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.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Fighting the blahs & blues
I really do enjoy the Christmas holiday season. For me, it starts a few days after Thanksgiving, depending on how the weekend falls. I am all pumped up. I get my house tip top. I throw a couple of dinner parties so I can bring out my not-so-fine holiday china and try out some new recipes. I get invites to a couple of social events elsewhere, maybe do a holiday home tour, attend a Christmas concert, or go caroling, and shop, shop, shop.
Then it hits me. All that stuff cluttering my house. Just stuff. And then I bring more clutter down from the attic (wrapping paper, assorted boxes, bows). I barely have a walkway at the top of the stairs to my room. And what does it all mean. Nobody I know really needs anything I get them, although I do believe that some of the recipients are pleased with their gift from me. We trade pretty boxes or bags, smile for the camera, and say "thank-you", or "you shouldn't have", or...........you get the drift.
I tell myself often how I should contribute more to our society at large. There are many people who do not have the basics, much less an Ipod. On yes, I give to many charities and causes, but money only. In the past 10 years, I have personally gave of my time only three times. And when I did, it was a great experience and I truely felt I brighten someone's life just a wee bit that day. So why don't I do this more often? Besides being a lazy soul, I don't know why I don't act on more of what I think about. So, instead of admonishing myself for not achieving anything useful in my life, I need to take action. Perhaps then, I will really feel the Christmas spirit and it will be fun again to gather around the tree with loads of presents stacked around it.
Then it hits me. All that stuff cluttering my house. Just stuff. And then I bring more clutter down from the attic (wrapping paper, assorted boxes, bows). I barely have a walkway at the top of the stairs to my room. And what does it all mean. Nobody I know really needs anything I get them, although I do believe that some of the recipients are pleased with their gift from me. We trade pretty boxes or bags, smile for the camera, and say "thank-you", or "you shouldn't have", or...........you get the drift.
I tell myself often how I should contribute more to our society at large. There are many people who do not have the basics, much less an Ipod. On yes, I give to many charities and causes, but money only. In the past 10 years, I have personally gave of my time only three times. And when I did, it was a great experience and I truely felt I brighten someone's life just a wee bit that day. So why don't I do this more often? Besides being a lazy soul, I don't know why I don't act on more of what I think about. So, instead of admonishing myself for not achieving anything useful in my life, I need to take action. Perhaps then, I will really feel the Christmas spirit and it will be fun again to gather around the tree with loads of presents stacked around it.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Not being in control of our lives
This has been a very bleak day. And my sadness can't even meet the level that my niece must be feeling right now. I can't comprehend what she may be thinking, but my heart is breaking for her and my tears won't stop. Today, my niece found out that her baby has spinabifida. More tests next week. The happiest period in her life has darkened. She is fortunate to have a loving, strong husband by her side. All four of the parents are in her corner. Her faith in God is strong, but it is still hard to hear that my dear girl is having to face this challenge. Her life will change forever in ways she may not have ever really considered.
There is nothing I can do for her but love her and Everett O'Neil with all my heart, and to be there for them if they ever need me to be. I can never give them enough hugs. I love you Mandy.
There is nothing I can do for her but love her and Everett O'Neil with all my heart, and to be there for them if they ever need me to be. I can never give them enough hugs. I love you Mandy.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Living life without parents
I am 52 years old, and both of my parents are still on this earth. I know several people a decade younger than me who have lost at least one parent already.
Last week, one of my friends endured the loss of her mother. She is 62, her mother was 95. Her mother was a widow for over 30 years. Up until a couple of months ago, my friend's mother still lived on her owned. During the past year, she needed more assistance with chores and errands, but she still maintain much of her independence. The down turn was sudden and severe. A blood infection which essentially went un-diagnosed for a few weeks. Her mother went into the hospital, rehab and back to the hospital over the course of 3 or 4 weeks. She never got to go back home.
A couple of weeks ago, one of my cousins had to get rushed to the hospital. She is 86. She and my Dad grew up together and have been friends their entire lives. She has lived in the same community her whole life. Like my friend's Mom who I mentioned earlier, my elder cousin has been a widow for about three decades also. She was diagnosed with a blood clot and urinary track infection (both of which went too long before she was admitted to the hospital). She is now in rehab. Her daughter, my cousin who is four years older than me, says her Mom doesn't want to come back home. Her attitude is one that has given up.
Both my friend and my younger cousin have had their mothers in their lives for a long time. They have been without their fathers much of their adult lives. They both saw a lot of their mothers. Visited often, called often, were their companion on many occasions.
I bring this up because of the stark difference in the relationship I have with my mother. Sadly, my Mom and I have never been very close. I might talk with her a couple times a week, I may visit every couple of weeks. We never have more than five minutes of conversation at any one time. Since my Dad is still alive also, she is never alone, so the need to attach herself to me or my sister has not existed. I find myself contemplating the aloneness I will feel when she and my Dad have left this earth. Both are in their 80's. That day is getting closer and closer. How can I live with myself for not being a good daughter?
Last week, one of my friends endured the loss of her mother. She is 62, her mother was 95. Her mother was a widow for over 30 years. Up until a couple of months ago, my friend's mother still lived on her owned. During the past year, she needed more assistance with chores and errands, but she still maintain much of her independence. The down turn was sudden and severe. A blood infection which essentially went un-diagnosed for a few weeks. Her mother went into the hospital, rehab and back to the hospital over the course of 3 or 4 weeks. She never got to go back home.
A couple of weeks ago, one of my cousins had to get rushed to the hospital. She is 86. She and my Dad grew up together and have been friends their entire lives. She has lived in the same community her whole life. Like my friend's Mom who I mentioned earlier, my elder cousin has been a widow for about three decades also. She was diagnosed with a blood clot and urinary track infection (both of which went too long before she was admitted to the hospital). She is now in rehab. Her daughter, my cousin who is four years older than me, says her Mom doesn't want to come back home. Her attitude is one that has given up.
Both my friend and my younger cousin have had their mothers in their lives for a long time. They have been without their fathers much of their adult lives. They both saw a lot of their mothers. Visited often, called often, were their companion on many occasions.
I bring this up because of the stark difference in the relationship I have with my mother. Sadly, my Mom and I have never been very close. I might talk with her a couple times a week, I may visit every couple of weeks. We never have more than five minutes of conversation at any one time. Since my Dad is still alive also, she is never alone, so the need to attach herself to me or my sister has not existed. I find myself contemplating the aloneness I will feel when she and my Dad have left this earth. Both are in their 80's. That day is getting closer and closer. How can I live with myself for not being a good daughter?
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thinking about my future
At the moment, my future consists of the next two days. The weekend. My days off from my place of employment. But not as disconnected as I would like to be. The phone will be with me at all times. I have an appointment tomorrow at the beauty salon. It is an early appointment, and I am not much of a conversationalist in the morning. Which is too bad, since my stylist would be more than willing to listen to all my whinning, all my gripes. I spare her though. I usually inquire about her life since I last saw her five weeks ago. She has children and there always an amusing story to tell. She likes gardening as I do and we talk about that. Of course, now, we will discuss the pending chores of raking leaves. I don't have much of that to do anymore since the big tulip popular tree was cut down. If I really felt the need to commune with nature, I can visit my parents in Lincoln and help rake their yard. There is plenty of yard and trees where they live. But I always conveniently talk myself out of such work. I rationalize that by saying that as long as they are able to do it at all, some physical activity is good for them. And it is, but still..................I need to offer a helping hand. And it is that future, the one several years hence, I should be more thoughtful of.
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