Spiritual Things Matter

…the flower withers, but the seed remains. ~Kahlil Gibran

Each year, at Easter, my mind wanders back to my orphanage years. Easter was celebrated by going to church, and then later hunting for eggs that we all painted together.

One year, when I was about eight years old, I received a package in the mail. It was a huge surprise since I had never received a package before. I was excited and very curious as to who would send me a gift and I wondered just what might be in it. I noticed that the package was from my brother, Jean.

Approximately six months prior to Easter that year, my brother had been adopted out of the orphanage by an older couple who had lost a baby during WW II. It had been their only child; the mother had been unable to nourish her baby with her breast milk because they had been fleeing the Nazis and had been malnourished. The baby died in her arms. Years later, this same couple wanted to adopt a son. My brother was one year younger than I and we were very close. I was always very protective of him. Even though he had his own set of friends in the orphanage, we were fortunate to be in the same group since many siblings were split up.

I remember the day when that couple came to pick up my brother. We were at “Fraule’s” house. There had been no forewarning to my brother or myself that a couple was interested in adopting him. The couple liked me as well and expressed an interest in me, but they could not take me because my mother had never signed any papers of release for me. She had only signed papers for my two brothers and my youngest brother had already been adopted a number of years before. I don’t know why my mother did not release me.

It was a strange day, one moment my brother and I were together and the next moment he was gone from my life. I felt empty and alone. I felt sad and forgotten.

Nevertheless, that Easter a package came in the mail from my brother. As I opened the package, I reached in with curiosity and excitement that only a child could feel. I pulled out a little pink rabbit. What happened after that was beyond my own understanding. I clutched that little pink rabbit and started to cry as I had never cried before. I fell down to my knees and wailed with sadness because for the very first time, I could physically feel my heart break. I then realized he was not coming back and I would not see him again. I felt lonely and abandoned and in that moment all of my emotions which I could not put into words, came to the surface.

That little pink rabbit was somehow lost in the orphanage. The loss of my brother, Jean, however, has always stayed with me. The pain of that moment was so profound and deep that all I have been able to do is to deal with it at the various stages of my life. Today, in my mid 40’s, I write about it. Over 30 years would pass before I would see my brother again; in 1996, Jean, called me because he was getting married and he wanted me, his sister, to be a part of this special moment in his life. I was ecstatic and could hardly wait to see him again after so many years.

I am happy for people who have siblings with whom to share their joys and sorrows. My own two children have each other and I try to teach them never to take one another for granted. I always tell them that none of us knows what tomorrow may hold because one moment something is ours and the next moment it can be gone forever. I also try to teach them the value of spiritual truth which will abide forever. Hans Christian Andersen says, “The human life is a story told by God.” No matter what the story may be, may it always bring honor to the One who has created us. God’s love can heal all broken hearts. I truly believe that!

At the heart of our loss is gain - unseen, and yet eternal.
At the heart of our gain is loss through too much knowing.
At the heart of our joys are mysteries that remain untold.
At the heart of our tears is wisdom - embracing the cycles of life,
thus, finding stillness and peace within.

~Viola M. Jaynes

Love-which is God- will consider our sighs and tears as incense burned at His altar and he will reward us with fortitude. ~Kahlil Gibran

In 1995, my husband, Scott, was attending college and also working on weekends while earning his advanced degree in geology at the University of Houston. I was full time employed at a local medical clinic. We had no children at the time. We had decided to wait until the college years were behind us so I could raise our children and avoid putting them into daycare. Our lives were occupied with school, projects, field trips, homework, and our jobs.

It was on one such busy day that I received a phone call from my brother, Jean, who was living in Germany.  He had called to tell me that he was engaged to be married in May. Jean invited me to be a part of his wedding.

I have written here about the day he was adopted, and how I came to realize that I would not see him as a child again. Losing my little brother was a loss that would stay with me always. In time, I managed to bury the tears deep within me, and remove the memories from the forefront of my mind of that very painful day so long ago. It was a loss that I had to eventually find the courage to look at again. It was a loss that I could not make any sense of, and yet with time, I was able to accept it and find meaning in it, which brought healing to my heart.

Words cannot describe how excited I was to hear from Jean again after all these years of wondering where he was and how he was doing. I quickly realized just how rusty my German had become, and I was much relieved when I realized that he was able to speak English. That day, it became a mission of mine to regain my German language skills, to better communicate with my newfound family!   Because my husband was in college, flying to Germany was going to be more of an expense for us than what we could afford at that time. However, the idea of our not flying to Germany to be a part of Jean’s wedding was out of the question. We were simply going to make that trip!

Some of my friends at work were so excited about the prospect of me seeing my brother again after so many years that they and my supervisor took up a collection to help out with our expenses as we prepared to fly to Germany.  Contributing toward this reunion was a very generous and kind gesture from those who did not really know me that well.  I was deeply humbled and thankful for their kindness and generosity.

As we flew to Germany, I was nervous and a bit apprehensive. I imagined every possible scenario under the sun. Would Jean recognize me? Would I recognize him? Would we both feel comfortable with each other or would our time together be awkward?  When the moment arrived, and I saw Jean for the first time in 25 years, I felt something that words simply cannot explain.  I recognized him right away even though over 25 years had passed. As we held one another in a tight embrace, the years melted away, and I cried. I cried for our loss. I cried for our reunion. I cried for this very profound moment in both of our lives. The emotions that welled up in me were overwhelming as my heart raced and my body shook. There was no awkwardness as we knew we belonged to each other.

The wedding was beautiful, and visiting with Jean and his new bride was a special time for us. They welcomed my husband with open arms, and the four of us had a wonderful time together.  During this busy time, Jean and I did managed to have some time alone. We spoke about our childhood and the day he was taken away from me. Jean told me about his life with his new family, and we discussed how life had been for me staying behind in the orphanage and eventually moving to America. Though there was much to talk about, there were also times we would not say a word.  Somehow, we understood each other as only siblings can. That understanding, we realized, was a part of the feeling of a deeper belonging and a deeper love.

In the years that followed, although we’ve spoken periodically on the telephone, I have not seen Jean since he was married in 1996. Much has taken place in his life as well as in our lives. As I spoke with my brother just a few days ago, we both knew it was time for another reunion. We will be traveling to Germany again soon, and I can’t wait to see him and spend some time with him again. I miss him. My two children also look forward to meeting their Uncle Jean, and my husband will enjoy clanging his beer krug once again with Jean’s. Life is good!

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!