At this time of the day, 43 years ago, I was agonizing. It was Good Friday! A little baby was pushing her way out of the dark to see the world! We were more than 12,000 feet above sea level. Flying in an airplane? No! We were in Hospital Chulec in the mining town of La Oroya in Junin, Peru.
At one o’clock in the afternoon my first baby had managed to move herself through the dark tunnel and out into the open. She was welcomed by my screams! Her poor daddy sat in a corridor, not allowed to be at my side. It was a long and dreadful day for him. He did not speak Spanish at the time, he was hungry, there were no vending machines he could get a snack from, no one explained to him what was going on. He just sat on a bench for hours.
Finally, I guess someone took pity on him, and informed the new daddy of the new arrival, the little he could understand. When he was allowed to visit me in my room, I had nothing to offer, but a big smile of satisfaction. Our little baby? We didn’t get to see her until after 24 hours! Those were long hours! I so wanted to see my baby. When they finally brought her in to me, the precious little one wouldn’t open her eyes. She just slept! I was so curious about the color of her eyes.
In Swedish Good Friday is called Long Friday. March 27, 1970 was the longest Friday I’ve ever experienced. But the joy of becoming a mother overshadowed it all. Today I am mourning the loss of this precious girl. O, how I miss her! This coming December will mark 12 years since she went to be with God. My Good Friday baby was born with cystic fibrosis. It wasn’t until three years later that we had the diagnosis. But from the start I knew something was wrong.
Let me rephrase! I had no experience with babies so I thought all babies had all the problems she had. Her bowels were big and greasy. She would throw up after very meal. She did not gain weight. She had bronchitis constantly. She coughed and coughed. At one point a doctor reprimanded me for being such strong and healthy young women and having such a mistreated baby. O, how that hurt! None of us had a clue about cystic fibrosis.
One of my favorite pictures of my little girl!
I have written about this in previous blogs so I will not repeat myself. This is to be a day of celebration. I praise God for choosing me to be the mother of Eva-Marie Elizabeth Lundquist. We struggled through her life together. I made many mistakes, as I’m sure most parents do. Children don’t come with an instruction manual. But at the end of the day we were the best of friends. What I miss the most is our little talks we used to have in the evenings, and our prayer times together. One of her biggest requests was for her sister, that God would grant her the privilege of being a mother.
My Evita is long gone. But her sister is with me (although she lives in another State) and God has granted Evita’s request. I now have my beautiful grandchildren to live for. They are an extension of a love that was born in my heart in November 1968. The love of my life is also gone to a better place. It’s going to be lonely this Easter since I’m not spending it with my dear Carina and her family.
But I have a celebration to announce! I’ve written about my translation project for orphan children. Today I have sent in the first quarter of lessons. It’s been a couple of months of hard work. I burnt the midnight oil last night (that just means that I stayed up past midnight, I didn’t burn any oil!). I arose early to finish the project. Later comes the part of proofreading the formatted text. But for now, I’m giving a big sigh of relief.
What a joy to celebrate what would have been Evita’s 43rd birthday finishing this important job. Boys and girls who don’t have the joy of growing up with a mom and a dad will get wonderful teaching from the Word of God.
How shall I celebrate? I’ll publish a new story for the hundreds of teachers who are eagerly awaiting their weekly “treat”! Praise God for the privilege of serving him!