At my Opa's (grandfather) funeral in 2020, I remember a picture that brought up more emotion than any of the others. It was a shot of my grandparents walking down a boulevard somewhere in Europe. They were already gray. My Oma (grandmother) was laughing.
Oma has dementia. It's been years since I've seen her walk unassisted, seen her smile, or even heard her speak. She's a little like an antique that we keep around, polish up from time to time, but don't bring out very often.
Oma has dementia. It's been years since I've seen her walk unassisted, seen her smile, or even heard her speak. She's a little like an antique that we keep around, polish up from time to time, but don't bring out very often.
I hadn't considered at the time why that particular photo hit me. She laughed sometimes, but more frequently was impatient with us, strict, and quick to correct. She pinched pennies to keep the family of 9 fed. My Opa was generous, sometimes extravagant. He might invite guests over on short notice, probably without consulting Oma. They took us to Europe with them when we were kids and I have a tough time deciding my favorite memory from the trip: either Opa buying us ice cream from a different street vendor every day, even in bad weather, or him getting lost driving from city to city without consulting maps, or locals. His impulsive qualities were frustrating to some of the family, but to the kids, he was magical, always ready with encouragement or something we could do together.
Oma on the other hand, was not fun. I never looked forward to being with her. Opa would send us down the dairy convenience mart for ice cream. Oma would set me up on her bike and then would get upset when I crashed it. The bike was much too big for me, which means this must have been a very long time ago. Opa would send us out to play in the junkyard, Oma would inspect our beds to make sure they were made properly. Again, I understand why; every large group needs an enforcer as well as an inspiration.
When I consider my own flaws, I see a lot more of Oma in me. I'm impatient with my children, though I have so many less to contend with. I've discussed a theory with my siblings that maybe Oma went deaf on purpose to finally get some peace and quiet. As I get older, I've found that I retreat into silence more often in conversation with my children. I don't know if this is something I learned from watching Oma age, or something I picked up from my dad. I remember many times being excited to talk to him about something I was learning, and he wouldn't say much, just letting me talk. It always made me feel like I was talking too much. I'm strict and critical with my kids. I remember the stress my mom would always be laboring under when Oma was coming to visit. Everything had to be just so. I remember hearing stories about Oma's good times, but I don't remember them. Like me, I think she spent a lot of time trying to scratch out a little control in a chaotic world.
