Dear Diary,
That is how I used to start off in the books I used to write in when I was a teenager. Actually, I kept a diary until I got married. I really don't know why I stopped. Perhaps I felt like I lost my individuality. I no longer have most of those diaries and my marriage failed. There are of course many reasons for that, and I will be the first to admit that at some point, I simply did not care anymore to fix it. But, after all of these years, there is a piece of me that regrets not having that man by my side. We are still friends. We still write occasionally, we are facebook friends. When he got on FB, I was one of the first people he looked up. Truth be known, I checked FB on a regular basis to see if he was on there.
So why, do I still think about him? Is there something wrong with me? It's not like I think there would ever again be anything between us, but what?...........it is just silly.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
When you not who you thought you were
On Wednesday, January 10, 2010, my family tree changed. Again. It happened once before 28 years ago. I am not referring to the birth of baby on these particular points in time, but the birth of babies in the distant past. One was a baby unknown to me until I was 25 years old. The other, a baby who I knew as a family member, but not as the relative he actually was.
In 1982, my Dad told me and my sister about another sister who was born in 1948. Dad married Andrea's mother, but she did not want to be married to Dad and divorced shortly after Andrea was born. Andrea's mother ask Dad not to be a part of their lives, and he agreed to the terms. But Andrea wanted to know who her Dad was, so when she was financially able to hire a private investigator, she located him. A secret for 34 years had been revealed. I keep in casual contact with her, but the relationship is sometimes very strained. We are very different people, and since we did not grow up together, or even know each other as children, the family connection is not enough to close the divide between us.
Fast forward to day before yesterday. Stefan Werz. My mother's much younger brother. He was born about a year or so after my maternal Grandfather got release from a Russian war prison - Jan 1950. Someone I have always know as Uncle Stefan. He lives in Germany and I have seldom seen him. But, he is not my uncle. He is not my mother's brother. He is my brother. My brother!!!!!! My Mom had a child out of wedlock. The father was an American soldier, who, at that time in Germany after WWII, were not allowed to marry Germans. Don't have any idea if he would have if he could, but I guess that really doesn't matter. I am in no way passing judgment on my Mom. Life happens. The young women in Germany at that time were desperate. Most of the men their age had been killed in the war. Most people in Germany had little money. The American soldier had money and could take the girls out to dance, to eat, to the movies. My Mom spent her teenage years in the middle of a horrific war. Her father had been in prison for most of it. Her mother did whatever she could to protect and provide for her two children. I just can't imagine where my mind would be if my life had been like that.
My Mom simple could not afford to raise a baby on her own. She was still living at home, but it was difficult. Her father was so angry with her. Her parents offered to raise her boy and adopted him, but my Mom had to leave the house. I don't know how much time Mom spent with her son. By the time she moved to the US with me, Stefan was 7 years old. My mother did not talk about Stefan much, but I had always assumed it was because there was such a big age difference and because she had left Germany so long ago. Her and her brother Walter are only 4 years apart and told stories of him often. And that might still be part of it, but I think she has spent her life feeling guilty and living in shame. Part of the mindset of strict upbringing in a Catholic environment.
I find myself being very upset with my Mom over this. My Dad's situation did not bother me as much. What is really unsettling is that my Mom deliberately chose not to tell me or my sister that we had a brother. It seems that this situation was not a secret with the immediate family in Germany at the time it happen. My Dad has always known that Stefan was Mom's son. For whatever reason, Mom just could not face me and my sister with that knowledge. I find myself thinking that I might have made more effort to stay in touch with Stefan if I had known he was my brother. I have always kept in contact with my Uncle Walter, but for some reason, there was more distance between me and Stefan. I am wondering how he has felt all these years knowing that our Mom did not want me to know who he really was. His youngest son, Sebastian, who I have recently "friended" on Facebook has given Stefan's email to me. I guess I will write him a letter. Or maybe I won't. I do not believe Mom will tell him herself that the secret has been unlocked. And that is sad. Over the years, she has offered to pay my way to Germany for another visit. She has never wanted to go back after she buried her Mom in 1979. Maybe she was hoping that someone over there would tell me who I really was.
In 1982, my Dad told me and my sister about another sister who was born in 1948. Dad married Andrea's mother, but she did not want to be married to Dad and divorced shortly after Andrea was born. Andrea's mother ask Dad not to be a part of their lives, and he agreed to the terms. But Andrea wanted to know who her Dad was, so when she was financially able to hire a private investigator, she located him. A secret for 34 years had been revealed. I keep in casual contact with her, but the relationship is sometimes very strained. We are very different people, and since we did not grow up together, or even know each other as children, the family connection is not enough to close the divide between us.
Fast forward to day before yesterday. Stefan Werz. My mother's much younger brother. He was born about a year or so after my maternal Grandfather got release from a Russian war prison - Jan 1950. Someone I have always know as Uncle Stefan. He lives in Germany and I have seldom seen him. But, he is not my uncle. He is not my mother's brother. He is my brother. My brother!!!!!! My Mom had a child out of wedlock. The father was an American soldier, who, at that time in Germany after WWII, were not allowed to marry Germans. Don't have any idea if he would have if he could, but I guess that really doesn't matter. I am in no way passing judgment on my Mom. Life happens. The young women in Germany at that time were desperate. Most of the men their age had been killed in the war. Most people in Germany had little money. The American soldier had money and could take the girls out to dance, to eat, to the movies. My Mom spent her teenage years in the middle of a horrific war. Her father had been in prison for most of it. Her mother did whatever she could to protect and provide for her two children. I just can't imagine where my mind would be if my life had been like that.
My Mom simple could not afford to raise a baby on her own. She was still living at home, but it was difficult. Her father was so angry with her. Her parents offered to raise her boy and adopted him, but my Mom had to leave the house. I don't know how much time Mom spent with her son. By the time she moved to the US with me, Stefan was 7 years old. My mother did not talk about Stefan much, but I had always assumed it was because there was such a big age difference and because she had left Germany so long ago. Her and her brother Walter are only 4 years apart and told stories of him often. And that might still be part of it, but I think she has spent her life feeling guilty and living in shame. Part of the mindset of strict upbringing in a Catholic environment.
I find myself being very upset with my Mom over this. My Dad's situation did not bother me as much. What is really unsettling is that my Mom deliberately chose not to tell me or my sister that we had a brother. It seems that this situation was not a secret with the immediate family in Germany at the time it happen. My Dad has always known that Stefan was Mom's son. For whatever reason, Mom just could not face me and my sister with that knowledge. I find myself thinking that I might have made more effort to stay in touch with Stefan if I had known he was my brother. I have always kept in contact with my Uncle Walter, but for some reason, there was more distance between me and Stefan. I am wondering how he has felt all these years knowing that our Mom did not want me to know who he really was. His youngest son, Sebastian, who I have recently "friended" on Facebook has given Stefan's email to me. I guess I will write him a letter. Or maybe I won't. I do not believe Mom will tell him herself that the secret has been unlocked. And that is sad. Over the years, she has offered to pay my way to Germany for another visit. She has never wanted to go back after she buried her Mom in 1979. Maybe she was hoping that someone over there would tell me who I really was.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Nature's descruction
A response to an email from a friend last week, who was sending me some information about local efforts for fundraising in Huntsville.
I try not to be overwhelmed by the newscasts of natural disaster events in our world, but the coverage I have seen is heart wrenching. It's scary. I offer my contribution and hope that it is being handled honestly to provide the most that my few dollars can.
I pray for the safety and health of those individuals in the world who choose to leave their families, comfortable homes and clean environments to face the obstacles of, what seems to be me, an unimaginable hardship.
It is during times like this that you realize (although that fades as the headlines do) your life is day to day, and that you should never take for granted the life you do have.
I try not to be overwhelmed by the newscasts of natural disaster events in our world, but the coverage I have seen is heart wrenching. It's scary. I offer my contribution and hope that it is being handled honestly to provide the most that my few dollars can.
I pray for the safety and health of those individuals in the world who choose to leave their families, comfortable homes and clean environments to face the obstacles of, what seems to be me, an unimaginable hardship.
It is during times like this that you realize (although that fades as the headlines do) your life is day to day, and that you should never take for granted the life you do have.
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