Since my Mother died I’ve been spending more time at her house and have unearthed some treasures belonging to (mainly) my Grandmother – who passed away in 2003. This book – Das Schoene Zuhause – is one of them.
The pictures above are the pictures I’ve chosen to share, however I think this page below, with the paperclip my “Oma” used to mark it’s place, sums up my Grandma perfectly.
I have somewhat mixed feelings about these small pieces of evidence of someone’s existence. It’s wonderful that my Oma lived, and enjoyed and planned a nice life for herself and her family, but it also makes me contemplate how much I really didn’t know about her. As her grand-daughter I wasn’t privy to her dreams, aspirations and desires, and now that I’m older and have more in common with her than I did when I was in my 20s and playing in a rock and roll band, I really miss that I can’t talk interior design with her, and home making and all those things.
I feel the same about my Mum going. It’s newer and more raw, but still very similar. Every second day I start to feel the lack – that I haven’t spoken to my Mum for ages and I think – oh, must call Mum… and it hits me all over again. See, we didn’t talk daily. We weren’t overly involved in each other’s lives, but we did share a lot in common, and there’s some things you can *only* share with your Mum, and I feel a bit like I’ve been gagged; like there’s things I want to talk to someone about, but the only person who’d ‘get it’ isn’t there any more… and therefore I too am silenced.