A Tribute to Oma

Dear Oma passed through the sorrows and restraints of this mortal life to surely be met by her dearest loved ones and many grateful souls last night. Where do I begin? Other than the sounds of my parents soothing me to sleep my earliest memory is the click clicking of Oma's knitting needles and she knit while I went to sleep. Oma lived across the street from my childhood home and was/is completely woven into my memories of life until this point. We always called her Oma (for grandma) and she always treated us (my brother and I) like grandchildren. I could write pages about all the little things I remember like her turning on my little red radio when I was a child, like her giving me nice jewelry in my trick or treat pail, like her bringing me into her home and feeding me milk and cookies on the days I accidentally was locked out from my house. There are so many little things but the things that mean most of all, the things that are forever locked in all my memories are the beautiful ways she made me feel loved. Her loving hugs and her accented words "I love you Jenny." She was one of only a select few people who could call me Jenny without it bugging me. She babysat me when I was only 3 days old and watched us often when my parents went out. She was a very tiny lady and I remember even as a child thinking that I needed to be careful with her. She was so sincere and so loving. I can't even explain how much a part of my life she was. Like a constant. Everyone thought she was too frail to come to my wedding but she insisted. I remember walking down the aisle and seeing her and that bringing tears to my eyes as I knew she must be enduring physical discomfort just because she loved me and wanted to be there for me on my wedding day. I can't imagine going home right now. I can't imagine driving up the street or looking out the window without seeing her trimming her beautiful roses, turning on the sprinklers, or sitting beside the window. I can't imagine that she's gone even though I know she has surely gone on to a beautiful place and is at rest from the memories of the horrors she endured. Oma was in the camps during WW2. She had a number tattooed on her arm. I remember as a small child knowing that it was something horrible. Whether just an innate knowledge or possibly an almost imperceptible flinch by her as I touched it, I'll never know. I once asked her about her life before she moved to The United States. She started to cry and so I never asked her again. I can only imagine the horrors and indignities, the suffering and the sorrow, the trials and the hardships she faced in those times. What I do know for sure is that Oma made everyone around her feel incredibly loved despite whatever she'd suffered. Whenever we'd see her outside Carter and I would run across the street for hugs. Oma would take Carter's little face in her hands and say "Bless you, bless you, you sweet little boy." She'd tell us she loved us and we of course hugged her even tighter to tell her we loved her. We loved to go surprise Oma with a visit and Oma always spoiled us with cookies and treats, presents , and most importantly her love. I often think of her own grandchildren and how hard it must have been as a young kid to see all these other kids latched on to your Oma. How could they know that by sharing their Oma they were giving these other children such a beautiful, irreplaceable gift? My grandparents all passed on many years ago and Oma was that last beautiful connection here on earth. I always felt that grandmotherly love, the geniune care, and unconditional love from her. The last time I went to California I was pregnant with Katherine. The visit was an absolute whirlwind and so many times I said I was going across the street to see Oma but I couldn't. I knew that I wouldn't be back for awhile and I just knew that it was going to be a final goodbye. I honestly couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to go say goodbye. How could I have possibly told her all that I wanted to say? I left California remembering the previous visit where I had kissed her forehead and told her with my eyes full of tears that I loved her so much. Carter had wrapped his small arms around her small weak body and told her the same. It's seems so immature now that I couldn't gather the courage to walk across the street one last time. It seems cowardly yet putting myself back at that time I still don't feel I could have the strength to do it. Oma will be so dearly missed. It's a huge blessing to have been loved by her and to have so many precious memories of her. I try to feel comfort in knowing that she was greeted in paradise by her loving husband who she had been praying to be reunited with for years, her relatives, and my grandparents who passed on years ago and who must have been so grateful for the love that she showed to Carter and I.