Spiritual Things Matter

I wanted to share with you, my dear readers, something very special that happened this past week. Sometime ago, I wrote a story here on my site called, “That Little Room.”

After a friend of mine in Germany read this story, she took it upon herself to make a copy of it in order to give it to the woman who was the director of that school. This director responded by writing me a very nice letter, and also expressed that she is going to see if this teacher could be located. I have vivid memories of this director. She was a very petite woman with a very large and generous heart. She was loved by the students as well as by her teachers.

Last week as I checked my mail, I received a letter from Germany, but I did not recognize the name or the address on it. As I began to read this letter, tears started to well up my eyes as I realized that the letter that I was holding in my hands was written by this “special” teacher of religion who goes back in my life almost 40 years. I was deeply moved as she told me about herself and that she has visited this web site and was touched by my stories and poems. She resides in the Munich area not too far away from where my friend, Simone, lives. She also still teaches and plays her guitar. I will be answering her letter this week with a few photos of my family. On our next trip to Germany, we will make a point to visit her as well.

I have been so amazed of all the things that have developed since I have started to write. It has been a true gift . . . not only to myself, but to many others as well. I am very happy and thankful!

I continue to believe that there is nothing impossible! Nothing!

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit…For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. ~Kahlil Gibran

There are some people who come into our lives in such a quiet and gentle way that we do not even give it all that much thought. They are simply there doing what they do best, which is tending to the things of life in very ordinary ways. Yet, it is these same people that, when we are no longer with them , we realize just how rich their presence was and how much kindness and gentleness they added to our life.

After Fraule passed away, Geli and Herman had contacted the orphanage to inquire as to whether I could come visit them every other weekend, and a week or two during vacation time. Fraule was frequently not well. Many times, there was simply nothing to do at her house. So, I spent quite a bit of time with this friendly couple who lived upstairs. Geli and Herman (Fraule’s nephew) were much younger and livelier than Fraule, so I always enjoyed being with them. Also, Fraule was often very depressed, which made our interaction more difficult. I was too young to understand her better, but hindsight and maturity have given me a better insight of who she was.

Geli and Herman never had any children of their own. They were young and very much in love with each other. Fraule owned the house they lived in, and as is typical in Germany, many houses are divided into apartments. This house was divided into three apartments. There were two downstairs apartments, and Fraule lived in one of them. Also, there was one upstairs where Herman and Geli lived. None of the apartments were very large, but they seemed to fit the needs of each occupant. Behind the house, there was a large yard with a clothing line, a wash room, and a vegetable garden where I often helped myself to fresh carrots. Herman built a garden house with lanterns around it. Hanging on the wall inside the garden house, one could see memorabilia collected from various trips that they had made to different parts of Germany and Switzerland. During the summer months, many hours were spent in that garden house visiting with family and friends while eating meals, drinking coffee, and enjoying cakes which Geli often would bake herself. There also was a large divided shed - one space was for Herman, and the other for Fraule. During the winter months, Fraule kept wood and coals in her shed. While I was there, she often would ask me to bring some into the house . I always was spooked by that shed, and even as I got older, I never liked going in there. Herman’s section was closer to the house and did not seem so dark and frightening. Herman liked to work in his shed much of the time when he was at home, and I would often just stand at the door and watch him. I liked Herman very much, and sometimes would begin to wonder what it would be like to have a father.

Geli (her real name being Angelika) was a lovely and very feminine young woman. She was always very meticulous about her appearance, as she carefully rolled and teased her hair and painted her nails with light pink nail polish. Before she would leave the house, she would always be sure to apply her pretty pink lipstick. Even though she had very light skin, her skin would turn a pretty tan color during the summer months, which made her blond hair and her pink lipstick stand out even more. I always thought she had a very striking and beautiful look. Geli loved doing crossword puzzles, going shopping, and keeping her home nice and neat. Geli was a seamstress and was faithful to her job for over forty years. When I was with her, she always inquired about how things were going in the orphanage. I never failed to tell her every minute detail of events that would take place. I cherished her inquisitiveness, and it made me feel that she was genuinely interested in me. We would also laugh a lot together. Her simple and uncomplicated ways made our relationship open and so enjoyable.

Geli was a wonderful cook, and she made the house smell delicious as she often had something in the oven set on very low to simmer. I always looked forward to eating at her house, and at times would even have second helpings of the wonderful food she had prepared. I always made a point to help out as much as I could by doing the dishes after meals and vacuuming the carpet. I never wanted to be a burden, nor did I want them to regret having me in their home. When we went shopping together, I would lock my arms in hers, as is common in many European countries, and it always gave me a sense of warmth and security. She would often buy me a little something, and when it was time to go back to the orphanage, she would always hand me a few D-Marks for spending money. Herman and Geli would never ask me what I would spend the money on, although they had a pretty good idea (most of the time it was spent on sweets for my friends and me).

Almost every weekend, Geli’s parents would be at her house. I had the privilege to know them over the years when I came to visit. Geli learned her generosity and kind spirit from her mother as she too was such a lovely and very feminine lady. She was quiet in her demeanor (a nurse as her profession), and she always had something kind to say. She too would often hand me a few D-Marks as I would leave to go back to the orphanage on Sunday afternoons. I was always very touched by her kindness and thoughtfulness.

It was a shock to Geli and Herman when they found out that my father had found me and wanted to bring me to America. They had misgivings, and rightfully so, since I had been in the orphanage for so many years. I was fourteen years old already, and they wondered why my father would so suddenly make the effort to find me after all those years. Our goodbyes where not easy, and I thanked them over and over again for all that they had done for me.

Because of the very difficult situation I found myself in when I came to this country, all ties to Germany were lost. My primary responsibility was to get used to a new life and a new country, and to learn English as quickly as possible by going to school and working in the evenings. No effort was made to get letters mailed out for me, and it seemed as if I had forever left my old life behind. Over time, I even lost much of my German language. I remember once driving down the street and hearing someone speak German on the radio. I thought how strange and yet so familiar it sounded to me, and I knew then that I would somehow reconnect to my childhood ties.

I have been in America now for 31 years. When I moved out on my own at age 19, I could not afford to call Germany or to go for visits. As time has gone by, I have been able to fly to Germany a number of times. As my German has improved again, I now call Germany regularly. One of the people I call is Geli. Our first reunion was beyond description as we saw each other again after so many years had passed. So much can change, yet so much stays the same. They were deeply moved by my visit, and of course, I was so happy to see them again. Geli had tears in her eyes, and I realized that I did not fully understand that I meant that much to her. I was deeply touched.

Herman passed away a number of years ago, and I was so thankful that I had the chance to see him again before he passed away. Geli presently has heart problems. Lately, she has had to be in the hospital again. I spoke with her mother, whom I also cherish, and explained that I would like to be informed should it become serious so that I can fly to Germany to be with my friend. I am deeply thankful for my experiences with these very gentle and lovely people. They truly are a gift to me…more than they will ever know!

P.S. My friend Simone, translated this for me into German and I was able to print this story out on some nice paper and mail it to Geli for Christmas. She seemed to be deeply moved by my remembrances and my appreciation for her and Herman. Thank you Simone, for being so gracious.

So live that your memories will be part of your happiness. ~unknown

One of my fondest memories from my orphanage days was the start of our summer vacation, after the school year would end in August. The orphanage had been given a large cabin in Buching, Germany, that had been built during WW II and was located in the beautiful Bavarian Alps. Since the cabin was originally intended to serve as a temporary shelter to those who were fleeing for their lives, after the war it had no purpose, so it was given to be to be used as a home for our summer vacations. Each group (which usually consisted of 15-18 children) would be allotted a two week time period and usually two groups would go at the same time since summer vacation was six weeks and there were six different groups in our orphanage. This system allowed the children to be with others from a different group who normally did not share the same living quarters. Buching was approximately 100 km away from Hochzoll, Augsburg where our orphanage was located. Since Buching was only about a 1 1/2 - 2 hours drive, we were allowed on one fabulous trip, to even ride our bicycles to our cabin in the Alps. I can remember how excited we were as we looked forward to a more rugged and rustic life - if even for just a couple of weeks.

The Cabin itself always had a certain distinctive odor to it which I only appreciated in that particular setting. It was the smell of old wood and uninhabited space which matched its primitive appearance. Several social workers would go ahead of us to get the cabin ready for our arrival. As I recall, one of the cooks from the orphanage would come along with the group and prepare the meals for all the kids. By the time we would get there, the eating room was arranged in its usual setting. There was a long, old wood table with its fork and knife markings readily visible from prior years, along with plenty of chairs on both sides. Located towards the back of the cabin, were the many bedrooms and bathrooms. Each child was allowed to pick which bedroom they wanted and also choose with whom they were going to share. For the younger children, however, that choice was made by the social workers. Almost all the bedrooms had bunk-beds and, like most children, I always enjoyed sleeping on the top. We would often switch around so by the end of summer vacation, everyone would have a chance at the top bunk. The bathrooms were small but there were a number of them, since, as you can imagine, those fleeing from the war needed more than just one or two bathrooms.

The social workers did a great job planning for the two weeks and I can remember that we had many different and lively adventures. Often, we would fill our backpacks with sandwiches and apples, and spend an entire day, just hiking in the mountains. The smaller children would stay behind with a social worker, who would keep them occupied with age-appropriate activities. Those children, who were able to hike an entire day, could look forward to many exciting adventures and wonderful scenery ahead. Once, we even went on a hike at night and this was particularly exciting for us. Simone, who was my favorite social worker (see “The Laughter Of Simone“) invited her boyfriend, Heiner, to come along and join in the fun. We all so enjoyed harassing Heiner and picking on him - and Heiner seemed to have as much fun with it as we did. It was a sad day for us when Simone an Heiner eventually married and she left her work at the orphanage. Today, though, I am happy to say that we are all in close contact again after so many years apart. Both of them are a delight and as much a gift in my life now as they were back then.

It was always fun when our journey took us through the little towns and villages where the farmers and towns-people would wave as they saw a whole group of children going down the street. On occasion we would see a tractor coming from or going into the field, dogs barking as we would walk passed their farm house, and cats sitting leisurely in their yards. Often other little children, dressed in dirndl and lederhosen, would watch us with curiosity. I am sure they were wondering who we were and where we came from.

My favorite places to stop were always those where we could walk far enough up the mountains to where we could look down into the valley below. It was lovely to see the quaint little towns, each with their own small church encased in the various shades of green and earth-tone mountains. Often one could hear the church bell ring in the distance and a feeling of complete connectedness, peace, and joy would settle in my heart as nothing else could do. I still cherish those moments as they become alive in my memory. There is just nothing like a good hike and then sitting down at noontime to enjoy a sandwich, along with a good crisp apple.The girls would often make “flower crowns” as we sat in the meadow during our break. Also often we would pick a blade of grass, put it between our thumbs and make what we called “grass music.” My own children today find that fascinating. Each year we would visit some of the castles nearby and fortunately for us, in those days, the tourism did not take over the experience. We were able to really soak in the magic and imagine what it was like for a person, or the king himself, living in those days of yesteryear. Those times were beautiful and majestic in so many ways. I particularly loved the crystal clear lakes that surrounded the castles. When you find a spot where you can see the castles and the lakes from a far-away view, it is truly like stepping into a fairy-tale land. One could get lost in its beauty and forget that a different life even exists.

After a long hike, we would often go swimming in a lake nearby. I especially remember a particular little brook with a small body of water that we made certain to visit each year. It was a favorite spot with the children because the water was so clear and incredibly cold that it became a “dare you” game as to who would be willing to jump in first. My fingers and toes easily become snow white when I am cold and just putting my feet and hands into the water seemed to have been enough for me.

Each year we would go, at least once or twice, on a “scavenger hunt” in the forest. I remembered the stories of “Rotkäpchen” - “The Little Red Riding Hood” and “Hänsel und Gretel.” As much as I loved these games though, I always found myself looking over my shoulders…even after I was old enough not to believe in such fairy tales. Walking through the thick, dark forest and being able to hear each crack of a branch, made me aware that the silence was greater than the noise we children would make. I always made sure to stay close to the other children but I would never allow them to know that I was secretly afraid…but perhaps they were afraid as well.

After our evening meal, we often would sit outside after dark, in front of a big open fire, roasting marshmallows and singing our songs. One or two of the social workers would always have a guitar and I cherished those moments of togetherness. The warmth of the fire seemed comforting to me and being cuddled up with the other children during those moments created a special bond of togetherness. There was a calm and a peace on those nights, without any rivalry and competitions of of any sort. The social workers too seemed more relaxed since there was no need for so much strictness and order. They also enjoyed visiting with the other social workers who came along from the other group. They would all sit outside on the porch, talking and staying up long after the children went to bed. We, of course, would often sneak out of our bedrooms to see what all the laughing and carrying on was all about!

Those memories of Buching, the beautiful Alps, the quiet and dark forest, the many wonderful hikes and the beauty of that corner of the world, will stay with me forever. I am very thankful for those memories which bring such fondness and happiness to my heart.

Never, never, never give up. ~Sir Winston Churchhill

It was 1993 when I received a phone call from my father telling me that my youngest half- brother, Jim, was flying in from Germany to see him. Although not my father’s biological child, Jim was anxious to visit the United States and meet my father, whose last name he carried. After my conversation with my father, I tried to reach back into the memories of my childhood and there I found only a vague recollection of my baby brother, Jim.

I was placed in a Catholic Orphanage for infants and very small children called Marienheim at about one year of age. Later, my younger brothers, Jean and Jim, were placed in this same orphanage as well. Sadly, I only have one black and white photograph, which was taken in this orphanage where all three of us are together. After my conversation with my father, I looked at that photo trying to imagine what Jim might look like so many years later. He had been a beautiful child with very curly dark brown hair and big expressive brown eyes. He had a bright and gentle smile on his face as though the world belonged solely to him.

When I was about four years old, Jean and I were transferred to a Lutheran orphanage in Augsburg, Germany. Jean was only one year younger than I was. You may read, “An Easter Package” if you wish, which is the story of how Jean later also was adopted. Shortly after our transfer, Jim, who was three years younger than myself and therefore had to stay behind in the infant orphanage, was formerly adopted by an older couple. After Jim was gone, I had never heard another thing about him until my father called to tell me of his up-coming visit. My own desire to piece my history together lead me to buy a ticket to see my father and Jim in Colorado.

I had arrived in Colorado the day before Jim was to fly in from Germany, which gave my father, his wife, and I some time to visit together. As we went to the airport the following day, I was nervous and excited all at the same time to be able to reunite with my little brother after so many years had gone by. None of us knew what to expect.

I will never forget the first time I laid eyes on this young man. It was sad. He walked through the airport gates looking as if he had not had a bath in over a month. As I walked up to my little brother to embrace him, he smiled that same big and gentle smile, but his unkempt appearance, obvious lack of proper hygiene, and his discolored teeth only confirmed my worst suspicion. He was homeless. Jim was able to speak some English, but mostly, he and I spoke in German.

Jim had planned to stay in the States with my father for about 8 weeks. My plans were to stay for one week, which was all I could take off from my work schedule. It proved to be an intense week as I listened to Jim’s stories and how he had processed the events that had taken place in his life.

It was not my place, nor my purpose, to determine how much of his story was actual events that had taken place and how much was a product of a good imagination. What I did know was that this young man, my little brother, was a broken human being. He had given up on life and appeared to be lost, dying on the inside with its vicissitudes already showing on the outside. I made up my mind to be there for him and to really listen without judgment or fear.

Jim told me that the people who had adopted him were an older couple who owned a farm and just wanted to adopt a boy to help with the work they needed done. Abuse was a regular event and he often had to sleep out in the barn with the animals. It was evident by looking at his teeth that he had not received proper dental care. It was also obvious by looking at his skin that his diet was poor. Jim showed me official documents, which I verified, that he divorced his adoptive parents through court procedures and took back his former last name, which was the name of my father. Jim knew, however, that all of our mother’s children had different fathers.

Before his trip to this country, Jim had also gone to visit our mother, who was still alive and living in Nürnberg, Germany. His experience with her was a negative one as he learned that she was an alcoholic and had no maternal bond with him as her child. Although he knew that our mother had given him up for adoption as an infant, her rejection of him during the visit was another extremely painful experience for this lonely young man. As I listened to him, I could only weep inside as I also felt his aloneness and his feelings of betrayal and abandonment. Oddly enough, however, I did not see the anger that one would normally expect from one who had experienced a life like Jim was describing up to that point. Jim had a wonderfully funny sense of humor and he made me laugh more than once while spending time with him. He also had a gentleness of spirit about him and a kindness that I found intriguing. All I could ask myself was, “What could he have accomplished if only he had just been given love and a fair chance at life?”

Jim wanted me to tell him about my life. I hesitated, wondering if I should share with him my own difficult times I had to face. I did not want to overwhelm him, yet I found that it was important for him to hear and see for himself what “taking responsibility” for your own life, could bring. I told him everything - well, almost everything. I told him how I stayed in the orphanage until I was 14 years old and how I had so looked forward to a family after I found out that my father found me and wanted to bring me to America. I told him of the abuse that was waiting for me there in my father’s home and how the orphanage never checked up on me and simply left me there. I told him about the feelings of aloneness, abandonment and betrayal that I had felt. I told him how difficult it is, even as an adult at times, to simply relate to others who have grown up with loving mothers and fathers, and who had never had their siblings taken away from them. I shared with him about the crying periods I had for seven straight years, three to four times a week, because of my overwhelming feeling of aloneness. Jim listened carefully and intently.

I shared with Jim about my very personal experience of when I made a spiritual commitment and was baptized. This experience changed my life and infused me with an energy and love that I had never felt before. I shared with him that even in my aloneness, I always knew that God was there for me.

I also told my brother that not only was what happened to him not right, it was unfair and it was incredibly hurtful. I explained to him, however, if he continues to hang on to what others did to him, he will debilitate himself even further. I encouraged him to find someone that he could talk with, to find gainful employment, and to make some sort of a useful life for himself. Jim assured me that he would do just that as we both cried and embraced each other. I felt so helpless and so wished that I had the power to help and to heal his deepest wounds.

After Jim flew back to Germany, I received a call from him a few months later telling me that he was dying of cancer and that he wanted to be buried here close to me. I asked him to fax me medical records, and a letter from his physician, so that my husband and I could look over them. At that time, my husband was still in college, so we were not in a position to take care of an adult. It was important for us to understand what we were dealing with. I told him that after I received all his medical information, I would get back with him. This was the last conversation I ever had with Jim. To this day, I have no idea where he is or if he is even still alive. The last contact information I had on him is no longer valid.

As I continue to search for spiritual understanding and meaning in life, I think about how many are out in the world like my brother, Jim. People who have given up all hope and all sense of connectedness with themselves, with others, and with God. I think about people with whom we come in contact each and every day, who walk around with silent pain because they feel that no one could or would possibly understand them. Will there come a time in our lives when we could have enough love in our hearts to transform those kinds of thoughts in others, those kinds of hopeless thoughts? Those are questions that I ask myself often.