My grandfather went to work upon the railroad line In a region of Siberia, brutally cold and stark. One day a railroad official came to bring dark news, Telling my grandmother her husband had met his death— An accident, they said, but no details, no truth.
Since no compensation came from the railroad's hand For the loss of their provider, their family's sole support, She faced a tragic reality: poverty, hunger's demand. She struggled to survive as best she was able to, With two young sons dependent upon her failing means. Since grandfather had just begun his railroad employ, No savings existed, no reserves to deploy. This situation, combined with the railroad's refusal to aid, Left grandmother without a single coin or ruble made, Two hungry mouths to feed, and winter drawing near. The landlord of the house where they rented showed some grace— He allowed them to remain within his dwelling place Free of charge until the summer's thaw would come, After which she'd have to pay, or be cast out from home.
Of course, she could not feed her two boys and herself Through Siberia's cruel and unforgiving winter's spell. She turned to friends and church elders for their counsel wise, Seeking advice on how her children might survive. They suggested she bring the boys to a monastery's care, Where they would be provided for with utmost attention there— A roof above their heads, warm clothing, food to eat, And most importantly, education complete.
When winter's grip descended on the frozen land, My grandmother returned to church, seeking to understand If giving her sons to the monastery was truly right. The Orthodox priest assured her in the pale church light That this was indeed the best path for her children dear. They would receive a Christian education, he made clear, And might even become priests serving their village's need, That the Church could then use them to plant faith's seed.
My grandmother, devout in Orthodox Christian ways, Believed the priests' words through those anguished days, And resolved to take her boys to the monastery's door. Deep within her soul, she knew the priests spoke truth— Rather than face starvation and the cold's brutal ruth, Her sons would have shelter, clothing, food, and learning's store.
Yet after many sleepless nights of exhausting thought, Days filled with anguish as her tormented mind had fought, Her certainty began to waver and to fade. To take this step was terrifying, a heart-rending trade. She wrestled with her thoughts: perhaps she could find a way To feed them still, to keep them with her every day. But there was nothing left—no means, no hope to show, She imagined them all three dying from the snow. She could not bear to lose them in such a way!
She saw the hopelessness of their desperate state, And understood the time had come to separate, To let her boys go forth and let God guide their way, Yet this parting tore her heart asunder on that day. Like all mothers, she desired only what was best, And knew the monastery could provide what passed the test.
Her heart was breaking from overwhelming grief, Yet this was life and death—their sole relief. If she refused to take this path so hard and steep, It meant all three would perish in the winter's keep. In time, God would heal her wounded heart's deep pain, And her boys would live—that truth would sustain.
