A nice thing happened to me recently. A large UPS package was delivered. It was a surprise, as I knew that I did not have anything on order.
The package contained an old, large, framed Nursing Madonna icon. My heart swelled with joy. This is the only picture that I ever remember from my childhood. At over 100 years old, it’s been through a lot, as is evidenced in the condition of the wooden frame and the backing of stained cardboard paper. This simple framed picture is of great value to me. It is the only thing left from my heritage.
In late 1942, life was not good for my family, poor farmers eking a living off the land in the Croatian region of Yugoslavia. Communist partisans controlled the countryside, and people were randomly being killed or made to disappear. My family decided to flee, taking only what they could carry, including an infant — me — to what they thought was a safer place: Germany, just in time for World War II.
The Madonna belonged to my grandmother and she carried it to central Germany from Yugoslavia.
When we arrived, we were displaced refugees with nowhere to go. My parents worked in a forced labor camp to survive the worst of the war. After the war, we went to a refugee camp. The icon hung on any available wall.
May is the month dedicated to the Blessed Virgin. I remember going into the woods around the camps in Germany to pick clover flowers. I would make a flower wreath for the month of May and the wreath was always hung on a corner of the Madonna. I remember this clearly even though I was a little girl and it was over 73 years ago.
After 10 years in the camps in Germany, the icon was again hand-carried through New York and to Portland.
The Madonna always hung on the wall in my grandmother’s bedroom, until she passed at 103 years of age. I remember her sitting on the edge of her bed, quietly saying the rosary and looking at her Madonna picture. She could be in quiet meditation or prayer for hours.
I married, moved away and started my own family. In the last few years of her life, my grandmother was in a care facility. After she passed, I often wondered what happened to the icon. I was the oldest of 11, and all my siblings knew how special the Nursing Madonna was to me.
My sister was helping one of our nieces in a garage sale — and there was my Madonna. That is how my Madonna was found and sent to me. I will forever be grateful for my sister’s kindness.
My Nursing Madonna is fragile. I think of how many of my past generations have touched it. She is hung prominently in my bedroom, and she is safe. I chose to think she is bringing good luck into my home.
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