It was expected to be a large weekend with the family. So we got out of our work “in exile” and here we sleep tired of traveling in our own bed, in our own bedroom. It's Saturday, 7:00 in the morning. We're woken by 3 pairs of bare feet that jump on our quilt. Laughter, screaming, kid talk. Wait, wait, wait, let me get any more sleep. I know! I remember what I just dreamed! A unusual dream. any crew changes the wallpaper, paints the walls, 1 of the foremen has a large ear embedded with... eyeballs. Macabra. Down the hall, in half a shadow, I see suddenly... Isabella Jaruga-Nowacka. For a moment, we meet with eyes, and then... these are the feet of our sweetest grandchildren. I'm coming down. The daughter already feeds dogs and cats; she cooks milk to children. I'm telling her a dream.
- I'm sorry. Oh, your dreams! You were besides telling a nightmare on the telephone yesterday. Bullshit!
Yeah, yeah, I know. Dream – Mara, God – faith! My grandma always told me that, and my kid reprimands me even more, threatening me with sin.
And last night's dream was peculiar too. Our three-year-old grandchild launched a chopper standing in the garden (nothing is unusual in a dream). I see a chopper flying between the apple trees and then floating into the clouds. I'm scared, I'm calling for help. Then I see 2 nuns coming down the stairs and asking them to pray. 1 of them kneels immediately; the another hugs me and then I find that this is... the parent Teresa of Calcutta. I lift my head, I look for a helicopter, and I see airplanes, balloons, and large animals dragging slow through the sky. My husband smiles – he has a clear gap in his teeth. And that's what scares me most erstwhile I wake up. I did call the kids. “Watch the girls, be careful!”
Yes, yes, superstitions, sin, but for a minute I am paralyzed by fear.
The daughter tells of the death of a distant friend.
- Oh, you have your teeth, he says. Again, he reprimands me harshly.
We're all gathering for breakfast. The grandkids eat with appetite, babbling 3 by three. I'm jumping out with my dreams again, 'cause that's how I remember it, and so awful. This time I get reprimand from my husband and my son-in-law. My cell telephone rings in the hallway. I'm gonna go get it. I don't realize the words. My cousin wants to tell me something, but she cries so much she can't talk.
- I'm sorry. Who died?! Who died?! What president?! Our President?! This cannot be true!!!
I'm already surrounded by the full family. individual pulls my telephone out and repeats the news of president Kaczyński's death. First we stand like paralyzed, then we throw ourselves at the tv and computer. Everyone cries, even the youngest 3 years old. individual pulled a cable out of the TV, the computer starts highly heavy. Our hands are shaking, we can't handle this unfortunate cable. yet we have the image and sound. Nothing's completely certain. We kneel with the girls before the image of the crucified Jesus. We pray. To the President, to the Homeland, to all the victims. We're back to looking for information. Men (and the oldest, nine-year-old granddaughter) abruptly get angry – in addition to a terrible grief. They shout 1 through another, remind you how bad it was. The very word “airplane” gives besides many reasons for bad associations, bad memories. Katyń 2010 – they compose black flamingo on a carton.
- Look – the daughter abruptly says – you dreamt Jaruga-Nowack, and our president died!
I manage to enter the “Rzeczpospolita” website. There's the first list of victims. I look forward to the names that are acquainted and close to us with pain, but they are all close now. They all became close and ours. We mourn everyone.
- I'm sorry. You will not believe – I shout – Isabella Jaruga-Nowacka is on the list!
God! Why is she in my dream? She had a completely different outlook. She did not respect many of our most precious values. I utilized to usage her name in any mocking poems. I'm really, truly sorry. She's right in front of me as an attractive, elegant, frequently smiling woman. I will pray especially for her.
And then, most likely as in all Polish home – grief, despair, common crying and prayer. From time to time, a wave of anger, of resentment, of counting who should hit himself in the chest, who should go to Canossa, who should apologize, who should retreat from public life. We scream, we cry, we calm each other. You can't do that. Nobody wanted this tragedy. The judgments of Divine Providence are inexplicable. Only prayer in Father Pio's chapel will silence us.
I'm looking out the window. There's spring everywhere! erstwhile did this field get so green behind the fence? Kotheus Beautiful climbs the willow. I see miniature shapes of matching horses in the hand. In the sky, a jet leaves behind a bright streak...
I am reasoning of my President, who is no longer here; who is no longer here. I think in words, as from a children's reading (because only specified words are appropriate here)—that he was brave and righteous, that he loved his homeland and her goodness always had in mind; that he did not disappoint his friends; that he did not search applause; that he was above all these slanders, snoring and spitting... I think of my orphaned Poland, which wakes up in the spring aching and amazed that it has suffered so much loss.
Let us pray that the good Lord God will accept all the Sacrifices of this terrible catastrophe into his light and that he may have mercy on our Homeland.
Years later:
It's been almost 5 years. present is March 11, 2015. The mystery of tragedy has not yet been explained. I'm amazed we've been so calm about the scandalous investigation, the insulting of the Victims, the insolent lies, the exchange - and who knows whether or not the desecration - of the corpse!
The wreck inactive in Russia. You don't even want to comment on all this.
So far I have been praying for Isabella Jaruga-Nowacka, all the more so that a unusual coincidence happened again a year after the tragedy. Well, we have hosted friendly Hungarians in Poland. We went with them to the Doves. And whose grave did I virtually fall on? Yeah. On the grave of a individual who just before his death was in my dream. I know it's a dream of mara, God of faith, but all I realize is that I gotta keep praying for her.
Barbara Lipińska-Set
