A Homecoming...of Sorts

A Homecoming …of Sorts

“Grief can’t be shared. Everyone carries it alone, his own burden, his own way.”

Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Oh, to be in Germany during the Christmas holidays. All those wonderful sights and smells. As I meandered around the Christmas market in the Marienplatz, in the heart of Munich, the aroma of roasting chestnuts, evergreens, beeswax candles, Gluhwein, and Lebkuchen filled the air. It was nice to be “home” I thought to myself.

However, my heart was heavy. I knew that this trip would be poignant and bittersweet because I had brought my mother’s ashes home to Germany, a country she had left as a young woman and always wanted to return to. I needed to do this. It was important to me. Maybe because I wanted to make it up to her for having left her alone in a strange place and taking off to Africa to begin my new adventure.

I attended mass on Christmas Eve in a church dating back to the early 1800’s in my cousin’s neighborhood. The building was large and drafty. Thousands of candles illuminated the interior and each person entering was given a candle, adding to the shimmering, gleaming light. Behind me the choir sang all the old traditional Christmas songs. I could hear my mother’s voice as she used to sing along with the German records on our stereo. The church filled up quickly with people from all walks of life. The priest was young and black. In the pew, to my left, a young Asian couple, and on my right, an elderly woman wearing a “Bayern Hut”! The service was beautiful and ended with the singing of Silent Night outside in the courtyard. It was a clear night and the stars twinkled in the cold night sky. I thought about my childhood Christmas’ and how my mother loved this season.

Two days later, I was on my way to the island of Rugen, located in the northeastern part of Germany, in what used to be the DDR. Geography was important for my mom’s homecoming. I chose the island for a reason. My mother loved the ocean and we grew up on stories of summers she spent on the Baltic Sea. Rugen was as close as I could get to my mother’s homeland of Konigsberg, East Prussia.

I spent two days wandering along the seashore being alone with my grief. It was just as she always described it---acres of pine trees and white sand dunes and ships on the horizon. On the third day, I got up early and made my way to the sea. As the sun rose over the pine trees, I faced east in the direction of Konigsberg, said a prayer, and sent her ashes into the sea.

God Bless you Mutti. I will miss you and love you forever. Rest in peace and welcome home.