Outskirts Press, INC.

Heart's unique voice is heard - just listen

This story is based on factual events and is the piece of the author's memoir that captures the preponderance of her life's journey. The events impacted by her aging parents' challenges prompted reviewing her memories of the family's epic history, including their immigration to the United States. In the process, she dared the truth by looking at what really was in "her heart". The story weaves in and out of more recent, heartrending events such as the loss of her beloved father and her mother's progressive dementia, as they elicit memories about World War II events, the family's refugee experience, and "coming to America". Sprinkled throughout the story, she describes the personal pain of a failed marriage, the loss of a son, and a failed career. Outweighing life's painful moments, the delights of her rich and joyful family life are her fortress. The self-discovery of the kind of soul-searching it takes in order to move on in life resonates unmistakably.

The train ride in January 1945 was slow, halting along the way when bombing attacks forced everyone to get off the train, often standing in knee-high snow. As we approached the West getting closer to our destiny in Bavaria, the tracks ahead were bombed and most everyone from the train spent that night in a barn on a nearby small farm. The animals in the barn and the crowd’s body heat kept our group from freezing. The next morning rationed portions of milk were distributed for babies. Mom had purposely left my bottle behind, figuring it would be more sanitary for me to drink from a cup, since she had trained me to do so. Because she could not produce a baby bottle, she received no milk. Mom had told me how she cried inside as I wailed, watching other babies with their bottles. Instead she gave me and my sister a piece of dry military-issued, very coarse bread to chew on. My sister needed a cup of milk as much as I did. The group then trekked across fields of snow to another train track that was still intact. Once a train finally appeared, we were eventually taken to our final destination. Dirty, hungry and weary, all of us as newly arrived refugees were taken in by locals with big hearts. A family who owned a tavern, their “Gaststaette” restaurant with single rooms for overnight stays that was being used by American officers as their club, offered our family of four a small room. This second story of the club with a row of small bedrooms provided a haven for several other new arrivals from the East, mostly mothers with children. Dad was deployed to Russia within short order. Mom was alone again and the war raged on. Air attacks and the endless sounds of sirens frazzled everyone’s nerves. Mom worked for the inn keeper, often running errands in town for supplies. Another air attack and the accompanying earsplitting siren sounds paralyzed Mom’s whole being as she was crossing a street during one of those errand trips. As everyone scrambled for cover, Mom told us later that something had happened to her that made her just “give up”.