|My Oma and her Urinkel, Simon.|
What can I write about such a woman with whom I spent so much time growing up? There's no shortage of stories I can relate as our summer vacations usually revolved around going up to see her and Opa. I feel that any retelling of those stories would not even begin to scratch the surface of just how much she meant to me and my family. Even now, I struggle with what to write. I'm grateful that I was not asked or coerced into giving a eulogy at her funeral (my father did a wonderful job of that). I think I would have been standing up there with a blank expression on my faith, struggling and grasping at anything that would have sounded appropriate. Fortunately, everyone managed to avoid that.
With two weeks having gone by, the visitation and the funeral now done, I think I'm finally in a place to say a few words about what Oma's death means to me. I admit that I'm being selfish, but what grandson isn't selfish of his Oma? So here's what I've come up with. The death of my Oma was the final chapter in the book of my childhood. Maybe it's odd to speak of one's childhood ending at 37, but I can't see it any other way. I had spent so many summers with my Oma and Opa as a kid. I can't remember a summer when I didn't see them. That doesn't count of course the many times they came to visit me. Over the years, my chances to visit with them were fewer and fewer. The last time I saw my Oma was nearly a year ago for a family reunion. Before then, I believe I saw her in the summer of 2009 after I was in the area after visiting my monastery. But, nothing since.
I was saddened, but understood that my Oma could not come to my wedding and as she was in Ohio, it was a long way to go. Then, new wife, new job, new kid; everything piled up. I'm happy beyond belief I was able to see her a year ago so she could meet her great-grandson (her urinkel) for the first (and only) time. I am certain that she thoroughly enjoyed his visit.
I don't recall ever being very good to my Oma. I have always been pretty bad about remembering to send cards and/or presents for friends' and family's birthdays. I think my giving her an urinkel was probably the nicest thing I did for her. It's unfortunate that it took me 36 years for me to do that. At last week's visitation, my son and his second cousin, Chrisitan (who is 2 years older than Simon) were playing together. As I saw them playing and laughing, I knew my Oma would have loved every second of that.
That's the kind of woman my Oma was. She was totally invested in her kids, her grandkids and, if she had more of an opportunity, her greatgrandkids. She was selfless. I remember that whenever Oma visited us, I knew I would never have to make a bed or clean up; she always did that for us. She would cook, she would do laundry, she would do everything as if that house were her very own. Such selflessness and love one seldom sees and I believe that only with her passing do I see that very clearly for the first time, thus finally ending my childhood.
She will be a hard woman to emulate. I suppose the best way for me to honor her is to love my wife and my son as she loved her family, to be selfless and humble and always giving. It's time for me to do some growing up.
I love you, Oma. Memory eternal!