This is a tribute to my mother Edviga Danuta Gawryszewska (Dana).

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Born: Kobryn (now Belarus) Poland 1936 - “deported” to Archangelsk 10.02.1940

Died: Rome (Italy) 29th June 2024.

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It is with very great pain and sadness that I would like to share with you that my mother Dana died at the end of June, here in Rome, where she was a resident for over 30 years.

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My mother was born in Kobryn. Her father Edward Gawryszewski was born in the USA and came to visit relatives in Poland in the early thirties, met my Grandmother, Helena and they got married. My mother was born in late 1936 and her younger brother in 1938. The four of them were forcibly removed from their home by the Soviets in the early hours of 10th February 1940 and sent to one of the labour camps in Arkhangelsk. A miracle that my grandparents managed to keep those two babies alive under the harsh conditions we all know about.

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They were however, amongst the very lucky few to join General Anders convoys escaping towards Iran. Sadly my grandfather Edward died en route, somewhere over the Kazakh steppes (my mother then about 5 years old remembered that coins were placed on his eyes to keep them shut and that he was later “disposed of'' in the snow from the moving train, she said). Grandmother landed with the two small children in Pahlevi. She was due to be transported to New Zealand with the children in time, but she and probably no more than 20 Polish ladies remained in Iran in the end as they had met and married Iranian citizens (they all knew each other and their later children frequented each other).

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My Grandmother went on to have another 3 children, a boy and 2 girls. Her husband let her baptise and raise the children in the Catholic faith. My mother from age 7 and her younger half Iranian sisters all went to the French school (Jeanne D’Arc) run by the French Catholic nuns. French has become our mother tongue in the family, as even on my Italian father’s side, both he and his sister and even my paternal grandparents went to French schools and we were/are all fluent in the language.

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My mother Dana thus grew up in Iran, which was very dear to her and which she considered home. At this point, I should also pay tribute to Iran, who welcomed all the Polish refugees with generosity and kindness. Losing "her home" twice was quite traumatic for my mother.

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My mother met and married my Italian father in Iran; he also grew up there from the age of 10 when his father, a civil engineer, was under contract for the construction of the railway from East to West under Reza Shah in the mid thirties. When the war broke out in 1939, it was safer to remain in Iran.

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Both my brother and I were also born in Iran and spent our formative years there and speak the language fluently. We had been sent to school abroad in 1974, but visited for holidays, until in 1978/79 another nightmare started with the Iranian Revolution. My parents, as foreigners, had no choice but to leave the country; leaving home, business and all our valuable possessions behind. My father died of a heart attack (broken heart?) barely 64 over 30 years ago when in the UK. My mother decided to go live in Italy shortly after.

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My mother’s sudden death was quite unexpected and a terrible shock; I took her to the A&E section of our local hospital here in Rome to check her severe anemia; that fateful day…5th April and next thing you know, she is hospitalised in a clinic where she spent nearly 60 long and not so pleasant days; several blood transfusions later and several tests, she was diagnosed with terminal colon cancer; subjected to a palliative colostomy she did not want. She was then transferred on 30th May to a hospice, which thankfully was a haven especially compared to the clinic where she was not treated that well by some of the nurses (some people should not be in such a profession when dedication, compassion and kindness are essential).

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The utter shock and dreadful sorrow now, is because she suddenly went and in spite of her devastating diagnosis, we weren’t prepared at all. Once at the Hospice, she was doing relatively well, lucid, eating with a good appetite with decent food offered (lots of treats from home also and enjoying her little shots of Zubrowka or brandy or whisky we would sneak in), all vitals going strong; had some pain but medicated with morphine when needed; we thankfully even had a few sessions of Video Link phone conversations with her two sisters currently in Iran. My brother and I left her on a Friday evening, third week in; said good night see you tomorrow, asking her what she wanted us to bring the following day. Next day however, we arrived and the nurses/doctor on duty said that because she had complained of more pain, they had decided to put her on the morphine drip. She was somnolent and we tried to raise her; she opened her eyes for 2 seconds, tried to speak but no sound was coming out and exhausted she closed her eyes again.

 

The day after, a Sunday, and for the rest of the week she was completely unconscious under the influence of the morphine and they even took her off the saline drip after a couple of days saying the liquid would accumulate in her body and go to her lungs and “drown” her as she was not urinating sufficiently (would you be urinating sufficiently if you were completely dehydrated?). I was not entirely convinced (as this seems to be a practice in hospices and not in hospitals where they continue hydrating) and it was extremely painful to see her lose even more weight, literally skin and bones, looking more like a cadaver each passing day with laboured breathing and unconsciousness. I questioned that treatment after 5 days and asked them to put her back on the saline drip and I was planning to also ask that they remove the morphine drip, so that she could at least regain consciousness and give her the morphine only when she was in pain….but sadly in the early hours of Saturday 29th June, the hospice called to say she had gone in her sleep.

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I am haunted by how she looked in the last week of her life and in death lying in that coffin unrecognisable. I also just can’t shake the thought that they put her on that morphine drip more for their own convenience and somehow to speed up her demise, because it was possible she would have lasted months there, as she seemed quite resilient. Of course, she had been suffering from a dreadful ankle ulcer for the last 7 years which was just not healing and her quality of life was definitely diminished as a result, but otherwise no cholesterol, no high blood pressure, heart OK…who could have suspected an aggressive colon cancer was eating her inside out…..she certainly did not deserve the last dreadful 3 months of her existence and somehow,

 

I can’t help but blame myself for insisting we go check her anemia, when the nightmare started…perhaps ignorance would have been less taxing to her and she would not have gone through the horrid hospital treatment, dreadful undignified colostomy and have to die alone in a hospice (as lovely as the place was….luxurious spacious room, private bathroom, clean, with all amenities, aircon and windows facing a large park, attentive and kind staff, pain management …she knew she had the tumour that could not be operated on, but she did not know she was terminal and she still had hope she might get better and come back home. It was most painful hearing her ask “when do you think I will be out of here”?

 

But all doubts and questions are too late and futile……she is gone now. May she rest in peace finally.

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I hope there is something on the other side…..and maybe she is now in the company of her mother, father ( whom she lost at such an early age and under such traumatic circumstances), younger Polish brother (who emigrated in his twenties to the USA and formed a family and even lived to see 8 grandchildren but sadly died some 15 years ago from diabetes complications), her half Iranian brother also sadly gone, and my father, her husband, whom she lost early when she was just barely over 50 years old. May they all rest in peace. I always light candles and pray for their souls when I go into any church.

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Although at the moment every single day visions of my mother in her last days haunt me continually, I would like to remember her when she was young, beautiful, healthy and joyous. I am sharing (below), some of the photos of her youth in Iran, when she got married to our Italian father (at the Italian church in Teheran) and when she was our young, vigorous and active mother, always on the move and taking my brother and I to all sorts of sporting activities and fun days out.

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I also wrote these few lines in tribute:

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A little tribute to our dear mother ...

You went as the sun rose in the skies over Rome that fateful Saturday 29th of June 2024... May the angels and doves accompany you on your last trip. May you be surrounded by gardens full of flowers in bloom. May you speed down powdery snowy slopes and sing with joy sat upon a roof...May mirth, song and laughter fill your time high up in the clouds while you watch over us...

Farewell and Godspeed...

 

We like to remember you young, fun and beautiful...

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