This is the beginning of the story about my grandmother's life. I heard it only a few times as a child and we were told never to ask Grandma about it because it was too painful. I know a few more details, which may or may not be accurate, but I wish I knew more. She died in 2007 from pancreatic cancer.
As part of my sabbatical, I've been focusing on faith stories. Which are also life stories. I've been reading books, talking to pastors, friends, family and writing about my own evolving faith story. I know that all of us are shaped by the stories of our ancestors. I wonder if knowing more about my grandma will help me know more about my family and myself.
In 1999, my grandma told her story on tape to a neighbor. My aunt had a copy. I always wanted to hear it, but after Grandma's death I was too sad to ask for it. Then I fell in love, got married, got busy. So now, while on sabbatical, I wrote to my aunt. She sent me the CD. It's on my kitchen table and I'm about to listen to it. I hope it works.
Before I hear Grandma's voice, I review what I know. I've heard snatches of the story from my parents and siblings. There's a collective knowledge in my family of the story, though I never heard Grandma speak of it. I did hear Grandpa speak about his part of the story, though, a love story both simple and moving.
When people think of the "bad guys" in WWII, the Germans and Japanese are quickly named. But for my grandmother, it was the Russians. It's lesser known that while Germany marched through Poland from one side, Russia marched in on the other. You can read about it here on Wiki. My grandmother, so I was told, was only 12 when the Russians came. The men went one way, the women went another way. She and her sister were sent to a work camp in Siberia. They lived on moldy fish and rotten bread. Her sister died there.
After several years, the camp was liberated and for some reason, my grandmother went to work at a Allied army base in Abadan, Iran, a major logistics center for lend-lease aircraft. My grandfather, Norman Smith, was stationed there as a technical sergeant. He was responsible for supplies for the kitchen. My grandmother was a server in the dining hall.
According to one version of the story, he was in charge of assigning kitchen and dining hall staff. My grandmother liked working the dining hall to chat with the men, but my grandfather wanted her in the kitchen so he could be near her. Somehow, they fell in love. The story goes that my grandmother was hesitant to marry but Grandpa promised he would take her back to Iowa and they'd buy a small farm and make a life. He wouldn't be rich, but he would love her.
She accepted and they married in Iraq (for reasons I don't know). Years later I was watching the evening news with them in Frederika, Iowa, and images of Basra, Iraq, came on the TV. One of them commented that it sure didn't look like it used to.
Grandpa brought here back to Iowa, and they purchased the farm where they lived until retirement and where I grew up when my dad took over the farm in the early 1980s. Grandma eventually became a US citizen, my dad remembers, when he was in college. She would go back to Poland several times and was reunited with two of her sisters there. She was also able to find a sister in Australia. Her only brother's grave was found in Italy.
I didn't realize it when I was younger but I see now that my grandmother didn't lose her faith (at least permanently) and my grandparents stayed in love for the 60 years of their marriage. Grandma always encouraged us in our church involvement. She kept a rosary on her desk and a picture of the Virgin Mary above her dresser. She and Grandpa became regulars at a local Methodist Church. Grandpa was finally baptized at the age of 87, I assume in part because she insisted. Sometime after she died, my grandpa showed me a dog-eared photo of grandma as a young woman. She was beautiful. He told me he carried it in his wallet every day of his life. He was inconsolable after her death and followed her into the beyond at age 90 in 2008. The photo below was taken at my ordination in Frederika, Iowa, on October 30, 2005, almost exactly three years to the date before my grandfather's death.
When I was in Iowa last week, my sister and I talked about how much we missed them. When they retired from farming, they moved to a town only 6 miles from our farm. They kept a garden there for as long as they could (grandpa into his 80s) and helped drive tractors and other farm work. In the summer, we saw them almost every day.
So, it's time to listen to the CD. I'll let you know what I learn.
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