Ahoj, Maminka
"Sick? How sick?" I stared at my dad, hoping he could tell me what I wanted
to hear, but knowing he couldn't.
"She's been sick for a long time. But she's at the hospital, and the doctors
are doing everything they can to see that she gets better." He wasn't answering
my question.
"Will she be home for Christmas?" I could see that my dad wanted to give me
hope, and that he wanted to have hope himself, but even as a twelve-year old
girl I knew something was wrong. I knew my mom wasn't ok long before my dad told
me anything. She had been at the hospital for a few days, and my dad had waited
until now to tell me. He had put it off, and I realized that he was only telling
me now because he had to, because my mom was really that sick.
It was winter break, and we were having our family reunion in Prague. My
mom was born and raised there, she didn't move to the United States until she
met my dad in her mid-twenties. Her parents stayed and her brothers stayed in
Prague. My four siblings and I were raised in Berkeley, and seeing as how we
were so far apart from the rest of the family (we lived in California, my mom's
family lived in Europe) the family did everything they could to make sure we all
saw each other every once in a while. Usually, it was our cousins and aunts and
uncles traveling to the United Sates, and not us traveling to Europe, but this
was a special occasion. My mom was absent; there was no way I could change that.
But I was still surrounded by family.
Christmas was fast approaching, and the necessary preparations were in
order. Whether it was my two uncles out shopping for carp (fish, a Christmas
dinner tradition in the Czech Republic) or my cousin Rachel out trying to find
some Czech recipe, people were busy. Christmas Eve came along, and we followed
the Czech tradition. First we had the big family dinner. I sat next to my
brother Peter. I was happy to be surrounded by family, I was happy that we were
all together, but it still didn't feel right. My mom was alone at the hospital
on Christmas Eve, and we were celebrating Christmas without her. After the
dinner we all relaxed. We talked; conversed with each other. We were trying to
make it feel like Christmas. My uncles started to play music, and dancing began
soon after. At some point during that evening, I realized that this was the best
thing we could all do for my mom. The best thing we could do was to surround
each other and be happy. She would want us to celebrate Christmas. She wouldn't
want us to dwell on the fact that she wasn't there. She wouldn't want us to make
it so painful. She would want us to be stronger than that. We had to find the
strength in each other.
The next morning the news came that she hadn't made it. I wasn't old enough
to understand the details. My dad and my sister sat down on either side of me,
and told me what happened in as gentle a way as possible. They told me that she
had a bad heart, and that she was in pain. They told me the doctors did
everything they could. And they told me that she loved me, that she loved all of
us. None of us left the room for a long time. My siblings, my dad and I sat in
silence for most of the time, but there was a point where we had to come out of
the room and face my uncles and aunts and cousins who knew the truth as well,
My brain kept trying to shut the image out, the image of my mom being helped
out of the apartment. No matter how hard I tried, the image kept flashing before
me. The room was dark, although it was the afternoon. Peter was sleeping on the
bed that we shared together, and I was standing by the window. I looked outside,
and saw the snow falling. I longed to be outside, to experience as much of
Prague as I could. I looked across the hall, and saw my mom get up out of her
bed. She looked tired and worn out. She seemed to be having a hard time
breathing, her asthma had gotten worse. My uncle Petr appeared at her door, and
was talking to her in Czech. He linked arms with her and they slowly walked down
the hallway. My mom looked towards me, and seemed to be using a lot of her
energy just to smile. I couldn't even bring myself to smile back. Pretty soon,
they were out of my sight. I stayed at the window – I couldn't manage to follow
them to the door. That was the last time I saw my mom. No goodbye, no visit to
the hospital. That image, to this day, still flashes before me, at least ten
times a day. I still wish I could go back and change that. I want to at least
smile back at her. But she wouldn't want me to dwell on that image of her.
------------------------------
"Remember to write in your journal. It's important to write in it as often
as possible", my mom said, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. It
wasn't that I was frustrated with the idea of it, because I loved writing in my
journal. But the fact was, that whenever I sat down to write in it, I never felt
that I could truthfully describe what I felt. I would look back on the words
right after I had written them, and it wouldn't feel like me. But I tried to get
inspiration at that moment. I looked out of the window, and stared at the snow.
I loved the way it fell the ground, so simple and so delicate, breaking almost
as soon as it touched the ground.
It was our second day in Prague, and for the first time, it felt like home
to me. I had traveled there before, numerous times, but I had never been old
enough to understand my connection to the city. Now I could feel connected to
everything around me. I walked across the Charles Bridge, located over the
Vltava, (the river that runs through Prague) and I felt connected. I would watch
the artists positioned on the bridge, look at their works of art - their
paintings, their jewelry. I would listen to the musicians and feel stuck in the
moment. They would continue to play their music, and I would feel like
everything was moving around me while I was standing still. All I would do was
listen and feel transcended in time. The tourists continued to pause
momentarily, to take pictures on the side of the bridge, and then they would
continue to walk. I however, would just stand still and be surrounded by the
Czech culture. I would walk down the cobblestone streets with my mom, and look
up at her and understand that this is her home and these are her memories. That
this is part of who she is, and that it makes this city part of me as well. The
city seemed to sparkle. The falling snow glistened. The huge Christmas tree,
centered in Old Town Square, glistened, especially at night. The whole city
itself glistened, which I could see from my uncle's apartment window. I would be
somewhat hypnotized, watching the view of the city, and I would finally get true
inspiration to write in my journal, but more then the inspiration, my feelings
would finally transfer onto paper.
------------------------------
"Mi velici i mi maji, dejukem za zyto dary." My mom said the prayer that was
posted on our cabinet back home in Berkeley. Translated into English it meant
something like "Children give thanks to the Lord." It had been said at the
dinner table before many meals, but hearing it said in her hometown made it more
special. I was still recovering from the nine hour time difference, and because
of my age I could hardly keep awake and keep up the energy like my siblings and
cousins, or like the real adults in my family. But I forced myself to stay awake
for just one more hour. This was the first night that everyone was going to come
together, and I didn't want to miss it. Two weeks for a vacation is usually a
decent amount of time, but not when the whole group you are seeing rarely gets
to be together. Finally, my sister let me know that it was obvious I wasn't
awake, and that I should stop trying.
"Babe, it's time to go to bed." I squinted my eyes to look at Jessica, my
oldest sister.
"But, Danny and Rachel aren't here, I don't want to go to sleep yet…"
"How about if I have them come and kiss you goodnight?" Jessica motioned for
me to take her hand. I finally took it, and five minutes later I was under the
covers, with the lights out. The sound of the conversations happening outside my
door, only two rooms away, wasn't drowned out. I tried hard not to concentrate
on the voices. I tried counting my cousin Danny's beer bottles, but it was too
hard to count in the dark, and there must have been over a hundred of them
sitting on top of that dresser. My brain lost count after a certain number.
Moments later I heard the apartment door slam shut, and rushed out to see who
had arrived. I ran down the hallway, and right back into the crowd of familiar
faces.
"Naomi!" My cousin Danny had seen me enter, and ran to pick me up. I hadn't
seen him in two years, and the excitement of seeing him again kicked in right
away. Pretty soon, I was awake.
"Hi! I missed you. I've been waiting to see you since I arrived."
"I know, I know. It's been too long. I hear you get to sleep in my room.
Aren't you lucky?" I was. I spent some more time talking to him, but understood
that the rest of my encounters and re-acquaintances with my family had to wait.
I was only a twelve-year-old girl, so I could hardly stay up past midnight.
------------------------------
"Do you think about her?" My brother Peter had just finished college, and
now we were sitting down, having a heartfelt talk. I knew the answer to his
question right away. But I hesitated to answer.
"Yeah, I do," I finally answered. My voice was soft - you could barely hear
it. But he didn't need to hear me to know my answer.
"I do too, everyday. We were really lucky, you know. She didn't leave us
alone. She left us with a big family; we are always going to have a connection
to her through them. And I think the way it happened was meant to be. It
happened in her hometown, during her favorite time of the year, with the whole
family around, so we could all be together. Isn't that the best way it could
have happened? I mean, isn't that what you would have wanted for her?" Again, I
hesitated. He was right. Maybe this reunion in Prague was meant to be.
"Yes. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way." We both paused in our
conversation for a minute. And then I went on to say something very honest, but
painful. "But the hardest part about it is that my time was too short. I don't
even know if I really knew her." I thought my brother would be angry at that
comment, me saying that I didn't know my mom. But he wasn't.
"You did know her. And you can still get to know her." It took me some time
to believe what my brother told me, to believe that it was possible to get to
know my mom. Did that even make sense? I have found since that conversation that
he is absolutely right. I have gotten to know who my mom was through my family.
------------------------------
"You are dating someone?" My dad had just gotten back from his music gig in
San Francisco, and decided to spring that news on me. I felt a kind of pain that
I had never felt before. So many thoughts were going through my head. How could
he do this to my mom? Why would he betray her like that? Am I supposed to be ok
with it?
"I've been seeing her for a month or two." He had waited that long to tell
me. I assumed that meant this relationship was serious, something I didn't want
to believe. And it was serious. A couple months later, he decided to marry this
woman. This change in my life was extremely hard to deal with. A few of our
family friends weren't ok with it right away. And although none of my siblings
or I were ok with my dad's decision, my sister decided to tell him straight out
that he was moving too fast, and that this change wasn't something that was ever
going to be easy to accept. I have come to accept parts of it. One of the harder
aspects for me are all the changes done to my house. Without my mom around, I
used to look around my house and have memories of when I was younger. I would
see the prayers she put up on the walls, or the Czech puppets she put on the
mantel, the magnets she put up on the refrigerator. There were a number of
things in this house that were hers. But now my dad's wife has made this house
hers, which takes away most of what reminded me of my mom. All the rooms have
changed, the backyard has changed, and everything that was my mom's has been
taken down and replaced by items foreign to me. Now when I look back on old
photo-albums (which I do frequently), and I look at pictures taken in our house,
I can't recognize the location. I can't go back to it. What I can do is go back
to Prague, and remember her there.
------------------------------
"Follow me, I want to take you somewhere. " I followed my cousin down
Narodní, one of Prague's main streets, and turned on Karoliny Svetle, the street
where my mom lived. Like many of Prague's backstreets, there were many twists
and sharp turns.
"And here it is." I looked at the building closely. It took me a minute to
realize where my cousin had taken me. I finally realized that it was the
apartment where my mom had grown up. It had obviously been renovated. It was
also turned into a home for the elderly, something my mom would have loved. The
outside was orange, and to enter the building you had to walk under a dome,
until the glass doors opened automatically. Marianka asked the women at the desk
if we could walk inside, and look around. They said it was ok. We walked up a
spiral staircase, and pretty soon we were in front of the very apartment my mom
had spent her childhood.
"But Marianka, why did they keep this room the same if they changed it from
an apartment building?"
"They still use the same rooms for the people that stay here, although they
renovated some of them, it's just that the main entrance has changed. I think
our timing is good, though. I'm almost positive that they are planning on
changing this one too." I suddenly had visions of old pictures of my mom playing
with her friends in the garden below her apartment. A specific memory came to
mind of my mom and I taking a walk in our neighborhood. We walked by a park, and
I asked her if she ever used to play anywhere with her friends. She told me that
she used to go to parks, but that mostly she used to play with her friends right
below where she lived, and that she loved being surrounded by her neighbors. I
remembered other stories about this apartment, and the experience my mom had
growing up here. Marianka asked me if I remembered anything about it, and I
answered yes, but only a little bit. She then went on to tell me stories of how
she came here to see our grandparents, the ones that I never had a chance to
meet. She told me stories about my mom as well. It was then I understood that so
much of my mom was all around me, wherever I went. I didn't need my old house to
remind me of her. I could look to my family to tell me who she was, and I could
cherish the memories that I still had, instead of wishing that I had more to
come.