YOLO - You Only Live Once - No, you don't!

"If you wish to upset the law that all crows are black, it is enough if you prove that one crow is white.” William James

“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

“These are the kind of data I wouldn’t believe, even if they were true.” (A skeptic, qtd. in Schwartz 122)

 

YOLO - You Only Live Once - Do You?

 

People have been searching for answers to immortality since humans exist. As more and more pieces of the puzzle emerge, we come to understand that in this dimension the full picture might remain elusive, so an interpretation of the clues so far available is left to the individual. What the character suffering from an incurable disease in Nadine Gordimer's essay "Terminal" believes is that once we die, that's it. There will be nothing, an end of consciousness, not even an awareness of the termination of life. Since she does not want to wait until she turns into a helpless, bedridden object, she attempts suicide but is rescued by her husband. It is clear that she is not afraid of dying, expecting nothing but a black stillness “afterward:”

Ever since she was a child she had understood it as a deep sleep, that’s all. Ever since she saw the first bird, lying under a hedge, whose eyes hadn’t openend when it was poked with a twig. But one can only be aware of a sleep as one awakens from it, and so one will never be aware of that deep sleep - she had no fear of death…( 526)

Since the early 1970s, resuscitation techniques have become so advanced that thousands of people were brought back from the brink of death. Many who were saved reported phenomena known as near death experiences (NDE) and out of body experiences (OBE). NDErs, as the survivors are commonly called, described being in the presence of a bright, peaceful and loving light and of meeting deceased loved ones. Almost all who experienced being in that realm wanted to stay there or cannot wait to go back once they die. Not only do NDErs testify about a life after death, but they comprehended that we all lived multiple lives.

If these experiences are true, the current popular credo, “YOLO" must be false. Backed by mounting research and evidence, scientists can now claim that there is life after death and that we have to come back until we learn the lessons we need to fulfill our purpose on earth - a task for which more than one lifetime is needed. I am saying that YDOLO – You Don’t Only Live Once!

One of the biggest doubters of a continuation of life after death was Dr. Eben Alexander, a neurosurgeon who used scientific evidence as the basis for his understanding of life and death. In 2008 this changed when he was the victim of a rare bacterial meningitis infection that inactivated the neocortex of his brain, putting him into a deep coma. For seven days he experienced "death." Alexander writes about “flocks of transparent, shimmering beings arced across the sky…which were quite simply different from anything [he had] known on this planet. They were more advanced. Higher forms” (3). He also talks about a booming, glorious sound like a chant, and a woman accompanying him who had “a look that, if you saw it for five seconds, would make your whole life up to that point worth living” (3). This woman, he found out later, was a deceased sister he never knew he had (he was adopted). Dr. Alexander also received a message consisting of three parts: “You are loved and cherished, dearly, forever”, “You have nothing to fear,” and “There is nothing you can do wrong” (4); but the greatest message of all was LOVE. Alexander claims that all his questions were answered, transmitted without words, and with the certainty of knowledge that we will know everything after we die. When he woke up, he knew that he had been in the presence of a Higher Being. Getting a glimpse of continued consciousness after bodily death and discovering the truth had a profound effect on his life, taking away all his fear.

Dr. Alexander's testimony about what he experienced while he was almost dead is very similar to other NDE survey results. His statement on the aftereffect of his NDE contains proof that his had indeed been a near death experience, not a hallucination, which would not have had a life changing effect.

“Taken together, it is safe to say that between 1975 and 2005, at least 55 researchers or teams in North America, Europe, Australia and Asia published at least 65 research studies involving 3,500 NDEs” (Holden 7). Of the thousands of surveys collected, almost all near death and out of body experiences progressed in a similar order: an out of body sensation, tunnel or bright light experience, overwhelming feeling of peace and love, encountering beings of light, going through a life review, a reluctance to return, and transformation/aftereffects which get stronger as the years pass.

Stafford L. Betty, the author of an article on the topic in a major religious journal, explains that we know a NDE is not a hallucination because NDEs are very similar to each other. If they were hallucinations, they would be very much different from each other (196). A near death experience has lifelong aftereffects such as the NDErs losing their fear of dying. They also reported more happiness, increased intelligence, and heightened psychic abilities. All experienced an awareness of total peace and unconditional love. When they returned to life, they were more empathetic to others’ needs and also more accepting and loving of themselves. Almost none of the NDErs wanted to come back to their lives unless they felt they had unfinished business such as raising their children. They encountered family and friends, but only the ones who had already passed. Throughout an NDE, many people have an out of body experience and correctly report proceedings that were going on around them as well as in other rooms while they were in a death-like coma. During hallucinations, people have no idea what happens around them. Also, their lives are not transformed and they are not healed, as happened in many cases of NDEs.

"Three-quarters of Americans believe in a life after death, but only one-quarter believes in reincarnation" (Weiss 47). All major religions acknowledge the immortality of the consciousness, spirit or soul, yet it depends upon people’s expectations whom they might meet in the afterlife: Jews will not recognize Jesus but Hashem, Catholics might encounter Mary or the archangel Michael, Christians see Jesus, and Muslims Allah, but all meet God. Whatever people’s belief of a Higher Being might be, that's the entity they translate as seeing. Even atheists described being aware of an intense presence of love and peace.

All major religions accept the possibility of reincarnation, but at least one was forbidden to teach it. Jeanette Dunlap, author of Reincarnation And Survival of Life After Death, informs us that an empirical ruling almost 1500 years ago forbade Christians to believe in reincarnation:

History records that the early Christian Church believed in reincarnation and of the soul's journey back to oneness to God. An Empirical decree by Emperor Justinian in 545 A.D. forced the ruling cardinals to draft a decree that anyone who believed that souls come from God and return to God would be punished by death. Due to this decree, biblical proof of awareness after death needs to be addressed…there are biblical scriptures illustrating the "awareness of the dead." (159)

Dunlap explains that many Christian denominations continue teaching that there is no awareness after death. Meanwhile, "there is a contemporary attempt that scientifically studies and verifies reincarnation through past life memories recall, past life regression, meditation and mediumship" (160). One of the most famous regression therapists is Dr. Brian Weiss. Through regression therapy, a hypnosis that leads people into previous lives, Weiss has encountered thousands of cases where individuals reported detailed accounts of their prior lives which were later confirmed. Not only that, but he insists that everyone lived or will live hundreds of lives, and is convinced that we will meet the same people from past lifetimes over and over again! There is a genuine recognizing in people who participate in his regression therapy of seeing their mothers who are now their children or the other way around, people who were lovers in previous lives who recognized each other as soul mates in the present one, and groups of people, such as families, reincarnating together to take on different bodies in the next life, while their souls stay the same. Dr. Weiss uses the example of one of his patients this happened to:

Jenny Cockell, a British woman, discovered the children whom she had born during her previous incarnation as Mary Sutton in Ireland in the early 20^th century. Five of Mary’s children were still alive when Jenny found them in the 1990s. They were able to completely confirm Jenny’s past-life recall of even minor events in their childhoods, events that occurred more than 70 years prior to their emotional reunion with Jenny - the reincarnation of their mother, Mary Sutton. (48)

This would also explain déjà vu and have-we-met-before sensations.

Discovering through regression therapy who they were in past life times and how they died has helped many patients in the present life to let go of fears and health problems. Weiss calls these “past-live PTSDs” and points out that the way to validate past-life experiences is through the disappearance of phobias or illnesses. The only way this is possible is through an actual memory, not merely by imagining about being healed (83). Dunlap echoes this assertion as she writes in her article:

Past life regression can untap realms of hidden memories to discover past life. Hypnotic regression and past life therapy studies are often used to prove or verify existence of past lives: 77% of clients' problems were helped and 23% of clients' problems were considered cured. (162)

Testimonies exist of scientists who set out to disprove the possibility of life after death and reincarnation. One such scientist, Dr. Helen Wambach, is mentioned in Weiss’s book. As she began her experiments and scientific investigation she realized that the more she uncovered, the more she disproved her own conviction. At the end of her research she admitted in a publication that she "now not only believes in reincarnation but knows it" (222). “Thanks to the tireless efforts of researchers, we can legitimately state now that reincarnation can be accepted on the basis of clinical data and not solely by belief” (Weiss 49).

Another possible way to verify that our consciousness stays intact after our earthly bodies wear out is through the research done by Dr. Gary E. Schwartz on the beliefs of Harvard professor William James. In the early 1900s, James was convinced that our consciousness never dies and continues to attest his hypotheses from the other side! With the help of two certified mediums James was able to ‘work’ with Schwartz on validating this assertion. Schwartz also met with Susy Smith who "had published two books supposedly in collaboration with James since he had passed” (127). Smith claimed that her primary guide from the other side was William James and that he was interested in participating in more research (Schwartz 127). After establishing that the mediums were authentic and validating that everything they related in regard to William James was accurate and impossible to know otherwise, Schwartz concludes that “the totality of the findings appears to have the ‘look and feel’ of consciousness and intention” (144). It is interesting to note that when Smith herself passed away she was able to affirm her own continuing consciousness from the other side. Predictions she had made while still alive were confirmed through a medium who relayed messages from Smith after her death. “The emerging spontaneous evidence appeared to be consistent with the thesis that the survival of consciousness hypothesis…was potentially viable” (Schwartz 146).

Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, who wrote many books on dying and the afterlife, sat at the deathbed of thousands of patients. Through their accounts, right before they passed, she acquired absolute certainty that nobody ever dies alone, even if a person would die in outer space. Each one of us will be met by deceased loved ones and either sent back if it is not yet our time or be reunited with deceased friends and family until we chose another body to be born into. Dr. Kübler-Ross states that:

What we hear from our friends who have passed over, people who came back to share with us, is that…you will be given an opportunity, not to be judged by a judgmental God, but to judge yourself, by having to review every single action, every word, and every thought of your life. You make your own hell or your own heaven by the way you have lived. (35) Death does not exist. (17)  

There is more substantiation for life after death and reincarnation: 1) Our pets will greet us on the other side. “Every research medium the author has worked with has claimed that animal consciousness is no different from human consciousness in its essence; i.e. it continues to survive after physical death” (Schwartz 130), and 2) You will not be punished for committing suicide, but you have to come back to learn the lesson. "There is a commonality among people who take their own lives - as well as among children who die young - in that their souls are returned to earth more quickly, for there is still so much that needs to be learned" (Weiss 223).

After compiling so much evidence on life after death, what proof do we have that we only live once? After thousands of near death experience reports trying to explain the awareness of an indescribable light filled with peace and love many call "God,” the question is: How could there be only a black void that awaits us at the end of our earthly life? Doctors, regression therapists, and mediums have encountered agnostics and atheists who, after coming out of a NDE, admitted they were wrong. We don't even have to try to wrap our human mind around this phenomenal idea. When Moses asked God at the burning bush, “What is your name, whom shall I tell the people sent me,” knowing it was impossible for them to fully comprehend Him, God replied, “Tell them, I am who I am.” In other words, don’t try to understand. Just look at where the evidence is pointing.

“The history of science reminds us of countless instances where what was once assumed to be science fiction eventually became science fact” (Schwartz 150). We will one day have to accept, with the development of the necessary tools to attest that consciousness persists after physical death, that our spirit exists as never-extinguishable energy. Schwartz emphasizes that the world is at yet another “paradigm shift,” a change in our basic worldview, just as humans once had to accept the fact that “the sun does not spin around the earth,” but vice versa, or that “the earth is round, not flat” (149). We can now add these clues to our findings:

            We are all one.

There is nothing to fear.

            All is love.

            We can never die.      

            We have many lives.

             

            “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls a butterfly.” (Richard Bach, qtd. in Tod Kelly)

Works Cited

Dr. Alexander, Eben. “My Proof of Heaven; A neurosurgeon’s journey into the afterlife.” Newsweek, 00289604, 15 Oct. 2012. Vol. 160. Issue 16. Web. 20 Feb. 2013.

Betty, Stafford L. "Five Reasons That NDEs Point To Life After Death: A Dialogue." Journal Of Religion & Psychical Research 28.4 (2005): 195-202. Academic Search Premier. Web. 20 Feb. 2013.

Brainyquote.com. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin Quotes. Web. 17 Apr. 2013.

Dunlap, Jeanetta W. "Reincarnation And Survival Of Life After Death: "Is There Evidence That Past Life Memories Suggest Reincarnation?" Journal Of Spirituality & Paranormal Studies 30.(2007): 157-170. Academic Search Premier. Web. 20 Feb. 2013.

Gordimer, Nadine. "Terminal." Reading Literature and Writing Argument.  Ed. Missy James and Alan P. Merickel. 4th ed. Boston: Longman. 2011. 524-526. Print.

 

Holden, Miner Janice, Bruce Greyson, and Debbie James. The Handbook of Near- Death Experiences: Thirty Years of Investigation. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, LLC, 2009. Print.

Kelly, Tod. “The League of Ordinary Gentlemen.” Politics & Foreign Affairs.  September 2, 2012. Web. 17 Apr. 2013.

Kübler-Ross, Elisabeth. On Life After Death, revised. Berkeley, CA: Celestial Arts. 2008. Print.

 

Lightafterlife.freeforums.org. “Leonora Piper by Graham Jennings.” Two World Issue 4419. 2012. Web. 20 Mar. 2013.

Schwartz, Gary E. “William James and the Search for Scientific Evidence of Life After Death  Past, Present, and Possible Future.” Journal of Consciousness Studies.   Vol.: 17.  iss.: 11/12. 2010. Start Page: 121-152. Academic Search Premier. Web. 20 Feb. 2013.

Weiss, Brian L. M.D. Miracles Happen; The Transformational Healing Power of Past-Life Memories. New York: HarperCollins. 2012. Print.

 

Eine kleine Einführung in den amerikanischen Teen Alltag

     Die durch Film- und Fernsehen so glamourös hingestellte amerikanische Highschool reicht von der neunten bis zur zwölften Klasse, wenn die Schüler zwischen vierzehn und achtzehn Jahre alt sind. In Amerika gibt es keine Trennungen wie Hauptschule, Realschule oder Gymnasium, das Wort gymnasium oder kurz, gym, wird aber für die Turnhalle benutzt. Alle Schüler gehen zusammen durch das gleiche Schulsystem. Der einzige Unterschied besteht im Schwierigkeitsgrad der Pflichtfächer und an der Wahl der sekundären Fächer. Von Einfach (Basic) bis Fortgeschritten und Begabt kann man Mathe, Englisch, Weltkunde, Chemie, Bio, Gesundheitslehre und Physik belegen, und dann je nach Interesse, Berufsziel und Intelligenz verschiedene Sprachen, Haushaltslehre, Werken, Kunst, Chor, Sport oder Tanz dranhängen. Dazu kommen am Nachmittag und Wochenende die außerschulischen Aktivitäten wie Theater, Football, Tennis, Baseball, Schwimmen, Wrestling, Debattieren usw. Je besser die Schule, desto mehr Angebot und Andrang. Kommt der überförderte Teenager dazwischen nach Hause, packt er seine Tasche für die nächste Aktivität wie Ballet, Musikunterricht, Girl Scouts oder seinen Halbtagsjob, den fast jeder Sechzehnjährige braucht, um sich Benzin, Versicherung und Raten für seinen Gebrauchtwagen leisten zu können. Spät nachts kommt er dann endlich heim zum Hausaufgaben machen. Viele Freunde meiner Tochter schaffen es erst um zwei Uhr morgens ins Bett. Gegessen wird meistens im Auto.

     Seit dem Columbine Highschool Massaker in Colorado, und natürlich den Terroristenanschlägen vom 11. September, müssen alle Schüler eine ID Karte mit Foto um den Hals tragen. Diese dient weniger dem Verhindern von weiteren Anschlägen als zum Identifizieren des Opfers nach einem Attentat. In jeder Schule sind Polizisten praesent und Innercity Schulen haben metal detectors wie es sie auf den Flughaefen gibt. Nach jeder Unterrichtsstunde werden die Klassenzimmer gewechselt und zum nächsten Lehrer in einem anderen Raum gepilgert, was natürlich die endlosen Gänge mit krakeelenden und gestreßten Teenagern und totalem Chaos verstopft. Es bedeutet auch, daß man täglich mit ständig neuen Klassenkameraden zusammentrifft, die man letztes Jahr noch nicht mal gesehen, geschweige denn gekannt hat. Das Mittagessen wird in der schuleigenen Cafeteria eingenommen, zu dem man entweder ein in einen braunen Papierbeutel gehülltes Mitgebrachtes ißt, oder für $2 bis $3 von einem sich täglich ändernden Menü sein Lunch kaufen kann. Lunch in der Cafeteria ist der wichtigste Teil des Schultages und bestimmt das Sozialleben der Schüler durch eine in Stein gemeißelte Rang- und Sitzordnung, die vom Aufsichtspersonal machtlos überwacht wird. Für Außenseiter der untersten Beliebtheitsstufe ist es natürlich eine unsagbare Qual.

     Jede Schule hat eine Krankenstation mit Betten und mindestens eine zuständige Krankenschwester. Diese ruft die Eltern an, wenn ein Kind wegen Krankheit oder Unwohlsein abgeholt werden muß und sie ist die Einzige, die während der Schulzeit die vom Schüler mitgebrachte Arznei verabreichen darf.

     Schultänze sind nur mit einer vorgeschriebenen Anzahl von Erwachsenen und einem wohldressierten DJ erlaubt, der den Anwesenden genau vorkaut wie sie sich zu bewegen haben, wann sie in Stimmung zu sein haben, und wann es 23 Uhr ist, denn da ist jeder Tanz zu Ende. Die Erwachsenen sind dazu da, um auf genügend Abstand zwischen den tanzended Paaren zu achten und daß um Himmelswillen nicht geraucht, geküßt, gekifft und getrunken wird, was natürlich überhaupt nichts bringt. Viele Highschool Schüler werden noch vor ihrem 18. Geburtstag schwanger, drogensüchtig, alkoholabhaengig oder landen vor dem Jugendrichter.

     Das Führerscheinalter in New Jersey ist sechzehn Jahre, in manchen Staaten sogar fünfzehn, wird aber meistens stufenweise erreicht. Der theoretische Teil wird als Unterrichtsfach in der Schule täglich ein Quartal lang unterrichtet, danach wird die theoretische Prüfung gemacht, welche zugleich eine Note im Zeugnis ist. Bei Bestehen bekommen die Schüler einen Fahrerlaubnisschein, mit dem sie sechs Übungsstunden ($300) durch eine Fahrschule belegen und danach bis zur praktischen Fahrprüfung am siebzehnten Geburtstag mit einem Erwachsenen, der seit mindestens drei Jahren den Führerschein hat, üben können. Ab siebzehn und dem Bestehen dieser Prüfung dürfen sie dann bis Mitternacht und wieder ab fünf Uhr morgens mit nicht mehr als einem Fahrgast die Straßen unsicher machen. Versicherungen wollen verhindern, daß der noch unsichere Fahrer durch andere im Auto abgelenkt wird.

     Ich muß wohl nicht hervorheben, daß der amerikanische Teenager total überzüchtet und ausgebrannt ist, und oft an Depressionen leidet. Er ist eine Kreation von superehrgeizigen Immigranten, die ihre Familienwerte entweder beim Überqueren des Atlantiks von Bord geworfen oder gar nicht erst eingepackt haben, und die einem eigentlich nur Leid tun koennen.

     Amerika wird vom Dollar regiert, Gott wurde von den Schulen verbannt, und der Besuch von Shoppingmalls wird dem Besuch der Großeltern vorgezogen. Ich bin stolz, daß mein eigener Teenager, Allyson, abends um half elf im Bett war, in der Schule durchschnittliche Fächer belegt, nur während der Sommerferien arbeitet, und gerne Verwandte in Deutschland besucht.

Ich wohne nun schon seit zwanzig Jahren in New Jersey und erlebe das amerikanische Schulwesen und das ganze amerikanische System parallel durch meine Tochter und meinem aus New York gebuertigen Mann, Rich, mit. Allyson fühlt sich hier wohl und ist durch und durch amerikanisch, wenn sie auch eine Mutter hat die mit einem unverkennbaren deutschen Akzent spricht. Aber viele ihrer Freunde haben Eltern die in einem oft unverständlichen Kauderwelsch kommunizieren, oder die englische Sprache gleich gar nicht beherrschen.

How was it growing up during WWII in Germany?

What was it like growing up in Germany during WWII: The children didn't know any different. Growing up, young boys knew they would become soldiers and might have to go to war at one point in their life. They had to be careful whom they confided in because the underlying motto was always: Achtung, Feind hoert mit (Warning: Enemy is listening). But actually, my father (Reinhold) said it was a great time growing up during the war in a village, because it was a constant adventure. He and his gang snuck up on the soldiers' camps and stole everything they could find, even their toilet paper out of the 'bathroom tent.' They often found guns and ammunition. What an adventure for young boys! The parents had no idea of course. The boys knew it was dangerous, and oftentimes someone got injured or killed.

Scariest moments during the war: My father and his friends befriended a ten or twelve-year-old boy named Rolf Kletschen (use names, makes the story more personal!) from up North, the Rhein River area, from the city of Duesseldorf, who was sent to his aunts', the Graeser sisters, house in Kirchberg to be safe from the bombings in cities. Rolf and his aunts frequently went to the woods to gather twigs for their home fires. When the war was just over and the German troops fled from the US and Sowjet occupiers, they left a lot of their belongings behind in the woods, including guns, ammunition and grenades.

One day, as Rolf and his aunts were gathering wood, he found something on the ground, not knowing what it was. He showed it to his aunts. They said, "What are you carrying around? Throw it away, it's dangerous." He threw it.

Unfortunately, it hit a tree, exploded, and killed one aunt instantly. Rolf lay on the ground, badly injured. The other aunt ran into the village, screaming and crying. A man named Bergschneider hitched a horse to his wagon and the two drove back to the woods, to pick up the bodies. Rolf was brought to the nurses' station next to the church, where my father and his friends saw him lying on a makeshift gurney, bleeding from a gaping wound below his neck. They tried talking to their friend, but he barely responded. Somebody brought an old car and took him to the hospital in Memmingen, where he later died. Rolf's mother arrived by train a few days later to pick him up, not knowing that her son was killed by a grenade.

Another time, my father and his friends, who were always out and about, first of all because there was no TV yet, only radio, and school sometimes was cancelled for months, because the teachers were drafted as soldiers to fight in the war, so the kids roamed the village and surrounding woods from morning to night fall, found a Panzerfaust, which is a bazooka (that long gun you see in Saving Private Ryan, belief it or not!) in a potato field. They played around with it. One hoisted it on his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Luckily, he held it backwards and the shell went out back, otherwise he would have killed his friends instantly. But the firestream that came out the other end hit a boy who was wearing short Lederhosen and burned his thighs. His legs were covered with tiny blood specks and the boy was screaming in agony.

My dad remembers looking out the kitchen window one night across the street to his neighbor Buechele's house. Both their sons, Martin and Eugen, and the father had been drafted into the war. He could see through the curtain that the mother just received the message that Martin had fallen in the war and saw the mother's reaction. She screamed and cried, then collapsed. He said it was horrible to witness.

Anything positive happen to u during the war (befriending and helping soldiers, etc): the young lads soon found out that the American soldiers were much nicer than the French or Russian ones. The US GIs gave them cigarettes and chocolates, whereas the French, when they were done smoking a cigarette, begrudged the boys even the butts and ground them into the dirt with the heels of their boots. This just to show you the difference. To this day, my dad hates the French because they were so mean. The French of course hated the Germans because they invaded and occupied France during the war and plundered, stealing everything. But when the US soldiers occupied the village, it was actually fun.

One afternoon, when they were about 12, Reinhold and his buddies snuck up on the US soldiers' camp in the middle of the village. The soldiers had confiscated the pre-war model cars of the towns' people and parked them alongside a street. Gas was rationed and at that time, there was no gas in any of the cars. But the boys waited until the soldiers left the camp and "borrowed' the car that was parked in front. One sat behind the wheel, the others pushed. This way, they 'drove' through the whole town, having a blast. Nobody stopped them. Downhill was easy. They went to the only place that would have gas, but they were still out, so they had to push the car back up the hill). They wanted to bring the car back so they wouldn't be yelled at. On the way up the hill, an American Jeep full of US soldiers passed them. Reinhold and his friends ran away to hide and left the car in the middle of the road. The US soldiers stopped and got out. When they saw the young boys hiding in the bushes nearby, they called them out. The soldiers thought it was funny that these little German boys thought now they had a car to play with. They hitched the car on their Jeep and pulled it up the hill for them. Everybody was laughing, that's how nice the American soldiers were. To them it was just kids having fun.

 The villagers stuck together. When the French occupied the village, they demanded a large part of their livestock to be brought to their camps so they would have fresh meat. They also demanded flour and other foods. You were in big trouble if you didn't declare everything you had to their commander. But the farmers were sly and stuck together. They hid cows and pigs and other food, and once a week, in the middle of the night, the butcher in town would slaughter a pig or cow and parcel the meat out to the families. It was all done in secret and with codes. The country folks had it a little easier during the war than city people like my mother (Omi) because the country had fields and livestock. People grew their own food. The city people were on rations and had to go begging at surrounding farms for an egg or a slice of bread.

Once Reinhold started middle school, he had to take the train to Memmingen, a small city about 20 miles away, where the school was. Sometimes, when the students got there, the building had been taken over by soldiers and turned into a hospital. If they were lucky, there was a note tacked to the front door to let them know where the teachers would be holding school that day. If not, they had to wait around until night to catch the train back home.

The city of Ulm, about 25 miles away where Omi and Albert Einstein are from, was almost completely destroyed during the war, except for the cathedral, which is famous for having the world's tallest church tower. The American soldiers flew over the cathedral and 'bombed' it with flour sacks, just to show the Germans that they could have destroyed it. But out of respect to God, they left it intact and only dropped flour on it to show they hit it.

As boys they often found guns and bags left behind by soldiers. That was always an adventure. Their parents never knew where they were, what they found, and what they were up to, because they always hit the guns and ammunition before they went home.

My young nephew, Moritz and his friends, then 8 years old, found mason jars buried in the woods a couple years ago, more than 70 years after WWII. In the jars were real hand guns. They looked a bit rusty, but also appeared to be in good working condition. They ran to Jochen, Moritz's father, to show him what they found. Jochen called Felix's dad, Thomas, a policeman, and told him about the guns the boys found buried in the woods. Thomas said he would be up there shortly, as soon as he finished his dinner…Turns out they were hand guns that the villagers hid whenever soldiers came into town and went through their homes, stealing everything they could.

Reinhold's father, my grandfather Alois, was drafted around 1942 or 43. He was sent to Balingen, a town in Germany near Stuttgart, where he first worked as a security guard for foreign prisoners-of-war who had to go out during the day and help out on farms, of which sons and fathers were in the war, then report back at night. Then he was sent to Krakow, Poland from where he sent them a letter. He also met one of his friends from Kirchberg there. Then he was moved to Russia to fight on the front. One night, he lay in a trench when an enemy soldier attacked him. They fist fought for a long time, trying to kill one another. At the end, Alois bit off the other guy's finger, and passed out. When he awoke with a head injury, he had no idea where to go, so he just started low-crawling away. He had no idea where to go or what to do, it was dark. He kept crawling, and arrived at the German soldiers' camp! They took care of him as much as they could, then he was sent back to Germany, to the university hospital in Tuebingen, because of his brain injury. Meantime, his commander had sent a letter of recommendation for his heroism and the Iron Cross for war injuries to his family in Kirchberg, but admitted he didn't know where Alois was. Weeks later they received a letter from him from Tuebingen. He was released from the Wehrmacht because of his injuries six months before the war ended. Ever since then, he prayed the whole rosary every day until he died in 1984.

When the US and Soviet occupiers arrived in the village after the war, Alois and other villagers destroyed their medals and the letters because if it would have been found in their homes, they would probably have been hanged for participating in the war. That's why no records and medals exist from that time in our family.

The Christmas Letters

     Dear family and friends:

     Another year has snuck up on us. It feels as if I just mailed out last year’s cards a month ago… I’m sure you feel the same way.

     Well, where to begin? We are all healthy, for which we are grateful, and I hope the same for you.

     Lizzy started sixth grade, easily transitioning from elementary to middle school. At first she was a little nervous, but with her amazing social skills and outgoing spirit she made so many friends already that she doesn’t even know what to do with them. Lizzie has progressed to the third highest level in Irish Dancing after only five years and she is taking three classes a week, which takes us all over New Jersey. We just picked out a new solo dress for competition. The price for these custom-made, hand-sewn dresses from Ireland has reached phenomenal heights, and therefore we decided to buy the new bedroom set next year. But if you want your kids to be successful, you have to pay the price, am I right? In Girl Scouts she has completed the Bronze Award and has nearly filled her vest to capacity with all the badges she earned. Of course she has made the Honor Roll again in almost every quarter and I think I will soon have the bitter-sweet pleasure of going bra shopping with my baby. Imagine!

     Brian and Marcus are in their junior year of high school and next year at this time we’ll be deciding on colleges. The two have a pretty good idea where they want to go and what they want to do, but things are still open to change. I mean, I’m not even sure what I want to do yet, haha. Life is full of surprises.

     Brian has been accepted to the National Honor Society of Art and wants to study something in that field, but we’re hoping to persuade him into going for a more traditional career. I think he would make a good dentist, with his fine hands, but we shall see. He has started a club at his school, teaching art to students one afternoon a week. He is quite the leader. His grades are off the chart and there is no telling how far he will go. In the fall and spring he is involved in drama club and will be starring as an angel in the upcoming musical, ‘Rent’.

     Marcus of course is still swimming and it is his second year as a team captain. He’s in incredible shape! He almost made the Honor Roll and is going to build a house with Habitat for Humanity during Spring Break. In addition, both boys are working on their Eagle Scout rank.

As you can see, we are very busy and Peter and I are reduced to little more than taxi drivers and human ATM machines. Just kidding. We enjoy watching the kids succeed and couldn’t be more proud.

We hope that all is well with you and your loved ones.

To a successful Holiday Season,

Love, the Hamiltons

     Two months later, on opening night for the rock opera ‘Rent’, Brian applied his own make-up and taped the microphone around his head.  He peeked out into the audience and saw his parents, Lizzy, and Marcus with his girl friend sitting in the front row. The curtain rose. Brian played the part of the flamboyant homosexual Angel Dumott Schunard surprisingly well.

When he came home that night, still glowing with the high after a great performance, his parents were waiting up for him in the parlor. The fireplace was cold but the floor lamp gave off a dim light in the darkness that engulfed the rest of the house.

     “Hey Brian, why don’t you sit down,” his father said and pointed to a chair. “We want to ask you something.”

     Brian knew what was coming. He sat down and looked his mother square in the face. The seconds in the grandfather clock ticked by noisily.

     “Brian,” his no-nonsense father said, clearing his throat, “your mother and I were wondering…are you…gay?”

     Tears shot into Brian’s eyes as he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, his fingers digging into the chair’s upholstered armrest. “Yes,” he nodded finally, “I am.”

     His mother pressed her hands to her mouth and stifled a sob, then pulled her legs up and lay on the couch. She buried her face in a pillow and covered her ears, trying to grapple with the truth that just entered their perfect world. His dad leaned against the mantle of the fireplace and stared out into the moonless night. Only the ticking of the clock metronomed the silence.

     Brian looked at his parents and said: “Now I want to ask you something. Do you still love me?”

     He went upstairs to wash his face. The streaked mask of a crying clown stared back at him from the mirror. Brian splashed hot water onto it, lathered it with soap, and rinsed for two minutes. When he looked at his face again it was scrubbed clean and pink and shiny. Before Brian retired to his room he heard his brother’s Mustang roar up the driveway.

     Marcus turned on the hallway light and dropped the keys onto the foyer table. His parents were still up, sitting in the dark.

     “Hey, what’s up?” Marcus asked when he walked in. He turned on the light in the parlor. “Where’s Brian?”

     His mother seemed upset but tried to smile and patted the seat next to her. “Sit down.” She brushed over his hair. “Did he ever tell you that he is gay?”

     Marcus took a deep breath, stretched out his legs, and folded his hands behind his head. “I watched it unfold. He had two girlfriends in middle school, which didn’t last long, of course. He went out with Brianna in junior high until she dumped him for a …you know…lesbian. Then he hung out with a guy who bragged about being bi. But no, he never told me. Is he upstairs?”

     Marcus knocked on Brian’s door and waited patiently until he answered. Brian had his back turned to him and stared at the wall. Marcus put his hand on his twin brother’s shoulder and said:        

     “Of course they still love you. They’re just worried, with AIDS and all.”

     “And what others will think.”

     “Well yeah, that too. They’ll get over it. They just had no idea, it takes time,” Marcus said.

     “And you?”

     “What about me?”

     “Did you know? Are you ashamed of me?” Brian asked.

     “I’m not ashamed of you, Bri. Hell, seems like everyone is coming out these days. Just be careful, okay. Aren’t you glad it’s out, though?”

     “No. I wanted to wait until college. It’ll be so weird around here.”

     Brian told Lizzy privately the next day and she gave her brother a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. He bent down and kissed her on the head.

     “Time for your dancing, isn’t it, princess?”

     A shadow crossed Lizzy’s face. “I don’t feel good. I don’t want to go today,” she said.

     “It’s not up for discussion, you already missed last week, I’m not paying for not going,” Mom said and dragged Lizzy out of the kitchen.

     A few weeks later, Lizzy struggled through her dinner.

     “What’s the matter, pumpkin? Hurry up, you have to get ready for your Irish dance class,” Dad said.

     Lizzy hung her head and put her fork down. “Mom, I want to tell you something. I…I don’t want to dance anymore. I want to play basketball like Hailey.”

     Mom turned pale and clenched her fists. She threw the napkin down and left the table.

     Dad found Mom on the bed, crying, and sat next to her. He rubbed her back until she calmed down.

     “Why are our children so stubborn,” she asked. “We offer them the best choices in life and they’re throwing them away.”

     “No, Leah, they’re not throwing them away, they’re trying to make their own. We have to back off and not live our lives through them. She doesn’t want to dance anymore, she said she only does it for you. If you like it so much, why don’t you take classes?”

     “With my two left feet? I can’t dance to save my life, you know that. I only like… oh, I don’t even know. I’m forty years old and still don’t know what I want to do with my life.”

     “Why don’t you think about it and figure it out?”Dad said.

     When the kids came home from school the next day, the dining room table was covered with fabrics and thread spools and needles and books full of quilting patterns. Mom sat on the floor, happily cutting fabric into strips.

      “What are you making, Mommy?” Lizzy asked and reverently touched the smooth, colorful fabric.

      “Well, when I was a little girl, I just loved to knit and sew. When my mother took me to the craft store I could have spent hours looking at all the beautiful yarns and fabrics. She always let me pick out a new ball of yarn. I would go home and knit little sweaters and blankets for my dolls, just the way my grandma taught me,” Mom explained while cutting. “One day I made a whole bunch of squares in all different colors and sewed them together into a quilt. It was too big for my doll and too small for me so I just had it lying around in my room. But I remember how happy I was working on it and I always wanted to learn how to make a real quilt for myself. I just never got around to it. So now I decided to learn and make many beautiful quilts in all kinds of patterns.”

      “Ooh, I want to make one, too!” Lizzie said with shiny eyes.

     Dear family and friends:

     Once again, another wonderful year is coming to an end. We are all doing fine. The twins have been accepted to their colleges of choice and are very excited. Marcus’s swim team took 2^nd place in the state and he’s leaving his last season on a positive note. Brian keeps growing so much as an artist and we have decorated the whole house with his amazing paintings. He and his partner are planning an exhibit before going to college and the two are working very hard at organizing the event.

     Lizzy is so happy playing basketball and never misses a practice. She has been working alongside me on quilts for her brothers to take with them to college, made from everyone’s old jeans cut into squares, sewn together, and backed with fleece (Tie-dyed for Brian, a soaring eagle for Marcus). This way they will always have a memory of home.

     And this leads us to what I have been up to during the past year: I’ve started taking classes on learning how to quilt and it has given me tremendous joy and pleasure. My new hobby has taken me to the Amish country to learn from the pros and I have created my own pattern, called ‘Mother’s Delight’. I will enter it in the county fair this summer and expect it to win ‘Best of Show’. I am so excited!

     Peter started running earlier this year and has built up to marathon level. As a matter of fact, he already participated in two, one in Pennsylvania and one in New York. His goal is to run a marathon in each one of the fifty states. I will save the t-shirts from the events and sew them into a quilt to hang on the wall in his office. What a great way to see your accomplishments!

     Well, we are happier and healthier than ever and look forward to every new day. I wish for each of you to find your groove in the coming year. It’s not too late to add to your New Year’s list of resolutions.

Happy Holidays, love and peace,

The Hamiltons

On my gravestone please inscribe:

Here lies

Uta Susanna Burke, geb. Kramer

Aged 100 years

Hath done what she wanted to do

From a gravestone in an old English churchyard

Adapted to my life

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not here, I do not sleep.

I am the journals from my youth

I am my poems full of truth

I am the stories in my books

I am my slowly fading looks

I’m in my lovely daughter’s sigh

I am the soul in my pets’ eye

I have loved and lived and tried it all

I can rest now in my fall

Do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there, I did not die.

Excerpt from my novel: “Immortal Link"

(Catholine had been raped by one of her older brothers’ friends. Louis wants to keep it secret to protect the mother and Catholine from further trauma, Charlie wants to kill Bastian) Weeks after the attack they have this conversation.

Charlie locked himself into the upstairs bathroom and, using his brother’s razor, sliced up the top of his hands in a wildly criss cross pattern. He didn’t feel the pain. His stomach was churning.

A minute before midnight he swung his long legs over the window ledge and climbed down the branches and trunk of the chestnut tree outside his window with the ease of a jungle cat. He disappeared unnoticed into the night.

The members of the Fight Club named after Tyler Durden in the movie were restless and itching to have their turn. Two guys stepped forward, took their shirts off, and began beating each other. The others cheered. Blood and penned-up energy were spurting out of the fighters until one lay on the ground and stayed there. Then it was someone else’s turn. The point of it was to get in touch with your primal male aggression so guys can be what’s been taken away from them in this world.

He didn’t want to fight tonight, just watch. It was not what he needed; the field and gym and ball park still offered relief. Charlie wasn’t yet numbed enough by a society reduced to shoppers when in truth a man was designed to hunt. In the beginning he thought it would help, but Charlie had to admit he was too young. Not to fight, of course, but to get the full effect of this new therapy. Even picturing Bastian’s face on an opponent only provided Charlie relief until he spit out a piece of tooth that would cost his mother a thousand quid to fix, and he decided it wasn’t worth it. Watching the fights was okay; he couldn’t sleep anyhow. Demons crawled through his mind at night when the world was at its bleakest, and problems just grew too big.

After watching three of four fights, Charlie walked down on Broadway before he cut back to his house. He still didn’t want to go in and planned to sit on the stoop for awhile. Louis was waiting for him. They sat wordlessly next to each other until Louis saw Charlie’s hands.

He gasped, but Charlie told him to stuff it.

“If a woman shows up with a bruised face, it’s automatically assumed that a man did that to her. If she has claw marks across her face, she was in a bitch fight. A man’s bruises are admirable. He got them in an honest testosterone-driven fight and he is a hero.” Charlie leered at him and his words sounded slurry. “But a bruised woman is an abused woman, damaged, you see? She has to keep it a secret, and make up lies about it.”

Louis stared at him blankly. “Have you been drinking?”

Charlie ignored him. “The first rule is, you can’t talk about it. The second rule is,” his voice rose, “you can’t talk about it.” He leaned into Louis’s face. “Fight Club is not the only one who can use this line, you see?”

“Keep your voice down, you’ll wake up the whole neighborhood. What is wrong with you?” Louis asked and tried to hush him.

“What is wrong with me? My hands are tied. By you. I want to kill that piece of shit, you know that. But noooo, big brother Lou says nooo, so little brother Charlie and little sister Mary Ella have to be a good boy and girl and do what they’re told, no matter if it kills them!”

Charlie got up. “We would have blood on our hands.”

“Yeah, better than him having blood on his prick, our sister’s! Lou, her honor. And all you worry about is not getting Mom upset. You promised Maer to take care of her, you haven’t done shit!”

“What can we do, huh? Who would believe us? His father is a big shot, our old man is a now-show, okay. Get that into your head.”

“There are tests to determine…”

“What, and drag her through the gynecologist’s office, everyone gaping between her legs, the cops, the press? What if we end up in foster care, huh, you ever think about that?” Louis’s voice was starting to fail him. “She’s healing, she’s not pregnant, she’ll be okay.”

Charlie looked incredulous. “Are you a total moron? What about her emotional state? Don’t you think this is with her all the time? Look at the way she dresses. She makes herself look ugly on purpose, to cover up her body and her shame. How can you be so stupid?”

“Let’s not imagine things that might not be true, alright. She knows she can talk to us any time she needs to, she doesn’t need a shrink digging around and making her re-living it. It’s the best for all involved right now, you have to trust me on this.”

“Yes, you’re right, it’s definitely the best for Bastian. Lou, listen to me. Let me take care of him, I don’t care if I end up in jail for the rest of my life. I can’t go on living like this. He sneers at us whenever he sees one of us, especially Mom, who has no clue what he has done. He’s making fun of our family.”

“I won’t let you ruin your future.”

“What future? Look at me, I’m going nowhere. I don’t even know if I can last through high school.”

“You’re not dropping out,” Lou hissed.

“Stop telling me what I’m not going to do, you’re not my boss. Step up to the plate and act like a man for once, will you?”

“You fucking jerk. What do you think I’ve been doing all these years since the old man left, huh? Who makes sure the bills get paid with the little money Mom has left over when his checks bounce, or that the car is up and running? I’m the one who fixes stuff around the house so it doesn’t completely fall down on us. How dare you tell me to act like a man?” Louis was crying now. “You have no idea what it feels like to be the oldest, responsible for you all going to school and have decent clothes on your back. Most of my paycheck goes to help Mom out and if it wasn’t for gram, we wouldn’t be eating half the time. How’s that for the truth, Mister-know-it-all, don’t you think I would rather hang out with the guys shooting pool or going to see a flick? Hell, I don’t even have time to cultivate a girlfriend. They think I’m a bore. All this acting responsible’s turned me into a dullard, okay?”

Charlie had tears flowing down his cheeks when he wrapped an arm around his brother and the two cried for a good while, not knowing that their sister knelt by her open window, listening in on their conversation.

Home Sweet Fatherland

And after all these years of longing for home, the time has come, as it always does, to heal most wounds, and home doesn’t beckon as much, and you feel new roots grabbing hold of you in your surroundings, and when you do go back to visit, you realize that

the familiar roads are not as wide and smooth,

the house you grew up in is not as big,

and the fashion not as hip

as you remember.

Your parents are old, the old ones gone,

and the young – don’t know you;

nothing stayed the way it was.

And one day, the time will come when you have lived in the New World for as long as you have lived in the Fatherland,

and then,

where do you belong?