I Get That Now

Tags

Berlin, Dad, death, Diana Schwenk, family, Father, Germany, grief, growing up, Heinz Schwenk, Hump Day Chronicles, life, Life's like that, love, memories, Opa, parents, Relationships, stories

Opa, 66, with his Daschund (Cherry) in 1973.

Opa (my paternal grandfather) became a father at 27 years old when Dad was born on June 28, 1934.

Born in 1907, Opa lived through two world wars and the depression. Over the years, Dad told me many stories of his childhood growing up in Berlin, Germany.

Like the time he stole a horse from the Russians so that his family and neighbours could eat meat.

And the time he and his teenaged buddies lifted a Volkswagen over the owners fenced-in yard with a small gate – too small to drive a car through!

But I know very little about Opa. I know that he was raised by his aunt, and that he may not have known some of his siblings.

And once when Dad was in elementary school, he wet his pants in class because the teacher wouldn’t let him go to the bathroom. Opa went to the school the next day to talk to the teacher. Dad never knew what Opa had said, but the teacher told Dad that day that if he ever needed to go to the bathroom, he had permission to just go, didn’t even have to raise his hand to ask.

I know that Opa was athletic and participated in track and field. I know from our visits to Germany as a family, that Opa struggled with alcohol and by the time he was a senior, a half bottle of beer was enough to do him in. Yet even at a ripe old age, Opa could still walk up the stairs on his hands.

Opa passed away on June 28, 1987 (My Dad’s 53rd birthday). Opa had suffered a stroke on a Thursday. Dad booked the earliest flight he could get but unfortunately Opa passed away around the same time Dad’s plane landed in Berlin that Sunday.

I remember when Dad phoned to tell me Opa was dead. He was so calm on the phone, so matter-of-fact. I, on the other hand, burst into tears. Dad tried to console me. When I composed myself, it dawned on me to ask Dad how he was doing and comment on how awful it must be that his father died on his birthday. “I’m fine. Everyone dies eventually Diana. I’m ok.”

On June 28, 2012, I happened to be back east at my parent’s place for Dad’s 78th Birthday. We were talking about this and that when suddenly out of nowhere, Dad with glistening eyes said, “It’s 25 years ago today that my father died.”

I touched Dad’s arm.

What could I say?

Maybe you never quite get over the death of your father.

I get that now.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

 

Advertisements

Happy 77th Birthday Mom!

Tags

Berlin, Birthday, Canada, children, family, Germany, growing up, happy, joy, kids, laughter, life, Life's like that, living in the moment, love, memories, Mom, parents, Relationships, Stuff my parents used to say and do

Mom as a little girl with her mother

The oldest of six children, mom was born in Berlin, Germany the year WWII started.

Not an ideal childhood, but there were those special moments with her favourite grandparents, those rare moments where she could enjoy a piece of chocolate and the hospital stays that made her want to be a nurse.

And then the family years. Getting married. Having children of her own. Making a new and better life in Canada.

I have many memories growing up, like when Mom would tear around the house looking for her rat tail comb so she could finish setting her hair in rollers; all the while the comb was safely fixed in between the rows of curlers on her head.

Or how she’d barely be in the door after work and we’d all be like, “what’s for supper?” She’d sing to us, with us, read to us, take care of us when we were sick, threaten us with the wooden spoon to make us eat porridge, bake a cake every Sunday and feed it to us for breakfast with a vitamin.

And oh those cleaning days on Saturday, stripping, washing and waxing the floor, dragging the mattresses downstairs and beating them on the balcony, vacuuming, dusting, filling the sink with water to wash all the knick  knacks, washing the laundry in the wringer washing machine and hanging the laundry on the line – cleaning day was like boot camp!

Waiting up for me when I came home past curfew; lights flicking on blinding me, asking where I’ve been, why I was late, did I have any idea how worried she’d been? what was I thinking? Never mind, just get to bed! And by the way, you’re grounded for the summer – which never really panned out because grounding me meant I’d be around all the time and I was quite the pain in the ass!

Cooking our favourite meal, making our favourite cake on our birthdays, always motivated by wanting to be the kind of mother she had wanted to have as a child.

Wish I could cook for you today Mom. Wish I could bake your favourite cake. Wish we didn’t live so far apart.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Happy Birthday Mom. I know you don’t feel like celebrating and I understand. But you are worth celebrating. I am grateful for you and I hope you have some moments of joy today.

With love, Diana

Like The Time Dad Stole A Horse From The Russians

Tags

Berlin, community, courage, Diana Schwenk, family, growing up, Hump Day Chronicles, life, memories, parents, peace, war, world issues, WWII

My brother shared this video on Facebook the other day with the following preamble:

Wow, this was a real tough one for me to watch. I realise that Germany was the aggressor and I`m not trying to comment on the outcome. This is the first time I have seen the post war Berlin in moving picture. In 1945 my Mom and Dad were 7 and 11 respectively. They grew up in Berlin. I remember them telling me stories of rubble in the street and how people lived. The fact that they even survived, is a testament to their strength and resilience. My parents went on to make a new life here in Canada. May this never happen again. Please watch it, there are no winners in this type of conflict.

We’ve heard so many stories from Mom and Dad over the years…

like the time dad stole a horse from the Russians and it was butchered by his family and neighbours so they could eat.

how one night you’d have potato soup and the next night you’d have potato peel soup.

or the time when Mom accepted chocolate from a Russian soldier.

how you could buy cake crumbs for a few phennig just to have something in your belly.

or the time they were sitting around the table when the windows imploded because a bomb had been dropped nearby.

I cannot imagine the affect war had on my parents. And after viewing this video, I’m reminded how blessed I am to never have experienced war in my lifetime in my country.

As my brother Michael states: May this never happen again. There are no winners in this type of conflict.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

I many times thought Peace had come
When Peace was far away
As Wrecked Men—deem they sight the Land
At Centre of the Sea

And struggle slacker—but to prove
As hopelessly as I
How many the fictitious Shores
Before the Harbor be  

Emily Dickinson

Brotchen and Beer

Tags

Berlin, Cobblestone, Diana Schwenk, Diana's Enormous Book of Quotes, family, growing up, History, memories, Opa, Relationships, Remember

To live in the hearts of those we love is never to die ~ Thomas Campbell

I remember walking with you early one morning.

My hand in yours we chatted about nothing and everything on the cobblestone road.

Brotchen for breakfast and a beer in a paper bag

“Shh,” you told me, “…it’s our secret.” – I nodded my reply.

I remember sitting at your feet asking questions

listening to your stories, absorbing every word.

Hungry for the old stories about the war

About our family history.

I wished we didn’t live so far apart.

Yet my memories are so precious and held treasured in my heart

I remember your face, how small in stature, how thin you were

and how you amazed me that time you walked up the stairs on your hands.

The sound of your laugh and how your eyes twinkled.

I remember the last time I saw you

As our taxi pulled away

I turned and looked out the back window

You stood in the middle of the road

Crying as if you knew it was goodbye.

~ DIANA’S ENORMOUS BOOK OF QUOTES ~

That was so long ago but sometimes I still miss you Opa