Papa Trilogy
Part 3: What keeps us in Life?
When I am 14, my father speaks the following words to me – I will never forget, still remember the exact spot in our living room, the light of the sunny afternoon pouring in: “If it were not for you kids, I would not be alive.“ It is just the two of us. A thunder clap shakes me awake, I start to tremble, and finally understand to my relief the huge weight I have been experiencing since early childhood, the huge love.
Born in München in 1953, into poverty, I am the first child; my parents unwedded. Still “shell-shocked” from war and displacement. Becoming a father, wakes Papa up over the next few years, slowly he starts to emerge out of a deep suicidal depression. My brother, arriving 11 months after me, is given to the grandparents in East Germany – across the military border. They have a fruit & vegetable garden, chickens, and therefore food. Three years later my parents succeed to take my well-fed brother back.
This is how trauma and war are handed down generations. We, the children, want to heal our parents, out of love. Papa was the gentlest man ever, calm and composed. Very unlike most fathers of other kids I met. I felt lucky. Certain things Papa could never do again, no war movies, no horror stories, he was a complete pacifist, peace activist. Since childhood, the memories of his hands trembling when under stress, are etched into my heart. Papa was loved at work, at home, with friends, wherever he went, all his life. His destiny was stark and he met it with courage – I bow to his spirit. These days, I am truly glad that Papa and Mama, both gone, don’t have to witness the new war in Europe. What are we going to learn from it? Many more hundreds of thousands of soldiers – left with no good choices – utterly devasted with external and deep inner moral injuries. Countless children will have countless stories to tell for decades to come, working through the mine fields, literally and metaphorically. Perhaps sometimes the wounds will turn into turquoise, or moss, flowers, trees, fountains of healing…. inner strength….
I am telling this part of my father’s story for all young soldiers worldwide, and the Russian and Ukrainian soldiers, so close to where I grew up. May all soldiers – no matter from which side – find peace and healing. May there be times when we have no need for soldiers and civilians as fodder for War of the powers-to-be. May there be times when we cherish and honor the ordinary brave wise warriors and heroines of all kind who know the Art of Keeping Balance & Peace & Justice, who know to practice Living with an open Heart.
I have just read through your Trilogy for the second time. I feel like I have gone through an epic. Like standing before a large mountainscape in the distance. I have had a number of different strong feelings and reactions as I read through. One is the echoes of my Father who was a holocaust survivor but who miraculously escaped a labor camp and wound up being a Russian soldier who though he did not talk about it must have killed a number of German soldiers as he was part of the army that first entered Berlin. How devastating war is to all involved perpetrator and victim and in thinking about these two men...how confused and inadequate are those words. How unique and universal is the account you give of your Father and his story. It reminds me not to too readily reduce what I am reading about the war in Ukraine today or for that matter to easily assign meaning and assume consequences from the aftermath of war.
ReplyDeletei guess in War everyone, both victim and perpetrator suffer, even when on the "right" side. This complexity and paradox is difficult for us humans, and essentially devastating. Everyone is robbed of their innocence and dignity. And that only soldiers get killed is a myth, always the civilians suffer tremendously, in high numbers, not to mention the "Weapon" of raping.... Even though i never met your father, i can tell from your stories that he knew of all of this, big sigh.... allow yourselves to inhale his dignity, and bow...
ReplyDeleteWhile I read the trilogy you wrote of your father, I remember the bits of memories you've shared with me over the years as we garden, eat lunch, or just talk in your living room. I know I can never fully feel the depth, grief, and pain of his stories in the way you may feel in your body - but it's now a memory & story that is imprinted in my mind, in my body, and may take years to metabolize & integrate, but it's there.
ReplyDeleteIt's so important for these stories to be told, to be heard, to be remembered...you & I have often talked about how sanitized history has been specifically in school's across the "united states". Information, facts, and dates do not imprint themselves the same way as a storytelling does. When memories are shared with feelings, textures, smells, sounds, sensations, or emotions, we empathize, embody the experience as we read or listen & imagine.
As I read experiences of your father, it reminded me of the stories, glimpses, & memories I've pieced together of my grandparents (Lolo & Lola, Grandpa & Grandma) in the Philippines during World War II. Stories that my mom has shared, stories that have slipped from aunties, or stories I've asked for. My Lola, pregnant at the time, hiding in the mountains in caves with other villagers, eventually giving birth to my auntie/tita in one of those caves. My Lolo walking home from work backwards so that in case someone followed his footsteps they'd hopefully track in the other direction.
I feel like knowing these stories makes me move differently in the world than if I didn't know them. Same as when I learn the stories from your family and others...how can we not feel responsibility in how we move forward with this knowledge? to move with empathy & compassion...to care about what's happening to people across the ocean, to people on the other side of the planet, to care about people in our neighborhoods, even if we don't know each other... to wish that horrors, torture, fear & tragedies generations before us experienced will never happen again...to rise up when injustices are happening around you...