I have one friend, her name is Olya. I have been friends with her for thirty years now. She is a wonderful person and would have been a great mother, only it didn’t work out with her and her husband to have children of their own. God didn’t give them, but the couple didn’t split up, probably because of their strong love for each other.
I have children of my own – two daughters. Olya also became their godmother – after all, she is my best friend and lives close by. Why not. I keep remembering how Olya played with my children, and more than once sat with them when I asked. And then we cried together in the kitchen that she didn’t have her own.
And then one day her relatives called and told me that one of the distant relatives on her father’s side decided to give her child, her son, to an orphanage. Allegedly the doctors gave him an unflattering diagnosis, and there was no money to treat him. And his mother is like that – she only runs after men’s pants, she doesn’t need the child.
Then Olya told me about the situation and said she felt she needed to go there and see this child. As her friend later told me, as soon as she saw the baby and her poor eyes, she knew immediately that she had to take him – no shelter. And her husband agreed.
Oh, it wasn’t easy for them with the baby. More than a year of rehabilitation and sessions with all kinds of specialists. And the boy was autistic – and yet they were able to do everything they could to get him out.
You won’t believe it, but now Vova is 24 years old, he is a normal young man with two higher educations and medals for sports. I came back from his wedding yesterday.
