Heimweh Returns, Tears Accompany

My daughter is in Europe. Not just Europe, but the part of Europe that has felt like home to me for many years. She is playing the part of “tourist”. She is going to some places that I have not yet been, and only dreamt of seeing. She is eating food, relaxing, drinking, and having a great time. I am super happy for her.

After she left, I had the realization that I had never done that. I had never been a tourist. Each time I went to Europe, I had work to do. There was an agenda, a schedule, and little free time. Whether it was performing a circuit with an orchestra, singing in a choir, being a nanny to six children, or teaching English, I was there to work. And yet, it was a dream.

A day in the life of a nanny in Austria might sound like craziness to some of you, but it was second-nature to me. I was finishing up my degree in German from Brigham Young, not mentally in a good place, and needed OUT. And I was provided an out. A woman I knew, had an uncle who needed a nanny, an au pair. I applied for the job and it was mine.

I went to live with strangers in a foreign country. That was a little crazy. But, I was going to do work that I knew how to do better than anything. I would be helping with their children as well as managing a home. I had done that since I was about 10. Easy Peasy.

I arrived in Munich and was picked up by Walter, the man who I would be living with for the next 8 months. First impressions were not awesome, but whatever…I’ll just see how things go. I didn’t feel worried about it for some reason. We drove home to a little village outside Linz named Gallneukirchen, Galli for short. I had not seen sites like this since I was 13, touring with the orchestra. Something in my body relaxed. I was back.

Walter’s wife and I really hit it off. To this day, I love that woman. She was kind and gentle and loved staying up late, talking to me after the kids went to bed. I loved it. The kids were going to be fine. They were kids. We had bad days and good days. I didn’t take it personally. I was in Austria.

Walter and I didn’t jive. He was verbally abusive to his kids and wife and was ridiculous in his demands for me. But, he loved my ironing. That may seem silly, but I was raised in a family with six brothers and a father. Ironing white shirts and dad’s work shirts was one of my first chores, and favorites. No one liked doing it, so they left me alone while I worked. That was priceless.

Summer was coming, but summer break was only a few weeks long. On school days, I walked the girls to school, down the Punzenberg, passing the ancient cherry tree, the Konditorei and the Metzgerei. The mountain was steep, but it was a gorgeous walk. The church bells chimed, and the smells of fresh bread wafted through the air. I was in heaven, no doubt.

As I walked home, I would visit the bakery, chat with the bakers about whatever beautiful breads they had out for display. I learned the names of them, the kind of doughs they used, and what made each of them unique. I love bread. I love making bread. Austria made that sink deeply.

I’d then grab groceries for the family and hike back up the mountain. I loved every minute of it…minus the girl’s mouths on occasion. They were real kids. But the sights, sounds, smells, and space all felt like home.

I had known for years that my last name comes from that area. Northern Switzerland, Austria and Southern Germany is the location of 96% of my ancestry. It was validated by science (23andMe) just a few months ago. But I could have told you that without a saliva test. I’ve been home and there is no doubt in my mind.

I am only 4 or 5 generations away from my family’s immigration from central Europe. The only German spoken (that I heard as a child) were the typical swear words. I didn’t know they were swear words until I was in high school.

So I learned German. It felt like the right thing for me to do. I felt like I would be honoring my ancestors in learning it. I would be connecting myself with them in a way that would help me understand myself better.

Maybe that’s strange. But I wasn’t about to NOT learn German when I came home after the summer of 1988, when I toured with the orchestra.

As I watch my daughter’s adventures, I feel so grateful that she is getting away, visiting friends, and seeing a new part of the world. She said she is enjoying it, but would much rather we be there with her. And I get it. Her siblings and I are very close and there seems to be gaping holes when we are not together. We have shared too much to not want to share everything now.

But we are all living our own lives now. Little by little, the kids are choosing their paths. It is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. I, however, remain here. As stuck as I feel right now, and as much as I don’t like it, this is where life is happening. I have a lot to be grateful for. I want it to be good enough.

I want it to be good enough to see my kids explore the world and fall in love with people and places that I have loved for decades. I want that to fill my gratitude bucket. But, if I am honest, I ache for those places. I ache for the life that I had there. It made sense. I was doing what came naturally to me. I didn’t have to try hard. My needs were met well enough. And I was surrounded by a landscape that spoke to my soul.

I do hope it speaks to hers. I hope she finds some of herself there. I hope she comes home with a more expansive landscape in her mind for her life and her dreams. This small town is no place to stay.

It might be a good place to land…later.

—

This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

***

You Might Also Like These From The Good Men Project

You Said ‘Race’, but Are You Actually Talking About Race?

Understanding the Nonbinary: Are You Confusing Gender With Sex?

The Difference Between Compassion for Those With Disabilities & Ableism?

‘Masculinity’ Is Having an Identity Crisis

—

Photo credit: Shutterstock