Something to remember her by
You know, when you lose someone you love, all you have are memories. And these memories become treasures. Allow me to open my treasure chest and share some of mine with you.
September 19, seven years ago, my sweet Oma died. And like a total heel and copycat I am only now remembering because I saw the posts on my aunt's blog and my sister's blog. But I'm not posting to inform you of her death, rather, to celebrate her life. She had one amazing life. My only regret is that I never recorded her stories. I have them in my head, though, so I'm doing my best to remember them and write them down for my children so they will have something to remember her by, even if they never fully knew her the way I did.
She was born in Holland, ate boiled tulip bulbs to survive during WWII, emmigrated to America by boat with her husband and 3 (or 4?) small children, learned English by listening to and memorizing songs on the radio and by helping my dad with his spelling lists. She loved sparkelies (Jewelry. Sheesh! Are we related or what?) and she collected dolls (when I was a child it seemed she had a ton of both). She loved to dance and sing and taught us how to laugh at other people. Well, not at other people. With other people.
She was the kind of Grandma who always gave us cookies and popsicles and bread with butter and chocolate sprinkles on top. Even when Mom and Dad said, "Emily, you didn't eat your cooked spinach so you don't get any cookies", she would sneak me some anyway. And on the rare occasion when I did eat my cooked spinach I was rewarded with a trip to Oma's house. Except for that one time Mom and Dad promised we could go if I ate it all up, and I gagged it down (literally) and ran upstairs to tell them I had done it! I had eaten up all that yucky green slimy crud and I would be waiting for the family in the car and they said, "Oh, honey. We didn't mean tonight. We meant we would go on Sunday. Now be a good girl and do the dishes before stoking the fire and sweeping the floor. We need some clean dessert plates."
Of all the things I have in my cedar chest, this one is among the most special. It's the only tangible item I have to remember her by.
A handkerchief. She always had one with her. And after she died, when my mom and aunt were sorting through her clothes, they found a hankie in almost every pocket they picked. There were enough hankies to give to each one of Oma's granddaughters. And she a has a lot of us.
I lifted these photos of my Oma from my aunt's blog. Thanks Aunt Terrie! But that's not the reason I want you to look at them. Not because they are stolen artifacts, but because, look at the resemblance between my Oma and my Roo. 
Look at those beauties! So, I suppose I was wrong. I have two material possessions to remind me of Oma. I don't think Corrine will like being kept inside my cedar chest, though.
September 19, seven years ago, my sweet Oma died. And like a total heel and copycat I am only now remembering because I saw the posts on my aunt's blog and my sister's blog. But I'm not posting to inform you of her death, rather, to celebrate her life. She had one amazing life. My only regret is that I never recorded her stories. I have them in my head, though, so I'm doing my best to remember them and write them down for my children so they will have something to remember her by, even if they never fully knew her the way I did.
She was born in Holland, ate boiled tulip bulbs to survive during WWII, emmigrated to America by boat with her husband and 3 (or 4?) small children, learned English by listening to and memorizing songs on the radio and by helping my dad with his spelling lists. She loved sparkelies (Jewelry. Sheesh! Are we related or what?) and she collected dolls (when I was a child it seemed she had a ton of both). She loved to dance and sing and taught us how to laugh at other people. Well, not at other people. With other people.
She was the kind of Grandma who always gave us cookies and popsicles and bread with butter and chocolate sprinkles on top. Even when Mom and Dad said, "Emily, you didn't eat your cooked spinach so you don't get any cookies", she would sneak me some anyway. And on the rare occasion when I did eat my cooked spinach I was rewarded with a trip to Oma's house. Except for that one time Mom and Dad promised we could go if I ate it all up, and I gagged it down (literally) and ran upstairs to tell them I had done it! I had eaten up all that yucky green slimy crud and I would be waiting for the family in the car and they said, "Oh, honey. We didn't mean tonight. We meant we would go on Sunday. Now be a good girl and do the dishes before stoking the fire and sweeping the floor. We need some clean dessert plates."
Of all the things I have in my cedar chest, this one is among the most special. It's the only tangible item I have to remember her by.
A handkerchief. She always had one with her. And after she died, when my mom and aunt were sorting through her clothes, they found a hankie in almost every pocket they picked. There were enough hankies to give to each one of Oma's granddaughters. And she a has a lot of us. 
I lifted these photos of my Oma from my aunt's blog. Thanks Aunt Terrie! But that's not the reason I want you to look at them. Not because they are stolen artifacts, but because, look at the resemblance between my Oma and my Roo. 
Look at those beauties! So, I suppose I was wrong. I have two material possessions to remind me of Oma. I don't think Corrine will like being kept inside my cedar chest, though.
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