Umiko

I didn't write much about the transition from 2009 to 2010. Although we enjoyed the holidays and some extra time together as a family, it was not without sadness.

My last surviving grandparent, Oma Irma, passed away on an unknown day sometime between the 23rd and the 25th of December. She was found by the lady that did her shopping for her. My father has mentioned the gruesome scene that him and his wife encountered post body removal and I wish he wouldn't. Her ashes were spread in an anonymous urn field, a typical form of burial in Germany.

Over the years I have often felt guilty for not keeping in contact with my Oma more. Life being busy is an excuse that anyone can pull out of their pocket. The real reason we didn't speak much was mainly just the fact that I hardly knew her. When I did speak to her she was very hard to understand. She had a way of speaking... words, sentences, topics all blending together and before I knew it the telephone line would go dead before I had a chance to say goodbye.

I saw her growing up until the age of 5, then we moved to the States. After that I saw her twice when I was 13 - once because my Opa was dying (we were only 4 hours away when he passed), and another time that year for our scheduled vacation. During the 7 years that I lived in Germany I only saw her two more times that I can recall. Every time my Dad went to visit her I had to work or I was out of the country. It was a long haul to see her back then. We had to travel from Heidelberg to Bremen... Four times. That's it.

The last time I saw her was the only time we were able to have a fully understandable German conversation with each other. My Dad and I went together. I wanted to see Oma and the city that I grew up in once more before leaving Germany. For the first time I heard the stories of my Oma's hard life: the poverty, the war, the sicknesses. She gave me her family history in short, sometimes intelligible bouts of half-mumblings between puffs on her cigarette. It was also the time that she bestowed upon me her jewelry, special treasures and her wedding china. She must have known we wouldn't see each other again.

Oma suffered many years under one affliction after another. I should probably be happy that her suffering is over, but all I feel is an emptiness. Hollow. Like my heartbeat echos off the empty places that my loved ones left behind.

I am now orphaned of all grandparents.

This morning I discovered the first zinnia bloom as I was watering the plants outside. A solitary, beautiful little straggler.

After a visit to the local yarn shop I went to knitting group and crocheted the rest of the second sleeve on the second sweater I've made for my son. As I was sewing the pieces together and daydreaming about what my son is going to look like, my phone rang. "Mom" showed up on the display. Now, you know that any phone call that starts with the question, "Are you sitting down?" is usually not a good one. I guess I knew what she was going to say, but it didn't make it any easier.

Mourning is a funny thing. One moment everything is normal, it's an every-day kind of day and the next the heart of someone you love stops beating. And they're gone. A brief few seconds of shock, then realization and then the inevitable breaking of the dam. There were condolences and hugs, a few shared tears from understanding hearts. Then I walked away and composed myself. It never even crossed my mind to leave the knitting group and go home, because there was no one waiting for me at home. When I sat back down, red-eyed and sniffling, I picked up my needle and thread and continued to sew. At some point normal conversation resumed and as more ladies arrived with their fiber creations, the mood was lifted and I felt better among the welcome distraction of friends.

See, I believe in reunion after the celebration of a long life lived well. Death is a part of all this, it's as much a part of life as being born. As much as I feel the emptiness and the ache from my Grandma's loss, I also share in her joy of moving on and of eternity.

This isn't the end. This isn't goodbye.

See you soon, Grandma. I love you.