The communist regime stole my childhood. I have no normal memories about my first years of life. From three months old I had to live at my grandma's house at countryside, couse my parents had to work up to 12 hours per day in the city. My grandma was a countrywoman and my parents, young workers in the brave socialist society.
I remember that it was winter, we were at countryside, at grandma, and I was expecting Grandfather Frost (santa was forbidden). I was almost 4 years old and playing with a rag doll that my grandma made me when the revolution happened. I did not understood the expression on my parents faces. And I did not understood why Ceausescu had to die. All I remember is that after the hollydays, my parents took me with them. For the first time, mom wake me up at 5 o'clock in the morning not to say goodbye, but to dress me up and take me with her. And it was so dark and cold outside, the snow was sparkling and screaking under my little boots. We walked fast without talking. Daddy was carring the luggage and mommy was helding my left arm. I remember it because my stretched arm hurt bad. But I said nothing, just kept walking in silence, because we all knew it was over.
My left arm hurting while we were going fast to catch that bus to the city is my only powerfull memory with me and my mom from that age. Looking up to her, seing her crying in silence in that cold winter morning, with only some barking dogs and our footsteps as soundtrack, made me realise for the first time that she is my mom for good; that from that point I could live with my family. All the road till our home in the city, mom did not left my hand. In that moment I knew I'm a women, I knew I'm like my mother and that I love her not just because it was expected from me to feel so, but because I was covered with an overwhelming feeling. So I looked at her and I told her "Mommy, I love you!" She just smiled among tears, took my little hand and kissed it.
Take action! This post was submitted in response to My Story: Holding Hands.