After arriving by ship into the New York harbor we boarded a Greyhound bus for the trip across America from New York City to Salt Lake City, Utah. I don't have memories of that but my brother describes it very well.
Now came the ugly part of the journey, three days and two nights on a bus. At first it seemed comfortable in the cushioned Greyhound seats, but as time wore on, there was not a single body position that conformed with the concave seatback. I stood in the aisle, which the bus driver did not like; I knelt on the seat looking backwards, which the people behind me did not like because I stared at them; I also tried lying on the floor in front of the seat, which Peter or Gӧtz sitting next to me did not like. Finally I found the solution. As I looked at the luggage rack, I saw some spaces between suitcases. I stood on my seat, pushed items left and right, and created an approximate 5-foot space. With a little help from Peter (or Gӧtz, I don’t remember), I got into the luggage rack, where I could finally lie flat. It felt unbelievable great. It reminded me of the relief I got as a refugee in East Germany after being sandwiched between smelly people and not being able to sit down. I repeated the escape to the luggage rack several times, always wondering when the bus driver would put an end to it for safety reasons, but he was a man of mercy. Peter and Gӧtz liked my disappearance because it gave them an extra seat to spread out. Although the bus stopped for short breaks quite regularly, the major stops were Chicago, Des Moines, Omaha, and Cheyenne. Looking out the window, we couldn’t believe that a country as famous as America could have so much land not occupied by anybody. The fields and grasses seemed endless. Cows in Germany ate lush green grass, whereas here they ate weeds with a little brown grass mixed in between.
I cannot remember much about our arrival in Salt Lake City, but I know we were met by Hanna and Albert, along with others (?). Again we were squished into a vehicle, but the ride to Murray was only about a half hour, along State Street. Hanna and Albert’s house was surrounded by fields, covered with tall grasses and sunflowers. Finally, I could smell the outdoors again, I could run, and I could climb hills, trees, and roofs.
I do have a glimmer of memory when I woke up the day after arriving at my Tante Hanni's house. My parents were still asleep and I wandered into the kitchen announcing to her that I required, "Milch". She gathered me up into her soft embrace and I knew that I was safe. She was love personified. From that day forward she played an important role in my life. My mother allowed me to stay a week with her every summer and during our time together she taught me about faith, commitment, modesty, and the importance of learning. She did have complexity which I didn't understand as a child. She made some life decisions of which my parents disapproved but to their credit it did not separate me from her. They had a relationship with her of mutual support. Yes, there were whispered conversations, but her place in my life never diminished.
When I moved to the Pacific Northwest our relationship changed to phone calls and letters and yearly visits. Her first question to me was always, "Are you happy?". It was a short question with long undertones of context. I took it to mean was I living up to my potential? Sometimes I side stepped her question and other times I tried to answer from the heart. Being with her often brought flashes of light. Even after she died, her influence was palpable. I felt her talking to me when I took my daily walks. She prompted me to continue with genealogy research. She prompted me to write my version of the story of her life in book form.
Because she didn't have biological children she chose to open her heart to her nieces and nephews and then to many children of trusted friends. To my amazement she had deep and lasting connections to countless people. I felt humbled and grateful to be in her circle of love.
