I DIDN’T PLAN TO write about this, but I woke up in the middle of the night with this strong thought and I’m pretty sure somebody out there needs to read it.
When my grandma Buna from my mother’s side got married, she was young. Both her parents had died from some disease and Buna was left with a lot of livestock at their farm. Her big sister was already married in another village. So, the relatives had Buna marry my grandpa Bunu, a young soldier who came alive from the war.
A few years later, they had their first daughter and when she was about 4-5 years old Buna got pregnant again. Many weeks into the pregnancy and the baby died in Buna’s womb. They didn’t know that. The mom started to feel sick and then she developed high fever.
Back in 1920’s people there in Transylvania didn’t have a doctor or certified midwives. When giving birth every woman was helped on the spot by who was there, most of them grandmas, aunts and/or lady neighbors.
Bunu had to go to work in the field and couldn’t stay at home to help his wife. He took his wife in the garden under the apple tree in the shade on an improvised daybed and left her there with their little girl. One neighbor was to check on her from time to time.
The days went like this and Buna didn’t die. But she didn’t get better. She was there between life and death asking her daughter for water. The baby inside her was in advanced stage of putrefaction, but the septicemia didn’t kill the mother. That was a miracle. The mother was suffering from the deadly infection, but she stayed alive with no antibiotics.
All of a sudden one day, the stillborn came out. My aunt , the little girl then, was there. She said the baby was black and hard like a piece of charcoal.
From that day on, Buna started to feel better and she lived a long life.
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