Destinies - Chapter V
Five Children - Five Destinies
From Destine by Alexandrina (Adina) Chițu
A family chronicle of five siblings — Florian, Maricica, Ionel, Cornel, and Adina — and the lives they built through hardship, devotion, migration, illness, and love.
Of the five siblings that we were,
Only the last two remain.
Three have gone up above —
What more is there for me to say?
We followed the thread of life we were given,
We fought for a better life,
So that our children might grow fulfilled and good,
And be masters of their own destinies.
That is what our parents wanted, too;
Now I look upon them as saints.
I miss them, and I wish so deeply
That they could receive all my love.
— “Five Destinies,” Prof. Alexandrina Chițu, May 24, 2020
— And Grandmother, and Grandpa, and Mama Ica had five children, too...
— Yes. There was another little girl, Lenuța, but she did not live long. At the age of two, she went back to heaven to become a little angel.
Florian
The first and oldest of the brothers was Florian, born in 1929.
He was a chubby child, with red hair full of curls. In the family we called him Nina. He was the one who began calling our mother Ica, shortening the name from Mămica, and so Ica remained our mother's name for the rest of her life and for all the generations that followed.
We have a photograph of him sitting on one of Dad's knees while Dad is seated in a chair. Nina is holding Mother's hand, while she has her other arm around Dad's neck. The photographer knew how to compose the picture, and the three of them looked wonderful together.
After leaving Brăila, the family spent two years in Bucșani and then moved to Schela Mare. Nina finished school and found a job at the plant in Târgoviște, where he became a skilled apprentice.
He completed his military service in Cluj and returned home two years later.
He resumed his work at the Târgoviște plant. While commuting between Târgoviște and Gura Ocniței, he met Elena Avramescu and fell in love with her.
He had known Elena since childhood. She had been a schoolmate of his younger siblings, Marcea and Ionel.
At first, Nina's brother and sister did not like her very much. But such is a person's destiny: time passes, children grow up, and eventually the time for marriage comes.
Mama Ica thought that Elena's mother and her aunt, Tăntica, must have done something to the boy, because Nina was crying and insisting that he had to marry Elena or he would die.
Oh, my God, how could that be?
And then they married.
My older sister Maricica, whom we called Marcea, was already married and had two boys. They lived across from the church, in a row of similar houses.
Across the street was another row of houses. Nina moved there with Elena, whom I called Nuța, and there their little girl, Cristina, was born.
Marcea, her husband Vanea, and their children Adrian and Ovidiu moved to Brăila. A year later, my family also moved to Brăila, and eventually Nina and Nuța came as well with their daughter, Cristina.
They lived for a while on Mihai Bravu Street, in a house with a courtyard. Later, because they both worked at the Progresul Plant, they were allocated a two-bedroom apartment through the workers' union. It was in the heart of Brăila, on Karl Marx Street, in a newly constructed building.
When Cristina was about three years old, my father took her for a walk along the Danube, all the way to the Naval Agency in the harbor.
They were looking at the foreign ships moored at the quay when Dad, unable to resist teasing her, asked:
— Do you like the ships?
— Yes, they're big and beautiful!
— Don't you want to eat one of these ships? Dad asked jokingly.
— Do you think I'm a dog, to eat a ship?
My father loved her answer so much that he told us, and many other people, about little Cristina's response.
When Cristina started school, Mama Ica would go to their house to warm her food and check on her. Cristina's parents instructed her to leave the entrance key hidden under the doormat.
Cristina grew up, attended high school, and then went to the Polytechnic Institute in Bucharest, where she graduated from the Faculty of Metallurgy.
She lived for a while in Onești and later transferred to the Progresul Plant in Brăila. She received an apartment, married, and had two children, Simona and Dorin.
She later divorced her husband, who had a gambling addiction. Afterward, she went to Toulouse, France, where she married a Frenchman.
Cristina's children remained in the care of their grandparents and continued school in Romania. When it became possible, their grandfather, my brother Nina, took them to their mother in France, where they were adopted by Cristina's husband.
Simona attended technical school. Dorin graduated from the Faculty of Geography, became a university assistant, married, and had two children, Emma and Alexander.
Cristina eventually retired. She had worked as a teacher. Her French husband died, and she was left alone, but she was happy to have her children and grandchildren around her.
My brother Nina and Nuța traveled every year to France to visit Cristina and the children.
They usually flew, but eventually discovered that traveling by bus was cheaper. The journey, however, took three days and was exhausting, especially as they were getting older.
Perhaps it was all those journeys, perhaps the heartaches accumulated throughout his life, perhaps the sun — Nina loved spending time at the beach — we do not know exactly what caused it, but he developed skin cancer on his left side, below the waist.
The growth bothered him. He rubbed it with a towel and applied comfrey ointment, but it did not heal. On the contrary, it grew larger.
Finally, he went to Colentina Hospital in Bucharest, where he underwent surgery.
The test results came about a month later. I was with him when I read the diagnosis, and it gave us chills: skin cancer, stage IV malignant melanoma.
He returned to Brăila. I drove him to the train station. He was very sad and worried, and I tried to encourage him:
— Your doctor will read the diagnosis and find a solution.
— When it is cancer and stage IV, there isn't much hope, Adina. Those of us with very fair skin, like our father's sister Jeana, are prone to cancer, like Marcea was.
I didn't know what else to say.
Finally, I said:
— Give my love to Nuța and to my dear Brăila.
— Yes, I will remember, he answered sadly, his thoughts already somewhere far away.
In Brăila he went to the doctors and received treatment, but the treacherous disease advanced. It confined him to bed, and the cancer spread to other organs.
Nuța called me twice to come and help her. I found her exhausted and depressed. I didn't know how to comfort them or how to help them.
The third time she called me was for Florian's funeral.
I went to Brăila with our brother Ionel. Cornel, our other brother, was in Canada and was preparing to return home to Romania.
In 2004, at the age of seventy-five, our brother Florian joined our parents and Nana. He was buried in the family grave that had come from Tanti Marioara, Mother's sister, and had originally been in the name of our grandmother Sorica.
Three years after Florian's death, his granddaughter Simona came from France to Brăila. She persuaded her grandmother, Nuța, to sell the apartment and everything in it and then took her to France.
For many years afterward, Nuța would call me crying. She regretted leaving and missed her home and Brăila terribly.
She complained that Simona was sometimes kinder to her cat than to her and that she spoke to her rudely and dismissively.
But her family was now there: her daughter Cristina and her grandchildren, Simona and Dorin. I tried to encourage her by telling her that this was where she belonged now. She had good medical care and all her loved ones nearby.
Nuța held on to the money from the sale of the Brăila apartment for some time. Eventually, however, she gave in to family needs and helped Simona pay some old debts and Cristina buy a house.
My husband told Cristina that they should complete the inheritance proceedings for the burial plot at Saints Constantine and Helen Cemetery in Brăila, where Florian was buried.
The succession first needed to be completed in Nuța's name and later transferred to Cristina. Neither Cristina nor Nuța seemed to understand why this was necessary.
Cristina replied that her mother was perfectly healthy and there was no need to do it. She said things were handled differently in France and that, if necessary, she would go to the embassy and solve the problem.
We continued urging them to settle the inheritance because, ever since Nuța left for France, I had been paying the cemetery fees in Brăila every year on behalf of Florian, while the documents remained outdated.
I don't know how much longer I will be able to make these trips to Brăila. I am getting old myself.
But they misunderstood our intentions. They became angry and even told my cousin George Nedelcu that we wanted to remove Nina from his grave.
Now we speak on the phone occasionally, usually when she calls me, but I feel that our relationship has grown somewhat cold. Perhaps it was never particularly close.
Maricica (Maria-Elena)
After Lenuța, who at two years old became an angel of the Lord, as you say, Grandma, who came next?
Maria-Elena.
She was Maria on her baptismal certificate and Elena on her birth certificate, so, as you can see, she carried the names of two saints.
We called her by her baptismal name and shortened it to Marcea or Maricica. My father sometimes called her Mircea.
She was born in Brăila in 1933. She had reddish-blond hair and very fair skin. Everyone loved her. She was kind, cheerful, and very sociable.
One of her happiest childhood memories was from Bucșani, where she, her two brothers, and Mother would run through the tall grass. Once they even saw a deer, beautiful and delicate.
Later they all moved to Schela Mare.
Then came the misfortune of 1948, when Dad was imprisoned. Maricica and her brother Ionel went to Brăila, to Grandmother and Aunt Marioara.
There she went to Nașa Ivanov, where she learned tailoring.
When she returned to Schela Mare, she was young, beautiful, and elegant. Everyone admired her.
She practiced her tailoring by making all kinds of dresses, skirts, and blouses. Engineer Cotco's wife, who was very fond of Mother and of Marcea, helped her. She provided fashion magazines, materials, and a sewing machine, and Marcea began to work like an artist.
Aunt Alexandrina gave her a Singer sewing machine, and she was able to work from home. She sewed for herself, for us, and for the neighbors.
She became a true artist.
Maricica had a boyfriend named Leonte, a very handsome aviation officer.
I was six or seven when Leonte came to our house. I looked at him as if he were a miracle. I took a chair, sat directly in front of him with my hands under my chin, and stared at him with all the admiration of a child.
At one point, everyone began looking at me.
My father, being the man he was, picked me up — chair and all — and moved me near the door.
How ashamed I felt when I realized what I had been doing and what my father had done!
I burst into tears and ran all the way to the other house in the backyard.
But Leonte was not destined to become Maricica's husband. He left on a mission and never returned.
Then, at Schela Mare, a politruc appeared, wearing a Russian-style hat. His name was Ion, but he introduced himself as Vanea.
He had come to organize the young people of the region, which meant that he arrived with a clear political mission.
He organized dances and meetings, trying to convince the young people how good life was under the new people's democratic regime.
We didn't like him very much, and we certainly didn't like his mission.
But Cătănescu Vanea fell in love with my red-haired sister.
He made her a member of the Communist youth organization, invited her to meetings, accompanied her to dances at the club, and each time walked her home.
On the way home he would try to kiss her, but Marcea scratched his hands so badly that he had to wear gloves until late spring.
One day he came to our house.
My father was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room. The rest of us were sitting on chairs and on the bed. Vanea sat beside Marcea and gently took her hand.
Dad said:
— Boy, tell me straight to my face: why do you keep chasing my daughter — “the Redhead,” as you call her?
Bold as ever, instead of answering, Vanea asked:
— Why “straight” and not “red”?
My father answered immediately, somewhat annoyed:
— Because red hurts the eyes!
Vanea recovered quickly and answered:
— I like Marcela very much and I want to marry her. I have come with serious intentions. I have come to ask for your daughter's hand.
— If that's your intention, and if she wants you too, then get married, because people around here have already started talking.
And so my father agreed. Marcea shyly said yes, and they were married civilly at Gura Ocniței and religiously at his parents' home in Târgoviște.
All of Vanea's relatives — his parents, brothers, and sisters — loved Marcea and embraced her as one of their own. They were Bessarabians with generous hearts.
My father used to laugh when he told us that Vanea did not want to enter the church. Vanea claimed that the saints were turning toward him and questioning him.
Marcea was eighteen years old, and Vanea was twenty-five.
As an important UTM secretary in Schela Mare, Vanea obtained a two-room apartment almost directly across from the church.
There their two boys, Adrian and Ovidiu, were born.
Two beautiful, fair-haired blond boys.
They were the first grandchildren in the family. Everyone loved them, and Nana was always there to help Marcea raise them.
One day, when the boys were two and three years old, Dad couldn't resist conducting one of his little experiments. Sitting on his stool, he took them onto his knees and began crying:
— We have no bread! We have no cheese!
He continued pretending to weep until both children began crying with him.
Then my sister, the lioness, appeared:
— What's wrong with you, Father? Why are you making my children cry?
She took them from him and said:
— We have bread, we have cheese, we have everything!
But it was difficult to calm them down. The Redhead was very upset.
Our father explained:
— I wanted to see whether they were sensitive to hardship, and I saw that they were. It was only a test. Don't be upset.
— Please don't conduct any more tests like that! Look at them — I can't stop them from crying. They're my children and they're wonderful without being tested.
— That's true, Dad admitted. I'm pleased with them too.
Not long afterward, Vanea left Schela Mare for Brăila, where he worked as a foreman at the Progresul Plant. Later he brought his family and Nana.
At first they lived in a house at 25 Primăverii Street.
A year later we followed them to Brăila. They had plenty of room. I attended School No. 4 on Călărași Street and completed seventh grade there.
Later we moved to 72 Hipodrom Street, where Dad and Cornel built two rooms out of adobe bricks.
Nina and Nuța also came. At first they lived on Primăverii Street, then on Mihai Bravu Street, and finally received a new apartment on the second floor of a building on Hristo Botev Street.
They also brought Cristina from Schela Mare because she was old enough to begin school.
And so, wherever Marcea went, she gathered all of us under her wing.
How much she loved us, and how much we loved her!
Vanea later received a three-bedroom apartment in one of the first apartment blocks built on Gării Street. They moved there with the children and, of course, with Nana, because Marcea was working and needed someone to help with the household.
Marcea's home was like an inn. We all came to her with our joys and our problems, our successes and our failures.
She helped us all. She advised us and guided us.
Her children grew. Their school was only a few steps away, and Marcea became involved there too, serving on the parents' committee.
She was good, intelligent, wise, and had a heart as big as a warm loaf of bread.
I remember when my brother Cornel was in love with Angela. When he thought he might lose her, he came crying to Marcea, saying that if he couldn't marry Angela, he would kill himself.
So Marcea went with him to the Antoniu family to ask Angela's father for her hand — partly, she joked, to keep her crazy brother from killing himself.
They accepted him, and Angela loved him too.
They married. Vanea, who was to be their godfather, went with them to the photographer but refused to enter the church — because, as always, “the saints were after him.”
Inside the church, Marcea served as godmother together with her brother Ionel.
After a while, Cornel had to leave for military service, all the way to Șimleu Silvaniei. During that time Angela spent a great deal of time at Marcea's house, and she and I became good friends.
Nana bought me some black-and-white plaid fabric, and Marcea made me a beautiful dress with a white collar.
Nana bought some of the same fabric for Angela, and Marcea made her a skirt.
How happy she was!
We all used to go to the restaurant in the Great Garden or to the Danube Restaurant, where we would eat mititei and drink beer.
On Vanea's name day, St. John's Day, Marcea would prepare an unforgettable feast, full of wonderful food, and the entire family would gather.
How wonderful we all felt together!
Later, however, Vanea went through a restless period. He found another woman and asked Marcea to give him his freedom.
He upset the entire family, but Marcea stood her ground. She refused to give up on the marriage and even went to speak to the other woman.
Eventually things calmed down.
For a while Vanea worked at an IAS state farm in Dedulești, bringing home chickens, vegetables, and fruit.
“Young and restless,” Vanea later went to Bucharest, where he worked as a foreman at IMGB.
Marcea, the bond that held our family together, followed with the two boys, who were now in high school. The family received a three-bedroom apartment in the Balta Albă neighborhood.
In Bucharest, Marcea built up another clientele for her sewing. She also became friends with Argentina, the director of a kindergarten, who helped her and the family on many occasions.
Without Marcea in Brăila, we felt somewhat lost.
We lived for a while in her apartment on Gării Street until the Communist Party told us that the apartment had to be given to another family.
I was assigned a studio apartment in the Hipodrom neighborhood, while Mom, Dad, and Nana moved permanently to the house on Hipodrom Street.
Later Vanea received a four-bedroom apartment on Covasna Street in the Berceni neighborhood, closer to IMGB, where he worked.
He was very resourceful.
Our brothers and parents continued visiting Marcea, and when I left Brăila, I lived with her for two years while working at the Official Bulletin.
Her boys went to college: Adrian attended the Academy of Agricultural Sciences, studying animal husbandry, and Ovidiu attended the Academy of Economic Studies.
Ovidiu married and moved in with his wife, Maria.
After graduating, Adrian began working on a farm in Mihăilești, where he met Valeria, his future wife.
Two difficult events marked my sister's life and perhaps contributed to the illness that took her from us far too soon.
Her eldest son, Adrian, underwent surgery twice for a growth near his coccyx.
Marcea worked tirelessly to have him admitted to Brâncovenesc Hospital — a hospital that still existed then, before Ceaușescu demolished it during the construction of the House of the People.
She did everything she could to make her son healthy again.
Nothing could stop her.
She had an inner strength, resourcefulness, and devotion rarely found in another person. Her boys were everything to her, and she would have given her life for them.
She was an extraordinary mother, daughter, sister, and wife.
The second great ordeal involved her husband.
Vanea worked at IMGB and had become increasingly dissatisfied with life in Romania. The country was struggling to repay its foreign debt, and Ceaușescu had tightened the belt at the expense of ordinary people.
Vanea began writing letters to Ceaușescu about the hardships people endured: shortages of basic necessities and having to stand in line at one or two in the morning in the hope of buying a piece of meat.
He did not sign the letters with his own name. He claimed to be writing on behalf of a group of workers dissatisfied with the hardships of daily life.
What he wrote was true, but the Securitate began searching for the author.
After about six months, they found him.
He was arrested and imprisoned for six months.
Perhaps he would have remained there much longer, but Marcea took action. She contacted an acquaintance in Brăila whose son-in-law had connections with the Central Committee.
He investigated the case, examined Vanea's file, and said that the only solution was to arrange a psychiatric evaluation and have him declared mentally ill.
That is what they did.
Within a month, Vanea was transferred from prison to a psychiatric institution, where he was “treated” for several months.
Afterward, my sister had to return to school and complete the requirements for eighth grade so that she could be employed at a garment factory and officially support the family while her boys were still students.
Poor Marcea. How difficult all of this must have been for her.
After Vanea was released from the psychiatric hospital, he worked as a specialist and traveled throughout the country. One summer he was assigned to Aleșd, in Bihor County.
He had an apartment there and brought Marcea with him. She cooked and took care of things, but in a way it became a vacation for her too.
They invited me and my boys to spend some time with them.
Răzvan was about four or five years old, and Bogdan was about one.
It was very nice in Aleșd, and we stayed with them for a week.
But when we left, heavy rain and flooding delayed us terribly. The journey to Bucharest took thirty hours.
We were exhausted and starving.
Fortunately, Dan, my husband, was waiting for us at the station. He had been worried and had brought water and food.
When Marcea returned from Aleșd, she told us that she had developed a fever for no apparent reason.
None of us knew that this was the beginning of a terrible illness.
She resumed her sewing at home, but a small growth appeared above her stomach and began bothering her. While sitting at the sewing machine, she would lift her blouse away from it because it irritated her.
She kept postponing a visit to the doctor because she had orders to finish and customers waiting for their dresses, skirts, and other clothes.
Eventually she went to Elias Hospital and was admitted.
The surgeons operated and performed a biopsy.
It was cancer.
They did not tell her the full truth, but when her sons arrived, the doctor called them into his office, supposedly to show them his coin collection. It was only a pretext so that he could speak privately with them.
Adrian and Ovidiu asked:
— What are her chances if you operate?
The doctor answered:
— She may live four or five months.
She received treatment, including herbal preparations from Doctors Dănilă and Leontopol.
In desperation, the family tried everything they could.
Eventually she could no longer walk.
We were all devastated and powerless.
Toward the end, she was given strong pain medication because she was suffering terribly.
I asked her:
— Where does it hurt?
She answered:
— Everywhere.
I had no words.
On December 6, 1981, St. Nicholas Day, she left us.
I had been with her earlier and had left her sleeping.
My father, my mother, and Vanea were with her when she died.
My father called me with the terrible news, and I immediately went back. On the bus I met my brother Ionel.
He was crying too.
There was enormous grief in our family.
She was buried at Izvorul Nou Cemetery.
We were confused and lost, suddenly living in a world in which we no longer knew how to find our way without her help, advice, and guidance.
But time, which eventually teaches us everything, taught us how to manage on our own.
Ovidiu later went to Chicago, America, following his wife, Maria, who had first traveled to Holland to visit her brother and from there emigrated to the United States.
In time, they found good jobs, bought a house, and had two sons, Gabriel and Alexander.
After the 1989 Revolution, Maria and Ovidiu were able to bring Adrian, who by then had married Vali, to America as well.
Adrian and Vali stayed with Ovidiu and Maria for a while until they established themselves with jobs, cars, and a home of their own.
I visited them around 2000–2001 and spent three weeks celebrating Christmas and New Year's with them.
It felt like a fairy tale.
I enjoyed being with them tremendously, but eventually I missed my own home and my own family.
Perhaps that was simply how it was meant to be.
I cannot describe how painful it was for my parents to lose their beloved daughter at only forty-eight years old.
Every year I went to Brăila with my boys, and sometimes with Dan, hoping somehow to ease the pain in their hearts.
Times were difficult, but they were happy whenever we could spend a week together.
They were not completely alone.
They still had my brothers Nina and Cornel.
Ionel
The third brother was Ionel.
We called him Ion, while his wife, Puica, called him Nelu.
He was born in Brăila in 1934, and affectionately we called him Nicuță. Everyone loved him because he knew how to sing.
At Schela Mare he attended the local school. Later, when my father was imprisoned, he and Marcea went to Brăila.
There Ionel became an apprentice at the shipyard and attended high school at night.
He liked working because it gave him his own money, but he also enjoyed learning. The combination gave him a great sense of independence.
Later he went to Bucharest and served in the army.
He was already an officer when, through Coana Ghiofca, my father's sister, he met Puica.
They married, and Ionel left the army to become a student at the Polytechnic Institute, in the Electronics section.
Puica was also a university student, studying biology at the Faculty of Natural Sciences.
While they were living with Mama and Papa Stoica, Puica's parents, their son Dan was born.
After graduating, Ionel was hired as an engineer at an electronics and television enterprise in Bucharest.
Puica became a biology teacher in the village of Cornetu, Ilfov County, near Bucharest. She commuted by car and eventually became the school's principal.
They traveled around Romania by car and enjoyed vacations at Poiana Țapului and on the Black Sea.
After a period of difficulties, they reconciled and had a daughter, Ileana.
The family moved into their own four-bedroom apartment in the Rahova district.
Ionel was well regarded at the electronics enterprise and was sent abroad to negotiate contracts and provide technical assistance for the installation and servicing of electronic equipment and televisions.
Later he transferred to a foreign trade enterprise and traveled abroad frequently to negotiate contracts for Romanian audio and video equipment.
He was successful. He knew how to sell Romanian products and spoke both English and French.
Eventually, because of disagreements, he and Puica divorced, although he continued to care for his children.
Later, when Elena Ceaușescu began restricting foreign travel for anyone with even the smallest problem in his political file, Ionel could no longer travel abroad as before.
Instead, he traveled throughout Romania as a technical representative, servicing equipment supplied by the electronics factory.
Before the 1989 Revolution, he wanted to go to America.
At that time, marriage seemed to be his only way out.
His nephew Ovidiu, who was already living in the United States with his wife, found a Romanian woman who had emigrated to America years earlier.
Her name was Măndița.
She came to Romania, they met, and they married. In this way, Ionel was able to emigrate to the United States.
But he remained there only three years.
After the Revolution, they returned to Romania and settled in Grădiștea, where they built an American-style house on land purchased from the local authorities.
We visited them there and loved both the house and the surroundings.
They spent eighteen years together.
Eventually they separated, and Ion considered those years with Măndița lost years.
In a way, he returned to his original family.
He lived for a while in Cezarina's house, the mother of Ileana's husband.
He took care of the house and yard and also cared for Cezarina when she became ill.
After she died, he remained in the house, invested money in it, and made it more beautiful and modern.
Ion transformed the courtyard into a welcoming, romantic place.
Puica also came there and helped care for the flowers and trees.
We enjoyed visiting them. We cooked together and had wonderful times.
Once we even celebrated New Year's Eve there.
When my younger son married Mihaela, we gathered at their house, and Cornel and Angela came to celebrate the wedding as well.
During the final part of his life, Ion lived in his son Dan's studio apartment.
Puica continued coming to help, cleaning and preparing food.
Ion underwent prostate surgery at Panduri Hospital.
Seven years later, the disease returned and Ion became bedridden.
Puica and Dănuț cared for him with extraordinary devotion.
Ion turned eighty-four on October 25, 2019.
On December 5, the inevitable happened.
Ion died.
Puica and the children had him cremated and placed his urn in the family grave with her parents.
We were there too, saying our final goodbye to our brother Ionel.
It is very difficult to fit a man's entire life into two pages — all his joys and troubles, his ups and downs, his loves and his mistakes.
It is best to tell your own life story yourself, because you know it in your heart.
If you do not, or cannot, others will try to tell it for you, and you can never know how accurate their version will be.
I have tried.
But many of the details that give a life its charm have escaped me.
I have tried only to be accurate and truthful in what I wrote.
And yet I have been far too brief!
Cornel
Corneliu — Cornel — was born on May 14, 1941, a Taurus.
He was the sibling closest to me in age, and I spent much of my life near him.
My childhood and adolescence unfolded under his protection. Most of the mischief we got into at Schela Mare, we did together, with him leading the way.
He was Mother's favorite. He had dark hair and resembled her.
That is why, with a little envy of course, I used to call him “Mother's Little Gypsy.”
In his heart, I think he was proud of being Mother's favorite.
He was also rather mischievous.
Out of defiance, he sometimes went to school barefoot.
Mother did not know until his homeroom teacher, Mrs. Armașu — a stern Romanian-language teacher whose severity made me learn Romanian grammar — came to our home to see what kind of family we were.
She spoke with Mother, understood the situation, and convinced her that Cornel should come to school wearing shoes.
After this episode, the teacher grew fond of him too, because he was an intelligent boy.
She cast him in B. P. Hasdeu's play Răzvan and Vidra, in which he performed an excerpt as Răzvan, the Gypsy ruler.
The scene was performed at the Workers' Hall and was a success.
For some reason, many of Cornel's closest friends came from Gypsy families, including Cioacă and Bădescu.
Whenever he was with his friends, he would send me away.
We worked together in our gardens. From spring until autumn we roamed through the woods, played on the football field, gathered leaves and mushrooms for the goats, and played hide-and-seek.
In winter we played with the sled.
We shared so many of the games and adventures of childhood at Schela Mare.
When we moved to Brăila, I remained under his protection.
As a teenager, I went with him to the beach and walked along Brăila's main street, Regala, and through the Great Garden.
His friends would bring guitars and sing the popular songs of the time.
We went dancing together.
I was “the Mexican's little sister,” and because of that, almost everyone looked out for me.
I also became good friends with Angela, Cornel's girlfriend and future wife.
Cornel studied for two years at a vocational construction school and completed high school in evening classes, while I attended classes during the day.
I was a good athlete and sometimes went to handball practice in the courtyard of High School No. 1.
One day I was playing volleyball with my classmates while the evening students were outside during their break.
My brother was among them, so I called him over to play.
Other students and friends were watching from the sidelines, including Angela Antoniu, Cornel's girlfriend.
When they returned to class, Angela asked him angrily:
— Who was that blonde who kept calling your name and giving you the ball? I wanted to pull her hair!
— She's my sister! Cornel said, laughing at her sudden burst of jealousy.
Afterward he introduced us.
From then on I would go to Angela's house, where we played cards and rummy with their neighbor Milica and Angela's cousin Veronica, who lived on the ground floor.
And that is how high school passed.
I don't even know where the time went!
After high school, I went to Galați and graduated from the three-year Pedagogical Institute, in the Romanian Language and Literature section.
Cornel served in the army all the way in Șimleu Silvaniei.
He sent me a photograph of himself in military uniform, without his cap.
He looked so handsome that the girls in my dormitory room — there were six of us — decided to name him “the man of the room.”
I displayed his photograph prominently on my locker, and we proudly showed it to the other girls to inspire a little admiration and envy.
Cornel really was a handsome man, with dark hair and a mustache.
Girls turned their heads to look at him.
But by then he was already married and had a little girl, Andra.
When I worked for the UTC, I used to visit Andra with my friend and supervisor, Lica Lazăr.
One day Lica bought her a light-green dress, and we went to see her and play with her.
She was an extraordinarily sweet little brunette, with almond-shaped eyes and beautiful hair.
Her parents, Angela and Cornel, were enormously proud of their beautiful daughter.
They loved her and wanted to give her everything they could.
When Andra was old enough, her parents hired an English tutor for her. They bought a car and took her traveling throughout Romania.
She was a fortunate child.
Meanwhile, Cornel completed his studies in history in Bucharest.
When he had exams, he stayed at Marcea's apartment.
He passed his state examination, earned his degree, and became a history teacher at a general school.
Later he was appointed principal.
Andra finished high school and loved Romanian language and literature.
She took the entrance examination for the University of Bucharest but unfortunately was not admitted.
She found a job at a travel agency in Brăila, where she met a young man named Liviu.
They fell in love and married.
Dan and I attended their wedding in Brăila.
Andra and Liviu later traveled to Belgium and Holland and from there went to Canada.
Andra gave birth to a little boy named Cristian on the very same day that my mother, Ica, left this world: June 19.
We were in Brăila for my mother's funeral.
I saw Cornel talking on the telephone.
When he finished, he told us emotionally:
— Andra has given birth to a little boy.
Later he went with my husband, Dan, to a terrace, where Cornel confided in him:
— Look at life. On one day my mother dies and leaves this earth, and on that very same day a new human soul comes into the world through the person dearest to me — my daughter.
Dan answered:
— On one hand, you're deeply saddened by your mother's death, while at the same time you have to be happy because you have a grandson.
Rest in peace, Mama Ica.
And welcome to the world, dear Cristian!
Cornel went to Canada to help Andra and Liviu with the baby.
Andra had a job and was also attending accounting school, while Liviu worked in construction.
Cornel helped care for Cristian for about a month, after which Andra hired a nanny.
Almost three years later, on Epiphany, Andra gave birth to a little girl, Nicole.
They continued with the same babysitter.
Liviu eventually started his own construction company, and Andra kept the books while also caring for the children.
They built a house according to their own tastes.
Upstairs were the bedrooms for the parents and children, each with its own bathroom, plus a guest room and bathroom — that was where I stayed when I visited.
On the main floor was a large open living area that included the kitchen and all the necessary appliances.
In front of the house were flowers and a basketball area. There was a two-car garage, and behind the house were a swimming pool and a barbecue area.
I describe it in such detail because, in 2006, they invited me to visit them.
I stayed for a month and a week.
The children were already in school. Cristian was in fourth grade, and Nicole had just begun school.
I remember that Nicole was very particular about food, even though Andra prepared good, wholesome, natural meals for the children.
They were not encouraged to eat fast food.
They also took me to Niagara Falls, truly one of nature's wonders, and showed me Toronto and many other attractions.
I felt wonderful with them because they were kind, warm, and affectionate.
One day Liviu told me that money they had intended to use for a swimming-pool heater had instead been used to help pay for my visit.
I appreciated their sacrifice very much.
Later they were able to solve the problem of heating the pool as well.
Shortly before Cornel's retirement, he and Angela invited us to Brăila for Easter.
They were celebrating because they had received approval to relocate to Canada to be with their children.
They were tremendously excited, especially Angela.
We were very happy for them.
For Easter dinner they invited their friends, and we celebrated together for three days.
Angela outdid herself.
She prepared about sixteen different dishes, each one more delicious than the last.
They sold their house and furniture, packed the belongings they could not bear to leave behind, and happily departed for Canada.
But they stayed for only about three years and did not become Canadian citizens.
Cornel missed Romania and Brăila terribly.
Eventually they began working and saving money for the trip back home.
Andra disagreed with their decision and would have liked Angela to remain in Canada.
But Angela would not leave Cornel alone because she was convinced that he could not manage without her.
Back in Brăila, they had to start again from zero, as the saying goes.
They bought a studio apartment and furnished it with everything they needed.
But the emotional scars remained.
Cornel drank frequently and was often depressed.
He bought a car, but somehow he seemed absent.
Something inside him seemed to have broken.
In 2012, Angela and Cornel attended the wedding of my son Bogdan and Mihaela.
The day after the wedding, Cezarina prepared a wonderful meal in the backyard, including fish prepared by Angela and Puica.
When I was driving Cornel and Angela to the station, Cornel suddenly had an inexplicable outburst.
He screamed and swore at Angela for no apparent reason.
That episode was a sign of the disease that was gradually taking hold of him.
We were stunned.
How could we have known that it was the beginning of a terrible illness — Alzheimer's disease?
Angela later told us that he had experienced other angry episodes.
Eventually, one evening, the police and emergency medical personnel were called.
He was taken to the neurology department of Hospital No. 3 on Călărași Street.
There he was examined, evaluated, and prescribed treatment.
But there was no road back to the man he had been.
Eventually he had to be placed in a care facility.
Angela remained a devoted wife.
She visited him and brought him everything he needed.
During the COVID pandemic, she was unable to visit for three months.
Cornel thought she had abandoned him, although they continued speaking on the telephone.
The director of the center and the staff treated him kindly, but he was increasingly lost and hardly spoke anymore.
I went to Brăila to see him.
He almost did not recognize me.
When I told him who I was, he looked at me for a long time and began to cry.
His great fortune was Angela.
She remained devoted to him because she loved him.
Eventually, I think, he recognized almost no one but her.
He had forgotten nearly everyone and everything.
Terrible disease!
Cornel passed away in August 2020.
Alexandrina (Adina)
And now, me — the author of this book and the fifth child, the prâslea, the youngest: Adina, Adineta, Adinuța mamii, as they called me.
Being the youngest, I could have become a spoiled child.
But that was not the case.
I felt the love of everyone around me, but I was not overindulged.
I was strong and hardworking, like my father.
One Christmas at Schela Mare, during a difficult period for our family, I was in fourth grade and decided to make myself a Christmas tree.
There were no Christmas trees available, so I brought home a branch from the forest, propped it against the table, and decorated it with angels, baskets, and paper chains that I made myself.
When Mother saw my tree, she covered her mouth with her hand and began to cry.
I asked:
— Why are you crying, Mama Ica? Isn't it beautiful?
— Yes, Adinuța mamii. But it isn't a fir tree.
In fifth grade, I once failed to do my mathematics homework. Mathematics was not exactly my favorite subject.
During the school break, I copied the solutions to several problems from my classmate Erica.
And, of course, our mathematics teacher, Călin, decided to call me to the blackboard to solve one of those very problems.
He had my notebook on his desk while I stood at the blackboard struggling hopelessly.
He quickly realized that I had copied the solution.
— From whom? he asked.
I remained silent, displaying a courage worthy of a better cause.
— If you don't tell me who you copied from, I'll give you a failing grade in the register.
I remained mute.
Not one word.
I was terribly stubborn.
He sent me out of the classroom and gave me a three.
I went outside crying, sat at the edge of the sports field, and wept.
During the next break, my classmates came to find me and brought me back inside.
They understood why I had refused to betray Erica.
And Erica became one of my closest classmates.
After Nana helped me decipher the mystery of the alphabet, I discovered reading.
I read books about the legends of Olympus borrowed from Nuța's mother, Madame Avramescu.
She would never give me all her books at once.
She gave me one book at a time.
Then I began borrowing books from the Club Library, where my neighbor Creți Nițulescu was the librarian and allowed me to choose whatever I wanted.
When we moved to Brăila and I was in eighth grade, I had a friend named Steluța who owned many good books and lent them to me.
Through her I read La Medeleni, The Student Dima from the Seventh Grade, and Loreley.
One day my father caught me reading one of Steluța's books hidden inside my geography textbook.
That was all it took.
He grabbed the book and threatened to throw it into the fire.
I screamed that it wasn't mine and promised I would never read like that again.
Mother and Nana intervened and saved the book.
Dad hid it from me instead of burning it.
I learned my lesson.
I never again used the geography-book trick, but I still found time to read, especially when Father wasn't home.
At Gheorghe Murgoci High School No. 1, Steluța and I were classmates for two years.
Later we were separated into different academic tracks — I went into the humanities section and she into the sciences — but she continued lending me books.
By then I was also borrowing books from the school library.
Our Romanian teacher checked the library records to see which students were reading and once held me up as an example because my library card was completely filled with borrowed books.
Later I attended the three-year Pedagogical Institute in Galați.
After graduation, I was assigned to teach in the small village of Bărăganul, formerly called Cioara Doicești.
For four years I commuted by train while living with Marcea, whose home was close to the railway station.
I changed trains at Făurei and often returned home late at night.
I spent most of my days at school, sometimes playing football or volleyball with my students or fellow teachers.
On Sundays I organized excursions, especially with the students for whom I was responsible.
At this school I became a member of the Communist Party and was elected secretary of the UTC youth organization for the teachers at the two schools in the village.
While teaching there, together with my loyal friends Ioli, Miruna, and Ileana, I continued my studies and completed the Faculty of Philology at the University of Bucharest.
We were given assignments and bibliographies. We read, completed the required work, and sent it in.
During examination periods we met in Bucharest at the university, where we took oral examinations.
What wonderful times the four of us spent together in the Central University Library and in the examination rooms!
After graduating from the University of Bucharest in 1968, my colleague Miruna Baboia, formerly Paulopol, brought me into the UTC School Section, where she was director.
I did not enjoy the fieldwork throughout the county, however, and eventually moved to the School Section for the city of Brăila.
There I worked under Lica Lazăr, a geography teacher and a wonderful, intelligent, energetic woman.
Together we visited schools throughout Brăila, attending UTC student meetings and ceremonies welcoming new members.
After four years in that position, I moved to Bucharest.
My brother Ion helped me. He came to Brăila and spoke with Inspector General Petride, who had once been his high-school teacher.
In Bucharest, I lived for two years in Marcea's apartment and worked at the Official Bulletin with the help of my friend Argentina.
Then I met my husband.
We fell in love at lightning speed.
We married in the autumn of 1974.
Our wedding godparents were my brother Ion and his wife, Puica.
Then came our children: Ion Răzvan and Aurel Bogdan, the souls and joys of our lives!
We devoted ourselves to them with all the love, passion, and dedication of parents.
Gradually I returned to education.
First I worked at a kindergarten near Bariera Vergului and later in primary education.
I completed all my professional teaching qualifications.
At school I had wonderful students and a friend, Valerica, who used to greet me with a phrase I loved:
— How are you, mother of voivodes?
For my highest professional teaching qualification, I wrote a thesis under the supervision of Professor Valentina Curticeanu from the University of Bucharest.
My subject was the Brăila-born writer Panait Istrati.
She liked my work so much that she encouraged me to publish it.
I did not tell her that my home library contained all of Panait Istrati's books and almost everything that had been published about him.
To prepare my work, I took my husband and children on a documentary journey following the footsteps of Panait Istrati.
We began in Brăila.
We saw the restaurant where Panait Istrati had once worked as a shop boy. The place still exists and has an inscription commemorating this fact.
We visited the Thüringer house described by Istrati and the Great Garden, where the Brăila authorities had established the Panait Istrati Museum.
But we didn't stop there.
We went down to the Brăila harbor, following the footsteps of Nerantula and Codin.
Then we traveled to Baldovinești, Panait Istrati's native village.
When we arrived, it was around eleven in the morning and the village seemed deserted.
That was perfectly normal.
Everyone was working in the fields.
We saw the ruins of Moș Anghel's tavern and even met one of Istrati's relatives, an old man of about eighty who was still vigorous and holding the reins of a horse.
He remembered his famous relative, although only dimly, through the fog of memory.
He suggested that we visit another relative who lived near the house where Panait Istrati had been born.
My children were fascinated by the village because they had never really experienced village life before.
They were especially fascinated by the old man's horse, which proved very friendly.
Răzvan even asked the old man if he could keep the horse.
But perhaps the most interesting thing for the boys was the well in the middle of the village.
They were so curious that they leaned dangerously over it.
I finally told my husband to go and speak with the writer's relative while I watched the children.
We reached the house and found the woman working in the yard.
When we asked her to tell us something about Panait Istrati, however, she became agitated and began shouting so much that I could hardly understand her.
Apparently, other people had questioned her in the past, and she had become convinced that they wanted to take away her inheritance rights to the house and land associated with Panait Istrati.
In the end, I never published my thesis.
Life simply carried me in other directions.
I had my school and my students, who occupied much of my time, and I also had my own children, who needed to be cared for and educated.
Later I accepted a position at the Agro-Industrial High School in Dragomirești, where I worked for three years.
The commute was extremely difficult in winter, especially when the roads were covered with snow. Sometimes reaching the school took nearly four hours in the morning.
I occasionally took my boys to Dragomirești Vale.
They especially loved visiting the livestock farm and riding on the tractor.
Răzvan liked the agricultural high school so much that years later he completed one of his professional teaching examinations there, in the animal-breeding section.
He later attended the Faculty of Animal Science at the Institute of Agricultural Sciences.
I continued teaching at schools in Bucharest, first at Auto Mechanical High School No. 9, where I worked for two years, and later at Octav Onicescu High School No. 27.
My younger son, Bogdan, attended this school beginning in fourth grade.
He also became a competitive fencer.
Through fencing, he participated in championships in Bucharest, throughout Romania, in the Balkans, and across Europe.
His team won frequently, and he also became a Balkan vice-champion.
My husband accompanied him to competitions throughout Bucharest and was tremendously proud of his accomplishments.
While other children his age played in front of the apartment building, Bogdan constantly competed against himself and against other athletes, some of them older than he was.
Over the years he won fifteen gold medals in competitions in Turkey, France, Germany, and elsewhere, as well as many silver and bronze medals.
The sport hardened him and shaped his strong, competitive character.
Once my husband wanted to criticize him but tried to approach the subject indirectly.
Bogdan immediately stopped him:
— Dad, if you have something to tell me, tell me straight to my face!
That was when I understood how deeply fencing had shaped his character.
In fencing, the attack comes directly, from the front.
Nothing from behind.
Nothing false.
Nothing hidden.
Bogdan attended the Faculty of Law at the Ecological University, where he studied under highly respected professors in the legal field and graduated successfully.
He became a lawyer at ING Bank.
One day his son, Petruț, asked me:
— Grandma, Grandma Adina, did Grandpa and Mama Ica love their grandchildren? I mean my dad and Uncle Bogdan?
— Of course they did. Even when they were old, they came to Bucharest and stayed with them when they were little. They shopped for them and cooked for them.
I still have a letter from Grandpa to his grandchildren, written when they were too young to read. I saved it so that I could read it to them when they grew older.
The letter was written in Brăila on July 29, 1972:
Our dear grandchildren, Răzvănel and Bogdănel,
We wanted the first letter of your lives to come from us! So here we are, writing to you so that you will remember, and as proof that you are truly dear to us.
And here is another proof of how dear you are to us: although we didn't bring flowers, we waited at the railway station for an hour before your train arrived.
If you don't believe us, ask the railway station itself. It will tell you that it saw us waiting there, wondering whom we could possibly be expecting with such anticipation.
It is true that we had forgotten which train you were coming on and at what time, but we called for information and found out early enough to come and wait for you.
No flowers, it's true — but you were as welcome as ever.
Whatever anyone may say, it was a great pleasure having you with us this summer, and we will be happy every time you come, just as we were this time.
And now, dear Răzvănel, I expect an answer from you — at least once you start school and learn how to read and write.
Look, I promise to live until you know how to read this letter and answer it.
And you, dear Bogdănel:
olaho, olahodarca fa ta, ma ta ba la popa a ce va la der mon cri ba zar da la va? Man ta ehe la copu cu cu, pri pu pa vel La!
I understood nothing from the end of the letter.
It was addressed to Bogdănel, so Grandpa probably wrote it in the baby's own language because Bogdan was only about a year old at the time.
There is still so much to say, my dear nephew Petru-Bogdan.
Perhaps another time.
Perhaps in another book.
Between 2000 and 2004, I served as a councilor on the Local Council of Bucharest's Sector 4 and as president of the PSD Women's Organization.
I visited my nephews in America, Adrian and Ovidiu.
I also came to know Ovidiu and Maria's boys, Gabriel — Gabe, as his friends call him — and Alexander.
Both had beautiful homes and lived very well.
I often thought:
How happy their mother, Marcea, would have been to see the accomplishments of her children and grandchildren.
It seemed to me that the younger boy, Alexander, especially resembled her.
In 2006 I went to Toronto, Canada, at the invitation of my beloved niece Andra.
She was married to Liviu and had two wonderful children, Cristian and Nicole.
Today we keep in touch by telephone and through the internet.
I spent some dreamlike days with them, and they took me to Niagara Falls and around Toronto.
After finishing my career in education and politics, I became active in social causes, which gave me the opportunity to make new friends and acquaintances.
From 2012 to 2015, I joined others in University Square in Bucharest.
Through carefully chosen slogans, petitions, and written appeals to higher authorities, we expressed our dissatisfaction and tried to improve living conditions, always tugging at the sleeves of those we believed were doing wrong.
We went to Cotroceni, to the government, political party headquarters, the Hungarian Embassy, the Representation of the European Union, the Senate, the Constitutional Court of Romania, and the National Anticorruption Directorate.
The experiences of those years were recorded in two books: The University Square Phenomenon, 2012 and Slogans Gathered from University Square, 2012.
Another group of friends and I began making pilgrimages to monasteries throughout the country, including Brâncoveanu, Prislop, Lainici, Dervent, Poarta Albă, Râmeț, and Șinca Veche.
After reading extensively about Father Arsenie Boca — his life, deeds, miracles, and prophecies — I wrote the book Father Arsenie Boca, Saint of the Romanians.
I continued making pilgrimages and reading books related to the spiritual world.
With the help of my friend Elena Răducan, Leny, I began thinking more deeply about our spiritual growth and our movement toward a higher dimension.
I learned many wonderful things from her and from the books she gave me.
I came to regard her as a spiritual guide in a world where so much seems to break down and deteriorate, from nature itself to human beings.
How else can we endure?
Through books and magazines, I came to understand the importance of “honoring our ancestors.”
We inherit both good and bad from those who came before us.
We must preserve our national identity, be grateful for the inheritance they gave us, and cherish their memory.
My book is meant as a gift to our descendants, so that they may know and value what their ancestors gave them and, in turn, pass the best of themselves to their own descendants.
Why?
So that we don't perish.