Page 183 - Revelation

Svetlana de Rohan-Levashova. Revelation

My mother awakened with the awful pain and, on making a sharp movement, fell
from the operating table. The pain was so brutal that she lost consciousness. When the
nurse returned from the place she had been sent to the operating-room to check whether
everything was all right there, she was absolutely shocked at what she saw there – my
bleeding mother lay on the floor with a child falling out of her abdomen... The new-
born was dead; my mother was dying too...

It was a terrible crime. It was a most real murder for which those who had
committed it must be personally liable. Nevertheless, another "interesting" thing
happened. No matter how hard my dad and his family tried to call the surgeon
Ingeliavitchus to account, they failed. The hospital said that it was not his fault, because
he was called to an "urgent operation" in the same hospital. This was absurd, but no
matter how vigorously my father struggled, everything was in vain. In the end he left
the "murderers" alone at the insistence of my mother, being glad that at least she was
alive. Regrettably, she had to go a long way to be really "alive". When she underwent
the second operation (to save her life this time), nobody in the hospital gave her a more
than one percent chance of surviving. She spent three months on droppers and had
numerous blood transfusions (she still has the list of people who donated their blood to
her), but she did not feel better. Then the desperate doctors decided to send her home,
"hoping that she will get better much sooner in her own domestic surroundings"! It was
an absurdity again, but my worn out dad agreed to absolutely everything, if only to see
my mother alive one more time. Therefore, he took her home without strongly
objecting.
My mother was so weak that she could not walk for three months... The Seriogins
took great pains to nurse her and my dad carried her in his arms when it was needed,
and when a tender spring sun began to shine in April, he sat with her in the garden
under blooming cherries for hours, trying somehow to bring life back to his extinct
"little star"...

But the tender falling cherry petals reminded my mother of the tender and fragile
child's life which, so untimely, flew away from her. The thoughts that she could neither
see nor bury her child burned her exhausted soul and she was unable to forgive herself
for that. In the end this terrible pain developed into serious depression.
At that time the Seriogins tried to avoid conversations about the terrible event
despite the fact that the pain of loss still smothered my dad and he could not get out of
the gloomy "island of despair" into which the misfortune threw him. There is nothing
more frightful in the world than to bury your own child. And my father had to do it
alone. He had to bury his little Sonny who he loved so strongly and selflessly, even
without having a chance to know him...

I still cannot read without tears these both sad and light lines that my dad wrote to
his little son, knowing that he could never say it to him.

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