Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Stories, stories, stories

I yearn for stories, the thirst to know to people to understand what motivates them, how they lived their lives, what they felt their purpose here was. Mostly, I want to know my family members, my grandparents, yet they are all dead, they mostly live on only in pictures and brief snippets revealed from older relatives. To have known them as a child with memories already quickly faded, leaves aching holes of sadness and regret. If only I had understood then what I know now, we all die, the legacies we leave behind are for those who love us and those we love. I look forward to being reunited in heaven, but for now, I seek stories.

I have been reading two books about WWII, in a bid to feel closer to my paternal grandparents who both immigrated to America from Germany. They were brave, moving to a country where they did not know the language, coming here with brother and sisters instead of parents who choose not to leave the old country. My dream is to someday travel to Germany and see the places they once called home. I often wonder if my ancestors are proud of me, if this seemingly easy life in comparison to the world they grew up in. Whole countries do not thirst to exterminate me because of my religion, I know no other language then my mother tongue, and have food and shelter without hardship. My parents have not been carted to the death camps for slaughter. And yet, that which they sacrificed so much for, their religion, I do not practice with fervor. For the most part, I am assimilated, my Judaism is my heritage, more culturally a part of me then a daily devotional religious practice.

My maternal lineage is all but a mystery to me. I know that my Nana and Papa's parents came from the Ukraine, but little more then that. It should be enough to know that they were good people, hard working ambitious and generous. My Papa was a tall man with a booming voice who called me "Missy" and held me on his shoulders high in the air. Nana would paint my nails and tell me that my hands looked like hers, a fact I hold close to my heart. Memories of them are growing ephemeral, every year a little more misty and obscure. I miss them all, and feel adrift in the large world without concrete stories of them to keep on paper, to know they won't fail when my own ability to remember has already begun to fade.

3 comments:

Blasphemous Homemaker said...

We have something in common. My grandmother came from the Ukraine. Her family lived there for 200 years. Before then , they were in Poland. I haven't traced the Polish part of the journey yet.

Her father was escaping the military and moved to Canada. She insisted that we were British. It wasn't until much later that we traced her family and found out the true story.

PS - It's good to see you blogging again.

Jedi said...

You should write more about your Grandparents. The best way to keep memories alive is to write about them. I know there is much more to be told, even if they are only foggy memories. I think that writing about them will make the fog lift a little.
It makes me so thankful that I have my Mother's parents still. I want to call my Papa now and sit on his knee while he tells me stories about the war and the Great Depression. He worked for the same company (Crusty Pies which eventually became Michelle's) for 55 years after the war.... who does that anymore?? My Nana worked for Sears for 35 years. Stories, stories, stories.... they are full of them. I wish I was able to appreciate the magnitude of their tales when I was young and had all the time in the world to listen to them... but Fraggle Rock was always coming on!
Alisa is right... it's good to see you blogging again.

Anonymous said...

I so miss Papa's strong voice calling all of us by their pool when we would have a barbecue. I also long for the times you would visit and we would help Nana polish her silver bracelets and other items. I can smell the lilacs that we would prune and the nail polish we would use. Looking at my hands now they are looking more and more like Nana's as I get older. There are days when I am so sad that my boys never had a chance to meet them.

Off to get a tissue.

Love ya cuz :)