After a Holocaust
towards her and
her religion,
my grandmother
suffered
a holocaust
towards her
health.
She survived a
tragedy
that most cannot
fathom;
she survived
falling victim
to genocide.
But after those
years–
after those
horrible years–
to me laced with
mystery,
a part of her
died.
Whatever hell
she had to live
through
stripped her of
her childhood.
She was not
allowed
to be human
near an age in
which
I am now learning
who I am.
“We all are put
here by God,”
she told my
brother and I once,
“we all have our
purpose,
I suppose.
Mine is to tell
you
my history.”
And she told us
how her parents
were sent on trains
to Auswitz.
How she and her
sister
were the only two
from her family
that survived the
Holocaust.
How she met my
grandfather,
who had lost his
entire family,
and how the two of
them,
orphans with no
money,
started a new life
and created a
family.
Frail as she was,
through her tired
eyes
and shaky hands,
she told us,
“Never forget.
Never forget who
you are;
you are Jews.”
She would always
tell
my brothers and I
how big we were
all getting.
Her face would
light up
when she saw us,
when she kissed us
and told us we
were good boys.
I never fully
understood
why we brought so
much light
to her life,
but now,
as she leaves this
world,
it’s clear.
It’s more clear
than it’s ever been:
she made sure
that we grew up.
She made sure
that we had the
childhoods
she was never
given.
Through the
thunderstorms
and incendiary
memories that
burned inside of
her
nearly her entire
life,
through a world
that took
and took and took
seemingly more
than it gave her,
she fought and
lived.
And she gave back
to this world.
She gave way to
seven lives,
and filled those
lives
with her love.
In these times
when no words
can fill the holes
that death leaves
behind,
I look to good
memories.
I look to the
pictures
of smiling faces;
the picture of a
grandmother
proudly holding
her grandson
in her arms.
And on this day
when I have
nothing
but memories and
burning questions,
I will remember a
life
that wasn’t glamorous,
a life that could
have happened
a million other
ways,
but most
importantly,
a grandmother who
loved me
and a soul who is
finally free.
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