Because it was Christmas Eve, the priest wasn't able to reach anyone by phone. A doctor came after 20 minutes, but it was too late. He gave me a shot to help me deal with the shock. I felt as if I were in a huge barrel and something was banging on the outside, but I felt too numb to do anything about it.

They took his body for an authopsy. A healthy looking man falls dead right after supper - it must be poisoning, they thought. They went through all the official criminal channels, and only after 6 months did I receive a document from the court releasing me from being a suspect in my husband's death. Oh, God! Even this was not spared me!

Older sons took care of the funeral. As a musician's wife I have heard my share of great music, but what was heard in the church that day escapes description. The organ under the hands of my son played and sang with a human voice. He put all the pain and grief into his performance. When the priest finished the eulogy, there was not one dry eye in the entire sanctuary.

 

My husband was a music teacher. He organized a youth orchestra and choir. In the beginning he occasionally played the organ at church. When he was hired to play in church regularly, he was fired from his teaching position at school. The communists thought him to be the enemy of the state. In his dismissal papers it was written: "He has a bad influence on young people". As his wife I was also affected being denied any promotions in the office, as well as my children who had difficulties at school.

After his first heart attack he limited his organ playing to holidays and Sundays. After the second heart attack he stopped completely. He still kept several private students, but they hardly filled up his time. He was bored and could not find a place for himself. He received only a very modest sum of money as his disability income since the priest insured him at minimal cost. When I was coming back from work he always waited for me at the gate. He became more and more restless.

Two years after his last heart attack the doctor finally told him that light work would not hurt him. My husband was ecstatic! He received an offer to build an organ in Police (a town close to Szczecin) and had to move there for three months to live and work at the vicarage.

 

In the middle of December he was ready to finish his work, but the priest asked him to stay on through Christmas in order to provide music on the newly finished instrument. Michal didn't really want to stay any longer, but being shy-natured, he could not refuse the priest.

During his time away from home we wrote each other often. Every letter from him was filled with longing for home and the family. We decided that I would visit him for Christmas. Before I left I prepared food at home and we celebrated the holidays earlier. I left my children with my mother and made it to Police by Christmas eve.

We had the traditional Christmas supper with the priests. After the meal when we went back to our room and I began to unpack my suitcase. Michal stood quietly by the window. I went over to him and embraced him. His eyes were filled with tears. He held me tightly and said: "How can I leave you?..."

Then he started hurriedly inform me of everything I should know, down to the smallest details. I interrupted him and told him that we will have plenty of time to talk about those things later, but he was persistent and asked me to listen to him carefully. A moment later he fell down and died.

 

It was 1951. I was pregnant with the twins and could not eat one thing. I gave birth and began to bleed heavily. The lab results showed only 1 million of red cells in my blood, while 4.5 million were considered normal. I felt the end was imminent. I didn't have enough strength to speak. The midwives left the room. When I asked the head nurse for the reason of their desertion, she answered: "Because you look like death".

They allowed my husband to come in to say good bye. Suddenly I felt an inward surge of rebellion. I thought that the newborns could follow in my deadly steps, but what about the older ones? They needed me and dying right now was not an option. Although I received blood transfusion (for which I paid dearly since the blood type did not match my own), it must have been that sudden surge of inner strengthening that kept me going. I was still sick for three months and stayed at home till summer, but I came out of it and am among the living today.

During my stay in the hospital something truly unusual happened to me. At that time all newborns were inoculated against tuberculosis. The children were given a purple plastic ball which looked like a plum filled with liquid. Since I was very week I spent most of the time in bed asleep, except for the feeding of my twins. One time when the nurse brought my children, she left couple of the "plums" on the table and told me to give them to the boys before feeding.

 

After she went away I fell asleep for a short time. I can see it as if it was yesterday. Half empty room, my bed was the furthest from the door. In the open door I see the Holy Mary gathering her skirt with her left hand and holding on to the bed frames on her way as she walks toward me. Standing at the foot of my bed she points to the medicine and says firmly: "Do not give it to the children! Remember, do not give it to the children!"

At that moment I woke up, destroyed the "plums" and threw them out into the garbage underneath the bed. Later on I found out that one of the side effects of this type of inoculation were severe breakouts of ulcers on child's neck which left life long scarring. My children were the only ones who grew up without those scars. They were inoculated against tuberculosis later when they went to school and stayed healthy to this day.

Isn't this a wonderful story? The Scriptures teach that many chosen people received messages from God in their dreams. I feel humble when I realize that I am not worthy of this grace I have received many times in my life during the most difficult moments of my life.

 

When my husband returned from the war, he gathered a few friends and formed a street band. They stood on street corners and played heartfelt melodies. People, having been deprived of art and entertainment for so long, dried up their tears and eagerly threw their change into the band's basket. Michal's pocket's were filled with money every night.

Despite decent earnings, he felt uneasy in the role of a street musician. That's how he was - a sensitive type. A friend invited the band to play in his newly opened restaurant. The musicians agreed and played there for a while. The restaurant owner told Michal that he wanted to move to the western territories (previously Germany) to seek a better life. We also felt stifled, so Michal went with him to look around the area and that's how we ended up in Slawno.

The other man indeed opened another restaurant, but the communistic government quickly smothered any private ventures. Michal found a position in the town hall. Work as any other, except that the offices did not have any cash, and the employees were paid with food or other material goods. No one knew how much they were earning. Whenever the town hall got hold of something valuable they split it among the employees.

We were very excited about our new house. It was quite damaged with broken walls and missing the window panes, but we managed to remodel it gradually. This was the happiest time in our lives. We had too many needs and never enough money, but we loved each other dearly and we were happy.

Of course, we had our problems. The children were growing, younger children were being born. I was getting sick a lot and underwent several surgeries. I always thought that I would die first. And now, when I write this, I have been a widow for thirty three years...

 

I used the voucher at the next opportunity. First, when I asked for the flour without showing the voucher, the mill clerk refused categorically, even though he knew my husband very well. When I showed him the voucher, he gave me that certain kind of look, but measured the flour and even added 10 kilograms above what was required.

Since that time, whenever we passed each other on the street, he didn't greet me anymore. I realize what he must have thought about me. This wasn't the only humiliating experience. It hurts the most when you are innocent.

Toward the end of the war, because of my business ventures, I was almost rich. I bought many things for the household and some new clothes for me and the children. Fabric for a suit and a new pair of shoes were awaiting my husband's return.

The end of the war (or the day of German capitulation) caught me on the way home from the sugar refinery. We could hear joyful shouts from afar: The end of the war! What an outpour of happiness! People jumped off carriages, embraced one another with tears in their eyes. Everyone was talking at the same time. Everyone knew that the killing would stop and those who were away would find their way home.

But often they didn't find the way immediately, and sometimes they didn't find it at all. Like my youngest sister and her husband who was influenced by the propaganda in the west which convinced people that the Russians would exile everyone to Siberia.

 

A whole year passed by before my husband returned home. The soldiers were not released immediately since there remained fanatical groups of Germans fighting in the west and Ukrainians in the east.