash and be on a waiting list, in order to buy a new car. Because our parents had many children and our Dad was disabled, the government let our family buy a car without being on a waiting list! Amazingly, with one arm Dad was able to drive his car. He frequently helped friends and neighbors with rides. Later, he drove his Father to churches in surrounding villages and supported Christians there. Our Father was a respected man in our community. He was always kind, quiet, helpful, happy and had a heart full of love.
My parents’ religion taught them to have all the children that God would give them. Even though they worried how they would financially support a larger family, they had four more healthy children in Ukraine and were able to provide for our needs. We were a large and happy family, never viewing our Father as disabled. Mom loved him so much! At that time, many individuals having amputations did not survive. Our Dad was among the lucky ones.
2
You never know the importance of freedom
until you don’t have it.
In 1979, because of religious persecution, many Jews and Christians were seeking permission from the Russian government to leave the country. By the late 1980’s, the government began issuing Visas. Our family applied for a Visa to immigrate to America. We traveled to Moscow and stayed there for two weeks, waiting to be interviewed by the American Embassy. After approval by the Russian government, in 1990, we received a Visa that would permit our family, our Uncle Peter, and other relatives to immigrate to America.
