I was five, maybe six but more likely five. I lived at Oma and Opa's house and it was a weekend. Opa had told us he would take us fishing later in the day after he got some work done. So it being summer and warm Michael and I went out to play, just like always. I remember glancing up from a few houses down while playing with my friends to see Opa getting into the car. I quickly ran across the yards of the block and into our own yard and called to Opa "Where you going?" He smiled, in retrospect an awkward smile, and told me "I have to go do some errands." I said "Oh" as he drove away. I stood in the car watching the car drive away and just as the car reached the corner, with me still watching, I saw Michael's head pop up from the back seat... his fishing pole in hand. I was so small but I can still recall that feeling... confusion first... then a painful ache... then a tear sliding down my cheek. He had gone... with Michael... fishing... and he didn't WANT me. Oma, who had been standing at the front door watching this all unfold called to me and put out her arms. I ran into them and cried as she told me that she and I were going to "do something very special" together. She dried my tears with her apron and scooted me inside. I have no memory at all of what she and I did together that afternoon. I just remember her comforting arms and her unconditional love.... and my tiny little broken heart at what felt like a deep betrayal to a little girl only 5 years old.
The fact is that most of my young life I felt that hurt. Not the hurt of that one day, although it clung to me, but the hurt of not really being anyone's favorite... or the best behaved... or the smartest... or unconditionally loved. It feels like I always knew, all my life, that my mother's love would never be unconditional... and that I most certainly was not anywhere near the top of the list. Michael had always been "The Golden Child." Blond haired, blue eyed, gorgeous, smart, well behaved, adored by all..... sycophant. That was NOT me. I was mousy messy haired, disheveled, loud, opinionated, and much too strong willed for anyone's liking. It had always been this way, for as long as I could remember.... forever. I was loved, but it was with conditions... and borne out of obligation more than adoration from everyone in my life. Everyone, that is, except Oma who loved me beyond reason and while knowing I was not the fair-haired child but more like the red-headed-step-child she still adored me and lavished me with love and affection and the one and only person in my life to give me that unconditional love that I think all small children crave (and deserve). There was always Oma that no matter how naughty I was or what insane trick that endangered my life I attempted or how I fought or expressed my opinions always loved me. I don't know why. I never will. I will always be grateful though.
When I was ten my Oma and Opa moved to Florida... like almost all old people do I guess. They broke up MY family. My family that raised me; Oma, Opa, Tio, Tia Mimi, and me. Over the course of a summer they were gone and I was sent back home to live with my parents (and my brother). I again felt that sense of betrayal like I had that sunny summer afternoon but the pain was scalding in comparison. I was cast aside.... again. Yes, I had a place to go but not a place where I was wanted or even liked. Oma had left me. I knew it was by force and I know from having overheard arguments and tears that Oma did not want to leave NJ and leave me behind.... well, in truth she cried because she didn't want to leave any of the family behind... my mother, my brother... and me. I was mature enough, because I was truly mature beyond my years out of necessity, to understand that Oma was being strong armed into this move. I understood she really didn't have a choice and yet it hurt so deeply and so profoundly there were days after they left I would wonder how I could breath.
Life at "home" was difficult. Very difficult. My will and my strength were necessary to get through each day. We visited Oma and Opa often in Miami. Michael and I would spend the entire summer at their condo.... nearly 3 months of a completely different life for me every year. Three months of people taking care of ME instead of me taking care of Michael. Three months of me being a child and running free and being carefree and not living in fear. Three months of wild abandon... which was wonderful... and in later years as I got into my teens not always so good for me. Still it was an opportunity to be a child for me, something I needed so desperately.
Before very long Oma got very sick. She had very bad diabetes... very bad. She went nearly completely blind. She needed to be taken care of. I did a little bit of that, but just a little as there were other responsible adults to take care of her. I tried to make her comfortable and help her around the house, but the majority of her care was taken care of by other adults. I still got to run and play and swim and enjoy myself. I remember quiet nights with Oma.... I would read to her every once in a while. We would sit together sometimes and just sit.
Only two days after my 16th birthday Oma passed away. To the outside world it may have seemed like it affected me very little. I took care of the repast for the visitors that came immediately upon hearing the news. Drove to the Piggly Wiggly and got a few things and laid them out. Went to my best friends house and promptly fell soundly asleep, which has been my reaction to severe stress my entire life. I didn't cry much, if at all. I went through the funeral stone faced. I got my drivers license a week or so later. I moved through life seemingly unchanged... and had never in all my days felt so completely alone and adrift. She was gone, and as far as I figured, the only person in the world that had loved me unconditionally was gone forever and I would never have that again. I figured from that point on it was just me against the world and it was a heavy and sad burden.
That's not how it turned out. I found a man that loves me unconditionally... warts and all as they say. He doesn't love me despite the warts, he loves the warts themselves. Go figure. There are days that I think that the only reason I can breath in and out are because of him. This morning upon thinking of my Opa and the hurt and my Oma and the soothing balm that she was to my life I called for that man of mine and he held me in his arms and it made it feel better. Still, I miss my Oma. She's been gone WELL over half my life and I still miss her. I look at my kids and I think how she would have loved them. I look at my daughter that carries her name and I think how proud she would have been to have her name carried on by this independent, artistic child. I think about how The Man would have loved her and she him. I really miss her.
Oma, I will see you again some day I know. Until then I send my love to heaven for you.
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