My Mother
We must accept finite disappointment, but we must never lose infinite hope. ~Martin Luther King Jr.
Many people with whom I come in contact are interested in what happened to my mother. Having a German accent, it is not easy to escape the questions of how it came about that I moved to America. Most of the time, I simply say it is a long story. Though, I do share my story when someone seems particularly interested. Many of my readers have asked some of these questions and thus, I will share this story with you today.
An elderly lady rented out an apartment in her house to my mother while my father, an American G.I., was stationed in Germany during the Berlin Crisis. This lady got to know my mother relatively well and at times would watch over me as a baby. My father eventually finished with his service in the Army and came back to the United States but could not bring my mother and me with him. I don’t know the reasons behind why we couldn’t come with him. Between 1-2 years old, I was put in an orphanage. My brothers (one is a year younger than I am, and my baby brother is about 3 years younger) were also, in time, put in the same orphanage. Eventually, my youngest brother was adopted out of that infant orphanage, and Jean and I were then transferred to a second orphanage for older children. My story, “An Easter Package,” on this blog tells the story of how Jean was adopted out as well. I stayed in the orphanage until I was 14 years old - at which time, my father had found me and brought me to the States.
This elderly lady, whom we called “Fraule,” came and visited us about every other Sunday in the orphanage. My mother had already moved out of her apartment and Fraule no longer had any contact with her. Once Jean and I were transferred to the second orphanage, she still would come to see us until I turned about six years old and then Jean and I would take the bus and the trolley from the orphanage to her house and back. I would always make sure that we sat close to the driver so he could tell us where to get off. After a while, I knew the route well. Fraule was, by that time, getting too old to make that trip, but still wanted us to come about every other weekend and also a week or two during vacations.
After Jean was adopted, I would make this trip alone and it became a pattern to which I became accustomed. One day, I arrived at Fraule’s house and as I passed the window, I noticed someone else was sitting in the kitchen with her. I walked in and Fraule introduced me to her. I said hello, but then proceeded to sit down to play with my toys. I kept looking at this woman feeling as though I knew her somehow. Something was different about her. At one point, she asked if I would sit on her lap, but I was way too shy for such a gesture and since I was used to living in an orphanage, we simply did not have that kind of closeness. I was embarrassed and turned her down. The lady frowned on that, but Fraule did not force the issue.
After this woman left, Fraule told me that she was my mother. I looked out of the window to see if I could see her one more time and I was able to watch as she walked away. Little did I know that this would be the only meeting with her for the rest of my life. It was a very strange feeling and I wondered why I did not live with her. Fraule explained that she had many problems and all I really ever learned about her were negative things. When Fraule would get irritated with me, she would always say, “You will grow up just like your mother.” Of course, I had no idea what that meant, but I knew it was not good.
My mother-in-law’s hobby is genealogy and she has become very good at it. She has been able to trace her own history back many generations. Both she and my husband have encouraged me to find my own family for years. About ten years ago, she gave me the name of a German woman who could possibly help me with that search. After a conversation with this woman on the phone, I hired her. In a very short time, she found my mother’s family living in a small town outside of Dresden, East Germany - grandparents, three uncles, an aunt and a number of cousins. I was also surprised to learn that I had another older half-brother whom I had never heard of before. Soon after my family was found, my husband and I flew to Dresden to meet them. It was an exciting time for me. My husband was 100% convinced that they were my family because they all had pointed chins like I do. Tickled with this obvious trait, I was convinced as well.
During our visit, we were treated like royalty and we had such a wonderful time together. However, it was during this visit that I was told about my mother. They said that she had defected from East Germany and left her son behind for her parents to raise and showed little interest in her family. Her brother, a former guard near the East/West German border, let her pass into West Germany for a day of “shopping.” Unfortunately, none of them had anything good to say about her. I was able to see some photos of her when she was younger, and I was surprised at just how much I look like her. For the first time, I felt compassion for this person and my heart went out to her.
After our return, my husband and I talked about my mother extensively, and we both agreed that this is still only one side of the story. Aside from various opinions, we didn’t truely know the conditions behind why my mother decided to leave for West Germany. I made the decision to locate her. I did in fact do so and began to write her letters. I would get answers periodically, but she never answered any questions and I realized that she simply could not face what had happened in her life. I then found out that she was suffering from lung cancer and had been put in the hospital for treatments. Two times, while in Nuernberg, I tried to visit her. Both times, she left until I was back in the States. One of those times, she even checked herself out from the hospital just before I arrived, and then checked herself back in once I had returned to the States.
I realized that she could not face me and I wanted to let her know that it was okay. I wrote her a letter and explained to her that not any kind of explanation was necessary. I have a good life, my own family and my own home. I have aspirations and hopes and all I wanted was to simply wish her peace of mind and wholeness in every area of her life. I ordered flowers for her hospital room a few times and then one day, I mustered the courage to actually call her on the telephone while she was in the hospital. I was so afraid because I had pictured in my mind this rough, harsh woman with a deep and tough voice due to all the stories that I had heard about her. However, as the phone rang, and she answered, I had on the other end of the line, a woman with a gentle and kind voice. It was not at all what I had expected.
I was sad for this person because for whatever reasons, she never could find a constructive path for herself. She had suffered in many ways and lost so much. I felt sad for her because her brokenness was deep and unrepairable in this lifetime. I felt sad for her because her natural beauty had been turned into a reflection of lost hope. I prayed for her daily. About a year after I made contact with her, she passed away. As I wept for her, I could only hope that she had found peace in her heart with God. I was reminded what Proverbs tells us, “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life.” Prov. 13:12
In a strange way, in some form or fashion, I realized I loved her …. for she was my mother. She was the one who had given birth to me, she was the one who cared for me for that first year of my life. I look like her and yet the words that Fraule so often would say to me, “You will be just like your mother one day,” are words that have no meaning to me. I have been given a life filled with so much mystery, so much adventure and so much hunger to know God. I am deeply thankful for His grace and mercy in my life. I am indeed blessed!
