Last week we were sitting around the table with my youngest uncle and aunt, visiting
from Paraguay. Their daughter (my cousin, Moni) is studying at our local Bible College and this finally gave her parents good reason to visit relatives, such as my mom (at the table) who is his oldest sister.
You may or may not remember the story of
the only grandfather I ever knew. It's the story of how he lost his first family in Russia, while a prisoner of war. After the War he went with a ship of refugees to Paraguay, where he met and married my widowed grandmother. My mom was a young teen at the time with five younger siblings. They became an instant happy family. As a stepfather, he loved his new family like his own. The family grew with two more boys added to the mix . . .
. . . and then came the unexpected news that his wife in Russia was looking for him. Communication was not so easy, especially so during the time of Communistic rule, and the man who would one day become my grandfather had to make the most difficult decision in his life. He knew what kind of a greeting he would receive as an escaped prisoner of war of the Russians. He also knew that his first wife was not able to leave the country. Together they decided that they both really had no choice, but to continue their lives in the way that the Lord had allowed it to be.
My parents, both children of Mennonite refugees from Russia to Paraguay, grew up and went to Uruguay to work with MCC. The photo (above) was taken at their wedding in 1956. My Dad convinced his widowed mom (my Omi) and my mom's parents (my Oma and Opa) to come and live in Uruguay as well. Most of the family is in the photo, Oma and Opa in the front with the youngest boys and the others surrounding my parents. Two siblings are missing. On the back on the right side is my Omi and the pastor who officiated the wedding.
About three years after my mom's wedding, her younger sister also got married in Uruguay. On this photo you see, from left to right, two single brothers, my parents, another single brother, the bride and groom, the groom's brother, and a sister next in line to my mom, with her husband. My Oma and Opa are sitting in between their youngest two boys (in jackets, ties and shorts) and the rest of us are grandchildren. I was the only girl at that point. Tall, for not quite two and a half!
During these years (early sixties) my Omi lived next door to us and my Oma and Opa lived on a dairy farm a ways off. I loved outings to their farm. Opa's gentle spirit combined with Oma's tendency to be a tease were a great combination . . . and the bonus was that they had two boys to play with! Their six and seven year difference in age to me did not intimidate me at all. . . as they were old enough to humor a little girl and take her out to ride the horse or find honey comb in the bushes.
These are the thoughts that bring me to this most recent photo of one of those uncles . . . who's voice and mannerisms now remind me of the Opa I knew and loved. Funny how that happens.
The years that followed took my grandparents back to Paraguay, while our family moved to Brazil and then to Canada . . . but no matter the distance, regular letters went back and forth and were read aloud. On occasion this was not enough and Oma and Opa would hop on a bus . . . or a plane and arrive with suitcases in tow. How I loved waking up in the mornings to hear their voices in the kitchen or visit their bedroom and catch the scent from their home. The last time they were here together was in 1984, when they got to meet their oldest four great-grandchildren. My grandmother died of colon cancer two years later. In 1994 my grandfather flew to Europe and reunited with his first wife for a lengthy visit. He passed away, peacefully, in 1999.
