My Grandmother - Of Wisdom, Survival and Poetry

Raising children has to be one of the most difficult, challenging, rewarding, hair-greying, important jobs one can ever have.  My grandmother used to say "Small children, small problems - big children, big problems."  How wise she was, born in 1914, raising 4 children during and after the second world war.  When my husband and I had moved around the globe, first as a couple with cat, later as a young family with two sons, I would call my grandmother frequently, checking in on her and trying to explain where I lived, what it is like and how our boys are growing.  She was always amazed how we had relocated, packed up our belongings, calling a new house our home, making friends, all just to pack up again and bloom where we were to be planted.  My grandmother thought it was amazing, daring and difficult.  I reminded her that it was nothing compared to what she had to endure during the war, when my mother was a toddler, who grew up in bomb shelters, no nurturing place for a little girl and a young mother, whose husband worked in a field hospital at the front.  Surfacing from their underground safe haven after each attack, they had to accept over and over again, that they lost all belongings, fleeing to relatives in the countryside, away from the industrial targets attacked.  Being from that generation, my grandmother had never talked about these difficult times in much detail.  She much rather liked to remember funny anecdotes, that surprisingly did occur during those war times as well.  Packing up belongings during the war was not a difficult thing to do, it was not a choice required by our nomadic existence, but rather survival, something you had to do.  The war years went by, and my mother's family settled in East Germany, before the wall was built.  They truly bloomed during these years of peace, not due to wealth and possessions, but due to human relationships, family and friendships, that ran deeper than we can imagine.  Having nothing, starting all over again after the war, was the glue that held people together.  Making sure, there was always an extra, empty plate on the table for someone, a homeless soldier returning, a long lost relative, who might show up unexpectedly. Those years of deprivation turned into years of political suppression, which resulted in my family to flee to West Germany before the wall was built.  With only a few suitcases holding the most important, not precious, items and trust in God's will, my grandparents and their four children found themselves in a refugee camp in a country that shared their heritage and language, yet seemed so foreign.  There was no glue to connect them to others.  They were the "odd ones", having nothing, starting over again in a country that had already risen out of the ashes. Again, perseverance became the family theme.  Never did my grandparents talk about how difficult things were, how they struggled during and after the war.  It was never talked about, however shaped not just their generation, but also the generation of my parents.  The only anecdotes I remember, where how resourceful you had to be to stretch ingredients for another meal or how to sew new clothing out of a coat, how my grandfather was paid in goods, the mischief my uncle got himself into, and how my mother was interrogated weekly in school about my grandparents' decision against joining the party.  Wrapping my mind around all these challenging times throughout history, I can't help but smile about my grandmother's reaction to our nomadic lifestyle being courageous.  It does not compare to what she had to endure, as a human being, a wife, a mother.  But she bloomed and was graciously accepting fate.  She was a strong person, who was modest about everything she accomplished.  One of her best kept "secrets" was her talent for writing poetry.  She also taught me two important things:  first - never go to bed angry at your spouse and second - love your child for who he is.  I now know how right she was.