Our memories contain where our strength was born

I was just seventeen years old when I boarded the plane in Chicago heading to Germany. I was traveling by myself and to somewhere I had only heard about in stories from my Grandparents and my Father. I would be staying with a relative I hadn't yet met in person and I would be there for 6 weeks. I was anxious for the adventure but I was also terrified.

A few months prior to that flight taking off I had a short stay in the hospital. Once again tests were ordered and doctors debated about whether or not they should yank out that ever growing spleen of mine. I was not going to cancel my trip and my surgeon knew that I was a stubborn patient. He granted me permission to go but only if I promised to follow some basic rules. I agreed but how closely I followed those rules was questionable.

The cousin I would be staying with was someone I had been a pen-pal to since I was 12 years old. Andrea is 5 years older than me but quickly we became friends in addition to being family. My trip to Germany was something we had discussed for years, there was nothing that would stop me from going.

I am so grateful I followed through on that adventure. It was the first time I tasted freedom. The first time I could be the person I was born to be - not the dutiful daughter, not the young patient, not the silent victim of child sexual assault...just me, I could be just me.

My time there was magical. I fell in love with the country, their landscape and the culture. One of my favorite things was visiting and touring the many castles open to the public. I can remember touching the walls as we walked through the halls, and feeling the history - the energy that was captured within. I believe that was the first time I realized how much each one of our stories matter - how eventually, all out stories come together to give the picture of humanity.

That is also when I first questioned what I wanted my story to be - would it be one of a sad lonely girl carrying secrets and pain or would I live out my dreams? Would my life have an impact or would I just be forgotten?

That trip helped to build a very insecure girl's confidence. While I may not have been ready to tell my secrets, I was ready to live and take in as much of our world as I could. That was highlighted after I met my Grandfather's sister, Barbara. She was my cousin's Grandmother. I called her Tante Barbara.

Andrea  made sure I made a visit to Tante Barbara's home that first week I was in Dortmund. I walked into her home and she ran up to me and grabbed my face, covering it with kisses. Tears ran down her face as she rambled on in German. She spoke so quickly I could only make out a few things. I was the connection to her dear older brother, August, whom she last saw in 1919, it was now 1985. He died some years before I made the trip. She still carried anger and regret that he never sent for her to come to America. She was feisty, opinionated and a strong personality - no doubt she was born a Woywod.

Her husband was a kind and low-key type of personality. Josef was his name. As we sat in their living room Tante Barbara kept talking, making sure I knew how much she wanted to live in America and how angry she was still at my Grandfather and their other brother, Ferdinand. Ferdinand.made the trek to Ellis Island years after my Grandfather did.

Onkel Josef sat there in the living room, in his chair, grinning from ear to ear, not saying a word. Tante Barbara was still expressing herself when he looked at me and winked as he pointed to the hearing aide in his ear. Andrea leaned over and whispered in my ear that he stays a happy man because he turns his hearing aide off while Barbara speaks. I'll never forget the look on the man's face as Andrea explained to me what was happening. All these years later I still chuckle when I think about it all but I also still feel an ache on behalf of Tante Barbara - I think had she had the opportunity, rather than a World War destroying her chances and family, she would have made all the trips and had all the adventures she wanted. There was no doubt that her spirit was crying out to explore life - find pleasure and excitement in new experiences rather than her soul aching because time slipped away after experiencing so much pain.

While in their later years she lived in Dortmund, Germany, her homeland - the place she grew up, was no longer her home, Rosengarth East Prussia.  Near the end of World War II and during the time when Stalin's troops marched through their land, Germans in that area had a decision to make - either stay and become a victim of the Red Army's rape and pillage or flee. To flee meant leaving with nothing marching that terrain in the dead of a brutal winter. Many left, and that is how my Grandfather's family ended up living in what would be known for some time as West Germany. Sadly for Grandmother, Bertha (Keuchel) Woywod, many of her family remained and faced crimes against humanity - vile stories and violent deaths.  The evil that existed during that entire time period, the years leading to WWII and some time after the war ended, is almost too much to comprehend. Hate and ignorance promoted by fear.

Meeting Tante Barbara and Onkel Josef is something I have always treasured. They represented so much to me. They were a connection to my grandparents who had passed on, and she was also that connection to their homeland where my story began, the day my grandparents met. That is when a domino fell leading to my existence as their granddaughter.

That first trip to Germany was special in so many ways. My Grandmother died when I was 16 years old. I had always promised her that I would visit Germany and know my family there. It was a promise she made me make, but I did so willingly. Looking back I can see that it was all the loss she had suffered through, all those emotions she kept to herself, motivating that promise. While I was unable to met the family she knew nor visit the little village she grew up together with Barbara - for Grandma that connection would serve the purpose of filling in the loss she felt.  I was tying up loose ends of the past while I was tasting a freedom of my own. That trip taught a young girl who had her own aches and secrets that the past does not have to weigh you down and letting go of something who made you the person you are today is not what gives you freedom, it is when you honor the steps that lead to your flight is when you can spread your wings and soar.

Both Tante Barbara and Grandma were strong women in their own rights. Both lived a life filled with loss, perhaps some regrets, but also love. One stayed strong leaving a family and traveling on her own to a new country and the other showed just as much strength remaining, raising a family of her own, while dreaming of better tomorrows and new lands. Different women - one a strong outward personality and the other a stronger introvert. In pieces of me, I see both.

All the time I hear the saying "let go of the past" and for the longest time I tried to, I tried to run from mine. There was a lot of loss, a lot of pain, and more tears than I can count and while I may have suffered the consequences of someone else's crime, child sexual assault, at the same time I also got to witness the grace of beauty and love through the eyes and stories of my Grandmother. Her story, too, was filled tragedy and trauma but she still carried the hope of love wherever she went...as did Tante Barbara. They found a balance in an out of control world. It taught me to appreciate all aspects of life and deepened my belief in that Everything Happens for a Reason. Those are lessons I want to cling to and pass on.............our memories contain where our strength was born, they are what keeps us resilient.