Four Generations of Women – The Post Series Post

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4 Generations of Women, children, daughters, Diana Schwenk, family, growing up, Hump Day Chronicles, life, memories, Mothers, Relationships

I had always thought, without really thinking at all, that four generations might take me back to at least the 1800s. But four generations isn’t really that long. The years between my Oma’s birth and my daughter’s birth only number 73. The number of years that all four of us were alive at the same time is only seven. When I look at it in these terms our lives really are just a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of time.

When I started on this series it was important for me to tell the stories without judgement. In writing the first one, judgement showed up almost immediately, so I scrapped it and started again. Judgement showed up again. It was then I decided to write this series in the third person, as if I was a journalist just interested in facts. And it worked! Writing in the third person allowed me to write from an emotionally detached place.

I don’t think we should live in the past, but we mustn’t pass up the opportunity to understand what made our ancestors the way they were. Often through understanding, comes forgiveness and forgiveness frees us to live with joy. Obviously, these posts are just snippets of stories and glimpses into moments of time. But there is enough there to see themes that have threaded their way through the generations, like: anger, strength, leaving home at a young age, with at least three of us, moving far enough away from home that we couldn’t just drop by for coffee!

As for missing details, not sharing everything was also an intentional decision. As I stated up front, I wanted to seek out permission before publishing each post. As you can imagine, perhaps even from your own family stories, there are things too painful to speak outside of one’s family, there are things that feel shameful to us, even if they wouldn’t be viewed as such and maybe in the long run it’s for the best. Maybe our lessons are best learned and understood through living them, rather than through the experiences of others. Whatever the case, we the three remaining, know those missing details and they help us to understand, forgive, grow and make us strong.

Future Generations of Women – a picture of 100 years from now

I am a dreamer with a vivid imagination, (I really can’t help it!) so I thought it might be fun to take a look ahead at one amazing woman who will be born in my family by exploring a moment in time on one single day in the future.

It is the year 2114. My 15-year-old, great, great, great, great-granddaughter, perhaps named after one of us, has just had a devastating experience. She’s not sure how to handle it, who she should tell, if she should tell anyone, or if anyone would even understand.

She remembers her mother’s trunk that holds the recorded history of the women in her family, a tradition that was continued by her great, great, great-grandmother, Michaela with stories contributed by her daughters and their daughters after them. She begins to read it starting with my posts, and at first she is disappointed because of the lack of details – she has so many questions!

As she continues to read the stories written by generations of her ancestors, she begins to see patterns. She sees where these women struggled, where they screwed up, where they picked up the pieces and created a better future. They are far from perfect, but they seem to possess incredible resilience and strength. They become so alive to her that she feels she can reach out and touch them.

She marvels at the lives of these women. Each generation seems to have discerned the things that are bad and the things that are good and have created a new reality – one that reflects their values and vision for them and their daughters. “I wonder if they knew they were doing that,”  she ponders.

Suddenly she knows that she too, will overcome. She opens her journal and writes… “Today, something horrible has happened to me but I will find help and will figure it out, I’m going to be OK…”

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

Related posts:

Our Families and Why We Are the Way We Are

Four Generations of Women – Part 1

Four Generations of Women – Part 2

Four Generations of Women – Part 3

Four Generations of Women – Part 4

Four Generations of Women – Part 4

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4 Generations of Women, children, daughters, Diana Schwenk, family, growing up, Hump Day Chronicles, life, memories, Mothers, Relationships

~ LISELOTTE RUTH MARGOT ~

18-year-old Ruth with Margot

Liselotte: Saint

Ruth: Derived from the Hebrew word רְעוּת (re’ut) meaning “friend”.

Margot: Child of light. Persian

Liselotte was born just a couple of years after the first World War on a summer day in August of 1920. Unfortunately, photographs and stories of Liselotte’s (Ruth’s)  childhood, if they ever existed, are lost. It is known however, that she was raised with two sisters.

Childhood couldn’t have been easy for Ruth who grew up during the Great Depression and came of age at the beginning of the second World War. It would follow that food and basic necessities were scarce. It is likely that Ruth may have also been abused as a child.

At age 17, Ruth married and one year later at 18, she gave birth to the first of six children. It was a hard life, six children and a husband five years her senior, away at war for most of the early years of their young family. At some point alcoholism became part of Ruth’s reality, perhaps as a way to cope with her difficult circumstances.

Ruth was physically strong for a woman – a trait that was passed down to the women of the next generations.

Ruth and her husband, Fritz spent a lot of time at the bar. Fritz had lost his leg to Gangrene after being injured in the war and had a wooden leg. One of his favourite pranks was to sit beside a stranger and hit the stranger’s leg as hard as he could. Predictably, the stranger would hit him back, not knowing that Fritz’s leg was made of wood. Now, not only did his leg hurt, but so did his hand – all to the great amusement of Fritz who was said to laugh loudly each time his scheme worked.

Once while Ruth was waiting for her husband on the ground floor of the building they lived in, she could hear her child screaming from their apartment a few floors up. She ran up the stairs, burst into the apartment, and screamed at her husband to stop whipping their daughter for taking a piece of bread.

Fritz died in his 50’s due to severe health issues with his leg complicated by his excessive drinking. Many years later Ruth told her then teenaged granddaughter that a couple of weeks before Fritz died, she woke up in the middle of the night. Paralyzed with fear, she watched as the angel of death looked at her and then pointed his finger at her husband. She knew then, he would die. Widowed in her 40’s, Ruth never remarried.

As the years went by many of Ruth’s children became bitter and estranged from each other and their mother. Except for Margot who escaped these family feuds by moving to Canada, and Frank the youngest of the six who had a close relationship with Ruth.

Ruth never revealed much about herself, even when asked by her granddaughter. Although she never really let her guard down or easily showed affection, there were hints and clues that made it obvious she cared.

Ruth drank most of her adult life and smoked filter-less cigarettes that came in a red pack, yet she remained remarkably strong and active for most of her life. In her 70’s she told her eldest, “I just want to make it to my 80th birthday and bring in the year 2000.”

Ruth, having lost most of her eyesight due to glaucoma, celebrated her 80th birthday surrounded by all her children in August 2000. She had achieved her wish. Sadly she passed away several months later in February, 2001.

Ruth was tall, loud and strong. Her granddaughter remembers her laugh and her vice-like grip on her arm. It would seem that Ruth’s anger was a shield of protection – an automatic defensive reaction to any threat that came against her.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

Related posts:

Our Families and Why We Are the Way We Are

Four Generations of Women – Part 1

Four Generations of Women – Part 2

Four Generations of Women – Part 3

Four Generations of Women – Part 3

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4 Generations of Women, children, daughters, Diana Schwenk, family, growing up, Hump Day Chronicles, life, memories, Mothers, Relationships

~ MARGOT LUZIE ~

Ruth and Margot

Margot: Child of light. Persian

Luzie:  Graceful Light. Italian

Margot was born in war-torn Berlin, Germany to alcoholic parents on a December day in 1938. The first of six children, Margot, perhaps, bore the brunt of having the most responsibility of all her siblings and enduring the most abuse.

Yet Margot would want you to understand that abuse was the norm back then and not unusual at all. Many families could tell you similar, or even worse, stories.

Margot and her siblings were always hungry. Food and money were scarce and the stories of people eating potatoes one day and the peels the next, were her reality.

One could buy cake crumbs for a few pfennig, if you could scrape together enough coin, and once her brother did just that and ate every last crumb without sharing. On another occasion, the children were warned not to touch the family’s loaf of bread while their parents went out. Margot was so hungry that the minute her parents left, she got out the knife for just a tiny bite. Unknown to her, Papa was watching and she paid dearly with a whipping.

Margot would wonder for years why her mother allowed her father to abuse her and her siblings.

When it came to baths, all six kids were bathed in the same water, starting with the youngest. When they outgrew their shoes, the tips were cut off to make sandal-like footwear. Margot’s siblings shared a room and most also shared their beds, sleeping head to feet. In Margot’s neighbourhood, children often went missing and Margot would walk with her sister for safety.

These were the days before penicillin was widely distributed, and little Margot lost a significant portion of her hearing due to an infection that destroyed much of her inner ear. This may have been a blessing in disguise as some of Margot’s happiest memories center on being hospitalized and receiving three meals per day.

Another bright light in her life were her grandparents. They had a special place in their hearts for Margot and she had a special place in hers for them.

At 20, Margot married and a year later she would immigrate to Canada with her new husband. Three years later she would give birth to the first of her two children. At that time Margot swore an oath to herself: 1. Her children would never know hunger, 2. They would never be abused, 3. They would each have their own bedroom.

As an infant, Diana’s crib was beside Margot’s bed. Because of Margot’s hearing disability, she would wake often during the night and place her hand on Diana’s chest to make sure she was still breathing.

Margot often sang, “You are my Sunshine,” after reading a story to her children at night. Diana thought her mother had the voice of an angel. “Long after me and your Dad are gone, you’ll still have each other – you’re all that you have; remember that,” Margot would tell her children.

Many years later, Margot would celebrate Ruth’s (her Mother) 80th Birthday with her in Berlin. Margot would be the reason that all her rivaling siblings would set aside their differences and come together in one place to honour their mother. At this event Margot fully came to a place of peace and forgiveness in her heart toward her mother.

Margot is playful at heart and lived out some of her childhood dreams by going to parks, riding bikes, going to zoos, gardens, amusement parks with her children and grandchildren. When Margot’s anger flares, it is usually because she is afraid for someone she cares about or feels helpless in a particular situation.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

Related posts:

Our Families and Why We Are the Way We Are

Four Generations of Women – Part 1

Four Generations of Women – Part 2

Four Generations of Women – Part 1

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4 Generations of Women, children, daughters, Diana Schwenk, family, growing up, Hump Day Chronicles, life, memories, Michaela, Mothers, Relationships

~ MICHAELA DESIREE ~

Diana with Michaela

Michaela: a feminine form of the Hebrew name Michael (מִיכָאֵל), which means “Who is like God?”

Desiree: It is an anglicization of the French name Désirée meaning desired.

Michaela was born at 5:55PM on a snowy winter’s day in November of 1993. Blue in the face, she was rushed to ICU and spent several hours there until her oxygen levels were normal. At the same time her mother was rushed to the OR. The placenta had torn and she was hemorrhaging.

The next morning, a nurse entered the mother’s room with the baby, when her mother spoke Michaela’s head turned in her direction. They say a developing baby hears its mother’s voice in the 5th month of pregnancy. Michaela knew her mama’s voice!

Michaela talked and walked at a very early age. Always asking questions: Why is the sky blue? Why do people do the things they do? Why? Why? Why? For this reason, her mother sent her to Kindergarten at age 4.

Michaela, from the beginning was sensitive, easily hurt by another’s opinion. Once she said through sobbing tears, “I wish I was as strong as you, I wish I didn’t care so much!” Her mother assured her of her strength and explained that the gift of her sensitivity would ensure that she would always treat others with kindness. For example, once when a girl at daycare was picking on a boy of mixed race, Michaela defended him with great courage and conviction.

Michaela was in grade 6, the first time she ran away from home. She filled her backpack with canned items like beans and other things she hated, took most of the loonies from her mother’s laundry money jar, and left before her mother got home from work. She walked and walked to ‘she hadn’t planned where’ and knocked on doors offering to work for pay.

Michaela longed for ‘normal family’ life. Due partly to circumstances in her mother’s life, her own life at school and with friends, and a deep longing to get to know her Dad, Michaela moved in with her Dad in the middle of grade 8.

For the most part, having pets, two adults in a home, siblings, friends, living in the country suited Michaela’s need to belong. Even here, however, there were struggles, hurt feelings, and disillusionments.

Over a period of two years, she would run away twice. Michaela became independent at a very young age, having learned to sooth herself and count on herself to do what is right for her. In spite of a turbulent couple of years in her teens that resulted in having to repeat the last year of high school to graduate, Michaela seems to have found her place in yet another town with a wonderful boyfriend. One day, she will be an amazing Mom.

Michaela holds her cards close to her chest. She rarely shares her troubles until they are long-lost in the past. Her anger, when it flares, is a manifestation of being hurt or sad. She treats others with kindness and perhaps gets a little too much into their business at times, maybe because she wants so desperately to spare others from pain.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

Related post: Our Families and Why We Are the Way We Are

The Snowman’s Hat

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200 words, caring, community, compassion, Diana Schwenk, Diana's Enormous Book of Quotes, doing the right thing, integrity, kids, learning, living in the moment, Mothers

Do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do, not because you want something in return. ~ unknown

He’s lost his head, but still has his hat!

One day, a young mother and her son built a snowman outside my window.

It was a cold night. Mother and son were dressed for the arctic, completely covered up except for their eyes peeking out from their scarves.

They rolled three huge snowballs and stacked them one on top of the other.

When the snowman had a face and branches for arms, they placed a hat on his head.

Since then we’ve had more snowfalls, more wind, some warmer days and flash freezes. The snowman has lost his hat many times.

Always, someone notices it gone, retrieves it and puts it back on his head. One woman at first just walked past, then returned, picked up the hat and put it back on his head – as if it was the right thing to do.

~ DIANA’S ENORMOUS BOOK OF QUOTES ~

It’s easy to put a hat on a snowman, but it isn’t as easy to do the right thing in real life…

…or is it?

I’m getting another tattoo

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Body art, children, daughters, Diana Schwenk, family, growing up, hand writing, joy, love, meaningful, memories, Mothers, Relationships, Tattoo

And now I’ll always have a piece of you ~ Michaela Schwenk

Another one? Seriously?

Yup.

Careful you don’t want to go overboard.

I mean, sure you like them now but…

what about when you’re older…

…when you’re older and you want to wear an elegant gown and all these tattoos are peeking out everywhere?

What then?

They’re addictive Mom! I love them!

Well, do they at least have meaning for you?

You don’t want this many, do you?

Are they significant in some way?

Yup.

And I’m thinking about getting my nose pierced too!

What?!

Yup.

Well maybe you should send me a picture of you so that I recognize you the next time I see you!

~

That was a month ago…

Friday night my BlackBerry pinged its alert for an incoming text

A photo actually

from my daughter

A photo of her latest tattoo

of words I’d written

and in my hand-writing.

Wow! (I text back)

I’m touched

It’s the most meaningful thing anyone’s ever given me!

Now I’ll always have a piece of you mom 🙂

but man it hurts!

Yeah, well, sometimes love hurts, I text back while wiping away a tear…