That year it seemed to me the winter would never end. Five months of winter were eternally long. The snow fell on the third of November and on the twenty-sixth of Mach, I together with my friends went taking pictures to Syrets park and huge heaps of snow didn’t even start to thaw. Long five month of winter from November till March. Not three but five. And I remember them all because at the beginning of December I found out that I would have him. The son.
Somehow, I immediately realized – the son. No, I didn’t have super presentiments. And intuition didn’t whisper me anything. I didn’t realize at all what was happening. I just knew – I would have the son. He would take after me.
All December, I listened in to myself and tried to understand: “Real? Is it real? Everything will be okay? Is he there?”. I was afraid to pay a visit a doctor, to take tests, to frighten away myself. Every second of December, I could say what exactly each cell of my body felt and what thoughts pulsed in my head. I didn’t believe, listening in to myself, waiting for some confirmation. And in the morning, on the twenty-fourth of December, I came around to my grandma.
“Granny, what cutlery do you have on the table? Why did you take this all out?”
“I had guests. We were sitting and drinking tea. It’s my birthday and I’m sick. What if they couldn’t come to me anymore?
My grandma was born on Christmas Eve. On the twenty-fourth of December, every year our whole family celebrated her birthday, the next day we congratulated each other with Christmas and in a week we dropped in to congratulate her with New Year. In the last two years, my always energetic grandma became less active and I understood that this is what people call “the fading of life”.
“How? You almost never get up to welcome guests. Who came? Yesterday? Your birthday is today. Why didn’t you call me? I would have come and cooked something tasty. Who was?”
“These were special guests, my dear. Your grandfather, Stepan Fedorovych and my mother, Oksana Hryhorivna. And Tolechka, my brother, came around. Tolechka, even though he’s young, passed away so long ago. But I’ve been living and living. Yesterday, all of them came around. And I felt so good. I missed my mother so much, your great-grandma. I can’t wait any longer when I meet her more than for five minutes.”
I was terrified for a moment. Grandma talked about those who had long passed away. Do old people really see those who are beyond the reach for us and can talk to them?
“Granny, what are you talking about? How could they come if they’re gone?”
“Oh, we don’t know everything about life. Believe me. I’m telling the truth. But you know what? Although I felt good with them, I don’t want to pass away at Christmas, want to be with you. It’s not very good to die in winter. Only troubles! It’s cold outside, the soil is frozen. To be born in the winter is good, but to die is better in the summer. I asked my guests not to hurry me up. They agreed. I’ll stay with you a little while longer. And I must wait for a grandson. You’re pregnant, aren’t you? I’ll wait for a grandson and then I’ll see.”
I looked at the grandma. How did she find out? I didn’t have even first signs of pregnancy.
“Why are you staring at me like that? Did you forget who I am?”
My grandma was a midwife. Born on Christmas Eve, she worked almost her whole life in the maternity home, helping other children to come to this world. And she was present at my birth too. To tell you the truth, she gave birth to my mother and me, having begged me from God or someone else above.
“Granny, do you remember me crying before the wedding? A doctor said then that I have a chance of never having a baby? And you said to me: ‘Don’t dare to tell your husband!’. Why?”
Two years ago I got married and before making this the most important decision in my life, I’d visited a doctor. I’d heard a verdict, which made me stiff the first seconds. The doctor said, “You have some problems, the earlier you got pregnant, the better. You may not have children”. He said something else, that weird doctor, but I hardly remember anything. And I forgot even his surname as soon as I went out. There was only one thought in my head: I may not have children.
Frankly, at that moment I didn’t think about them seriously. I was graduating from university, made plans for a dizzy career ladder and was a child myself. But I was scared then. Now, I understand that I had to go to another doctor, to check-up, but at that moment I believed him on the spot.
“Oh, baby, I’ve seen enough, so many wives were left by their husbands because they couldn’t have babies. I was worried about you. Forgive me. You, the young, are different now. Thank God, your husband didn’t break up with you.”
“Grandma, he wouldn’t have broken up with me. He loves me. And I him. I want to live honestly. Without any secrets between us. What kind of family life would we have if we were lying to each other?”
“My girl, the life’s long, I’ve seen enough… How women deceived with pregnancy, how they stole other’s child because the husband wanted a boy, not a girl and how they were left when it turned out they couldn’t have a child. I was afraid for you so much.”
I winced after the phrase “stole other’s child” and decided to ask the grandma what had been bothering me for many years.
“Grandma, tell me, am I mother’s daughter? Sometimes it seems to me that she doesn’t love me. We argue all the time, she’s always unsatisfied with me and the things I do. Maybe, I’m not her child?”
The grandma smiled, first, she stroked my head and knocked at it slightly.
“What a silly girl! Sure thing, you’re your mom’s daughter. I remember clearly how you appeared in this world. Doctors and other midwives were sending me off from the delivery room. How could I go when my daughter was giving birth? Yet when a close person is near, it’s much easier, although watching your child suffer and yelling from pain is very scary. You’re your mother’s child. And mine. Unfortunately, I won’t help you already.”
“Granny, don’t worry, now it’s possible to deliver together with husbands!”
“Oh, Lord! Don’t dare! Your innovations aren’t good. He’ll stop loving you after seeing all this. Oh, I’m sorry that I won’t be there and I won’t help you.”
“Why won’t you be there, grandma! You will! I’ll do it on time.”
Grandma put a hand on my belly and said:
“Deal! I’ll wait for my grandson and then go.”
“How do you know it’s a boy? Maybe, it’s a girl?”
“No, baby, you’ll have a boy. Believe my experience. And you granddad Stepan confirmed this. There, they know everything about us, what waits for us and when. I only ask you not to argue with your mother. I gave her so little love. She’s the oldest of mine, the firstborn. She was born before the war, she had been raised by my mother and Tolechka till the seventh grade. We took her only when she turned fourteen. She has never said a word to me, never complained. I owe her. But she’s kind, loves you, cares about you. She just can’t say it. I gave so little of this love to her. Take pity on her. On my behalf. Let her feel my love from you.”
Now I remember a little about her – about the grandmother, in honour of whom I got the name and red hair. There are photos, greetings on postcards, written in real medical handwriting and extracts of memories, which are difficult to understand whether they’re real or not.
“Don’t argue, please. You, yourself, will be a mother soon. She loves you very much. She’s got your grandfather’s temper. Stepan was strong, tough but very kind. She’s the same. And when you were born, all doctors and midwives said that you’re my replica.”
“Grandma, I’m scared, you say that those ones came, who are gone. How is it possible?”
“Don’t be afraid, kid. It’s good they came. I talked to them and now I’m calm that I won’t be there alone. Go home, my love, do your things. And don’t be afraid. Everything will be alright with you. I promise.”
We met grandmother’s birthday, Christmas, New Year. In the spring of that long winter, I took pictures with my friends at the park in Syrets, near the children’s railroad. In the summer, I became a mother. I had the son. Grandma waited for my boy and a week after his birth at the warm night, she went to my grandfather, her mother and brother. In the summer. When it’s warm. Not to be a burden for anyone.
Olena Bogatyrenko