Oma

OMA December 10, 2021 Today was Rich’s grandmother’s birthday. She was born in 1910 and I remember her with love. Everyone called her Oma, which is the German word for grandmother. It was tragic that I met her on the day Rich’s mother was killed in a car accident. I took her hand in mind and stupidly said, “It’s nice to meet you.” I was horrified at myself and apologized. She gently assured me that it was all right; she understood. She reminded me of my own Grandma in her manner and kindness toward everyone. She made me feel welcome and a part of the family right from the start. Rich and I visited often because she’d need help with yardwork, usually. Rich’s grandfather, Opa, was very disabled. His ankles and feet look like they’d collapsed and he hobbled instead of walked. He had to use a cane. While Rich was pruning the hedges, cleaning the gutters or busy with some other chore, Oma and I would spend time together talking. She didn’t have an easy life but didn’t complain. She just kept moving on. She and her brothers were born on Long Island. She was the eldest of the three and Great Uncle Walter was the youngest. In the middle was “Uncle Fred Whose Dead” which I found secretly hilarious. She told me that Opa was a dairyman and had come to the United States from Germany. Oma herself was a daughter of German immigrant parents. She didn’t tell me how she and Opa fell in love only that they married and had two children, Carol (Rich’s mother, born in December) and George. She has some difficulties with her second pregnancy and ended up giving birth to him alone, at home. When we’d moved to Maryland and returned for a visit, we’d stay at Oma’s house. I was much more comfortable there than at Rich’s dad’s house. When I was pregnant with Bill, Rich and I quit smoking. When we’d stay at Rich’s house, though, his brother Steve smoked like a chimney. I always felt like I was walking on eggs around Fred, Rich’s father. Opa died the night before Steve’s wedding to Ann, in 1989 or ’90. Oma remained stoic through it all. She bore it the way she bore the loss of Carol. Once we were talking about Carol’s death and she said, “You know, a parent is not supposed to bury a child.” Her eyes teared up but she didn’t cry. We tried to visit her often because we knew she’d be lonely. She tried to stay in her own but after Opa died, the upkeep was just too hard. She moved into “The Old Folks’ Home”, an independent senior living facility in Franklin Square. Many of the residents were also German-American so she had friends there. Heidi got a part in her school’s production of “Fiddler On The Roof”. She played Yenta and she was totally awesome in that role. We invited Oma to come with us to see Heidi in the play. It was pouring down rain but Oma was game. When we arrived at the school, there was a crowd trying to go in. However, when they saw us coming with Oma, they all respectfully moved to let us through. The ushers insisted on sitting us right away. Oma was so happy, thoroughly enjoying the production. I admired her strength and faith. When Rich died, we sat together during the viewing and service. My heart was broken. She took my hand in hers, squeezed and whispered “This, too, shall pass.” She was very wise and she knew about heartbreak, especially after losing her beloved daughter. After Rich passed away, the kids and I visited Oma a few times. I picked her up to take her shopping once. I feel guilty about not spending more time with her. I was still grieving and had to work to bring in the income we needed. I took the kids to visit her at “The Old Folks’ Home.” She had a private room at the end of a hallway, fully furnished and pleasant. The first time we went, she was in an upbeat mood and wanted to go for a walk. So we all went outdoors and she gave us a little tour of “The Home.” She clung to my elbow as we walked but she kept up a brisk pace that impressed me. We also saw her at the Volks’ Fest. The Volks’ Fest was a yearly celebration at a German restaurant/park in Franklin Square. It had oompah bands, bratwurst and other delicacies, game-of-chance booths, craft and food booths, and usually some kind of blow up slide or tent trampoline. I felt a little awkward going by myself with the kids but sat with Oma and the rest of Rich’s family. We were exchanging pleasantries when she looked me in the eye and informed me: “I’m incontinent, you know.” I was completely surprised that she would reveal something so embarrassing and intimate to me but she just seemed to take it all in stride.  The last time we saw Oma, she’d been moved to a nursing home near her son George’s home. Uncle Walter would take the train to come and visit her every week. When George’s wife, Terri, died of breast cancer, TB, the kids and I went up to Oakdale for one of the visitations. Afterward, we went to the nursing home to visit Oma. She seemed frail and tired but she was happy to see us. She remembered me and I introduced her to TB. I brought the kids forward to greet her. She took one look at Bill, then about 16, and exclaimed in shock: “Richard!” I quickly assured her that it was her great grandson Bill, who was the spitting image of his father. Oma lived until she was 101. We went back to Long Island for her funeral. Uncle Walter was there, himself 91 years old. Fred, second wife Alberta, Steve and Ann were there. We exchanged brief pleasantries and then went to see Oma. She didn’t look like the kind, strong woman I’d known. She looked like a wax dummy and again, I decided I absolutely wanted to be cremated and not put my family through sad visitations. Friends of Oma’s began filing in, people we didn’t know. Rich’s family was busy visiting with them and so we were alone. We began to feel awkward and decided to say a final goodbye to Oma and go back home. Oma, you are the Grandma I missed and longed for all those years. Thank you for your wisdom, kindness and love.