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What's your smile hiding, mom?

About my best friend, me hero -my mom.

By Maria Ostasevici Published 3 years ago 8 min read
my mom smiling after divorce

What does it mean to be a mother?

Is it just about giving birth, raising children and providing them with the necessary education? Definitely not. Since the beginning of life on Earth, perhaps, there has never been a stronger being than a woman, even more so than a mother.

What's it like to be a girl in a former Soviet country?

My mother was born in 1979, in the Republic Of Moldova. She was the second child of the five after all, but she was the first girl. The reality of countries with a very low level of development is quite harsh, especially for those who have not been through such a thing. Unemployment, poverty, lack of jobs. But nothing compares to those who loved to destroy lives. Men who considered themselves gods on this earth and women being only their slaves, that's why life became an ordeal for every girl born in Moldova. One of these men was my grandfather. He was a tyrant, in the true sense of the word. His girls, they had to be home at the fixed time, and if they were a minute late, they slept at night with the animals, and at best, they were beaten and left to sleep in the House.

But, as in every story, she fell in love with the "long-awaited prince", who was supposed to get her out of this prison. At least, that's what he said. After receiving what he wanted, he uttered some of the ugliest words a boy could say to a girl, 'I'm sorry, but I have another one and that wasn't serious for me'..First big love, first big disappointment. After a few weeks she understood that she was pregnant. A 19-year-old girl, who has just begun to know life, pregnant from someone who did not even want to hear about the baby. But that wasn't the hardest. My grandfather, he, who was supposed to support her, was the one who beat her to the blood, hoping that she would lose the baby.

This child was the reason she wanted to live. Her reason to go away and become stronger than ever. She gathered all her strength, defended her belly from those cold-blooded blows, risked losing her own life, only to give birth to a new life, a child of her own. How was it possible to survive? I have no idea. But she did it. She had a friend who supported her, and he proposed to her as soon as he found out about it, because he loved her.. he loved her and wanted to make her his wife, even if it meant raising a foreign child. Two years passed, when he went to another country, saying 'I'll call you when I get there, I promise to come in a month'. He promised her, but other than those words, she heard nothing from him. At that time she was 9 months pregnant with her second child, my younger sister. Lack of money, two little children who needed to be fed.. they motivated her to go back to her parents ' house. No, she was never received with smiles and joy. Rather with hatred and disappointment. Some of the nights she was lucky to feel at home, the days she worked and brought money. The others, she slept in a pile of corn, sometimes with the children, sometimes alone. That was the situation in our country, that was and is the reason why thousands of women leave their children and leave to earn money.

Hope for a new life

After a year, she decided to go to Russia to work, so that she could somehow support the children. Without experience, the 23-year-old girl began to work in construction. There she met my father, the only one we considered true, the only one who was present in our lives. She was very beautiful. Yes, surely all children consider their mother to be the most beautiful, but mine..she was wonderful. While we were little, we weren't interested in her condition. I was the happiest that at least twice a year she comes home and we see her. We had enough to send us money and candies. After thirteen years , we no longer saw only the sky without clouds, we did not see only pink and rainbows. I often noticed the cigarette pack in her bag, and when we were talking on skype there was always a cigarette lighter on the table. But she always told me that smoking was the worst thing I could do, she always explained that it was not good at all.

Then, I saw that she used foundation under her eyes, that she was always red-eyed, and sometimes she was very weak, sometimes she suddenly gained weight. We were naive when we were little. And she was naive because she thought she could hide reality. We began to ask her more often, we began to talk to her about our problems, to show her that she can trust us, that we will support her whatever it is. In 2016, he raised money to buy a house. A house that suffered a serious fire, a small one, destroyed, close to our aunt, far from the town where my grandparents lived. That's when she decided to tell us about the conditions she was living in. Then she told us about the months she walked with her body hunted, and the weeks when her husband took all the money from home and went fishing with his friends. He does not call her, does not explain where and with whom he goes, and if she asks, it ends every time with bruises on the body. I was 17, my sister was 15, we weren't that mature. But we were smart and mature enough to understand that nothing matters more than her happiness. So I backed her to divorce.

A woman's happiness does not depend on a man

After she came from Russia, she was different. My grandfather was already too old to prove his strength. That's why she wasn't afraid anymore. She always smiled and was very cheerful, but now it seemed to me that smile was no longer full of pain, no longer forced. In 2018, after high school I wanted to go to Germany as an Au Pair. The contract was incredibly expensive, what about all the expenses that had to be paid. But she supported me. She paid me everything I needed, went with me to the interview. She was with me until the moment I left. My little sister decided she wanted to travel. I don't know how our mom could, how hard she worked, but she gave her as much money as my sister needed. After a few months in Germany, she saw that it was very difficult for me. She asked me to come home, she begged me to come and submit my papers to college before it's too late. I listened to her and I'm Not Sorry at all, because now I'm a sophomore at PR. She decided that she wanted to go to Italy, work there. She worked a lot, and last year she finished repairs in the House. She built the house on her own, destroyed the walls (she probably imagined that she was hitting our grandfather or her ex-husband in the head), straightened everything out perfectly, put windows, bridges, floors, doors.. If you could just see what a beautiful, incredibly cute house, and with a big mirror all over the wall in the bathroom. She always says, " We need the big mirror, we're three beautiful girls, we all have to fit in here". And she's right, because she really is incredibly beautiful. She was often asked to go out for coffee, one fell in love and even proposed to her. But she doesn't want to. And why would she want to be someone's wife, when she can lead her own life as she pleases?

I'm not sure, maybe she doesn't need a man because she's afraid, or maybe because she really doesn't. Still, every time she goes shopping she's happy as a small child. Every time she goes out with his girlfriends for coffee, she sends me pictures and boasts that she spends as much as she wants and how she wants.

Power, that's about you, mom.

She's 42 in September, but sometimes she's as sweet and naive as a baby. In September she is 42, but she needs our love and support more than a little baby would need his mother. In September, she's 42, but she's been through so much trouble that she's already lived 9 lives in which she fought, and out of all of them she came out victorious.

It's very difficult to talk about my mother and the "advice" she gave me. It's very hard to talk about a little life lesson that taught me. It's hard to talk about someone so powerful and so important, just in 1,000 words.

Power, that's the right word I'd associate with mom. Power to give birth to two children, even if everyone was against it. The power to go through all life's problems with your head held high and move on. Power, because what weak person could raise two children and build a house without anyone's help? Power, because in a world where men were accustomed to lead, she made the decision to live alone and direct her conditions in which to live. Power, because now looking at her as beautiful and optimistic, we try to be the same. It's only because of her that I can smile today when a problem arises to me, it's only because of her influence that I understand that whatever happens, I can get over it. Because of her, I made the decision that I would never have an abortion, no matter what. She proved to me that however, how many hardships there would be, a child is the reason why it is worth living, and you will never be sorry.

My hero with a sweet smile

My mother became my best friend, even if in childhood she was not with me. If I feel sorry for my childhood without it? Certainly not, because this is how we have all 3 come to be extremely optimistic, strong and consider all life's problems as simple stages that will soon pass.

I'm sure every woman, every mother goes through a lot of hardships to raise a child. Even if sometimes children do not understand, the smile of the mother can only be a protective shield against all ills.

There's nothing a woman can't handle. Even if they are considered 'the weak kind', the truth is that a woman is much stronger than a man, both physically and morally.

Now I am also pregnant, but thanks to my mother my child will not grow in suffering and pain. Soon I'll be a mother too, and whatever doesn't happen, I'll be as strong as my sweet mom, my hero.

With the hope that this story will use as motivation for all women. You can do anything, you're strong and beautiful.

Thank for reading.


About the Creator

Maria Ostasevici

Communication and public relations student, Moldova

Instagram profile: maria.ostasevici;

mother of two awesome Dobermans.


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    Maria Ostasevici Written by Maria Ostasevici

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