Chapter 1 – Early Childhood

   My story begins at a point in my life where I was searching for the truth, answers, hope, and purpose. And what I found was more—much more than I’d ever dreamed of.

But my story doesn’t start here. It starts back in the year 1982, on a stormy, windy night in a small village of Romania. My parents were expecting their second child, which was me. Their first child was a boy, my older brother. After twelve hours of long labor, my mother finally delivered me; she was discharged from the hospital shortly after I was born.

The nurse at the hospital wrapped me in a blanket and handed me over to my dad. Shortly after I got home, my dad noticed that I was turning blue and was having trouble breathing. Out of despair, my dad didn’t know what to do; he looked around and noticed the oven. He put me in the oven on low temperature in hopes that I would recover from the cold.

Because Romania was a communist state at the time, once you were discharged from the hospital, they wouldn’t take you back. He desperately cried out to God to save me from death. After about an hour, my dad noticed that I was recovering. I was no longer blue and was no longer aspirating for air. He thanked God because he knew that He had answered his prayer. He thought in his mind, God must have a good plan for this child, for He spared her from death; she shall grow up and glorify the Lord.

A couple of years passed, and I was growing into a curious and mischievous little girl. One summer day my dad woke us up early in the morning and told us to get ready; he was taking us to our other grandparents’ house in the country for the weekend. I was so excited to visit my grandparents in the country because I enjoyed being around animals. They had a farm with chickens, goats, pigs, and all sorts of different animals that they took care of.

We finally reached my grandparents’ house after a few hours of driving. Once we got there, I jumped out of the car and went straight toward the animals. My parents and brother went inside the house to greet my grandparents. While everyone was in the house, I noticed a bucket full of food by the chicken coop, so I decided that I wanted to feed the chickens and be proactive while everyone else was in the house. So I unlocked the gate, brought the food bucket with me inside the coop, and started spreading the food around—when all of a sudden a huge rooster jumped on me and attacked me! It pushed me to the ground and started biting me on my face. I started screaming and yelling for help, and everyone heard me and ran outside the house. My grandmother pushed the rooster off me and quickly grabbed me from underneath the rooster. I was in so much pain, and my face was covered in blood. The rooster had bitten me on my cheek and forehead, and it cut me underneath my eye. My entire face was full of scratches, but luckily I wasn’t seriously injured.

My grandmother cleaned me up, and I spent the rest of my weekend away from the animals. But that was okay because there were still plenty of things for me to do at the farm. I always enjoyed climbing up through the apple orchards and running down the hill. Soon the weekend was over, and we headed back home.

Being in a time of communism, my family didn’t have much on which to live. My dad decided he would need to leave the country and find work if he wanted to support our family. During communism, a lot of people were crossing the country lines and heading toward the United States. The journey would take a few years to complete, and it was very long and dangerous. Refugees were being captured and thrown into prisons, while others were being shot at the borders into other countries. My dad knew the dangers that would accompany this journey, but nonetheless he was determined to make a better life for our family.

So on one summer morning, my dad said his goodbyes. He kissed my mom, my brother, and me, and he whispered into my ear, “I will be back soon.” As we were saying our goodbyes, a plane flew across our home. I started shouting, “Look, Daddy—a plane!” My dad turned around and told me, “Whenever you see a plane fly by, remember that I will be in it—and I will be watching over you.” I tightly hugged my dad and told him that I loved him. And so my dad left on his journey in search of a new life for us.

In the winter of 1985, my dad had finally reached the Yugoslavian border. Back home during this time, they were announcing on the radio station the names of refugees who had been shot and killed at the borders. My mom just so happened to be listening to the radio when the announcement was made. They were reading names off a list, and they also read my dad’s name as one of the refugees who had been killed. When my mom heard this, she was devastated. She didn’t know what to do. She yelled for her mother, my grandmother, who was living with us at the time.

My grandmother rushed to her when she heard her yelling. She told her that my dad was killed trying to cross the border. My mom fell to the ground with despair and cried in my grandmother’s arms. My grandmother held her and comforted her and told her that everything would be okay. My mom was very upset. She pushed my grandmother from her arms, and she started yelling, “How is everything going to be okay? My life is over!” As she was yelling, she ran outside toward the road. She started running away from the house.

At that time my brother witnessed what was happening, and he started to follow my mom down the road. She had been gone for about an hour when my brother finally caught up with her. She was on the side of a bridge ready to throw herself off it and into the river, when my brother shouted at her, “No, Mom! Don’t do it!” He ran to her and grabbed her arm, trying to stop her from jumping. He finally convinced her to stop and to come back home with him.

Days passed, and my mom was feeling worse. She wouldn’t eat, talk, or communicate with anyone. She stayed in her room all day long, and she was experiencing severe depression.

My grandmother always tried to comfort me in difficult times, and she would read me verses from the Bible before I went to bed at night. One verse that she taught me to memorize was Isaiah 41:10 (NIV): “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” I always felt better when I thought about this verse; it gave me peace, and I would use it whenever I felt lonely or discouraged.

After about two weeks’ time, my mom was not getting any better. My grandmother decided to take her into the hospital to have her evaluated by a doctor. When she reached the hospital, the doctor did an exam and diagnosed her with major depression and possibly a mental illness. Since the doctor thought she might be a threat to herself or others, they opted to keep her there and transfer her to the psychiatric ward for further evaluation.

A month had passed since my mom was in the hospital. She did a few treatments while in the hospital, and the doctors were ready to discharge her home. The doctors were not able to do any more treatment on her and ordered her to be sent home in care of family. She was discharged home with my grandmother, and they provided her with medications that would help her relax.

Once she got home, it seemed that she was not the same as she was before she went to the hospital. Nothing was making her happy, and she acted as if my brother and I didn’t even exist. The depression had completely taken over her life and her mind, and who she once was were completely gone. She didn’t know who she was or who we were; she was slowly losing her mind.

A few days had passed since my mom’s return home, when my grandmother told her she had received a letter from my dad in the mail. My grandmother didn’t know how that could be, however. She thought that maybe it was a different man who was killed and had the same name as my father, and that perhaps there was a mistake on the radio station.

As my grandmother read the letter out loud, it said that my dad had finally made it to the United States safely and that soon they would all be together again. He had applied for family benefits, and he was awaiting the response from immigration. After having the letter read aloud to my mom, it didn’t seem to make her happy. She was still in a confused state of mind. She didn’t know what to think. I was happy, though, to know that my dad was safe and that soon we would all be together again.

A few months passed, and my mom received another letter from my dad saying that immigration approved his petition; in six months we would all be together again in America. I noticed that still my mom was in a depressed mood no matter what. But somehow I hoped that once we were all together again, things would go back to normal, the way they were before my dad left.