How Lucky I am.
My mother was an immigrant. She came to the United States in the early 50’s. She was from one of the Baltic countries, which were invaded by the Soviet Union in the 40’s. She was not even one. Her parents and her managed to escape the invasion, and ended up in Germany in a work camp. They were saved from imprisonment, but were placed in a interment camp. There they did work, and lived in poverty with little to eat, and meager clothing. I remember she hated sirens, or fireworks, as they reminded her of her earliest memories of the bombings, and the stray aircraft bullets that would hit the camps during the fall of Germany, the area she was in being one of the hardest bombed. She would tell us of being pulled out of bed in the middle of the night, being put on the floor with the other children, mattresses being piled on top of them, and then the adults lying on top so that if a bullet hit the building they wouldn’t be hit.
She was lucky that after the fall of Germany that she ended up being part of the US zone. She was in a Dislocated Persons camp called Camp Bayreuth. While they were fed and clothed much better, they were without a home. But she was lucky in that her parents and she were one of the few in her family to escape both Latvia, and Germany alive.
In 1952 she came here, not speaking the language, broke, and began a new life. Her family was reunited with one surviving cousin and her grandmother, whom she was close to until her death. She learned to love her new country for the freedom and opportunity it provided her.
She spent a few years studying in Paris, and returned in 1967, and met my father. They married in 1968, and had my sister and me. Then in 1977, she began a mysterious illness, that in 1982 they determined was MS. She slowly deteriorated, and in 1989 had a massive stroke which destroyed her ability to move and speak. She passed away in her sleep in August 1993, one day after her 25th wedding anniversary.
Why does that make me lucky? Because I never forget what her hardships were. How painful her life was, and the lasting scars it left on her. Because I have a great appreciation for my freedom, and can appreciate how important family is. Because no matter how much I worry about money, or work, or even the little things, I can reflect on how much harder it was on her.
Her past made me a better person. She made me a better person. So my post today is reminder to myself of that, and how she impacted my life.
M?te es p?rskat?ties j?s!
~Another Day




