In 1949, when my husband received orders to go to Germany as part of the Occupation Army, I was very excited. Excited that I would get to see Germany and probably Europe, but more excited at the thought that I would eventually get to Italy. All our relatives were there and I had never met any of them.
We traveled to Europe on the USS Rose, a ship which had carried troops but had been refitted to carry families. Upon our arrival at Bremerhaven, Germany we traveled overnight by train to Munich. We stayed in the Excelsior Hotel for ten days until we were assigned our own quarters. Actually, it was only half a hotel; the other half had been bombed. We were very pleased when we saw our very nice house with a lovely garden. We settled in quite quickly and our son Jim who was only l6 months old was doing fine.
In October my husband got leave and we planned to go to Italy. Now I really got excited. When we finally got to Spoleto, our destination, I was anxiously looking for the address. And suddenly there they were – two of my aunts were outside waiting for us. They had been worried about how they would communicate with this American niece and were amazed that I could speak as well as they did, thanks to my mother’s teaching. Suffice to say that the next few days were spent in a whirlwind of visits. So many relatives, but I already knew who belonged to whom!
Memorable occasions were happening every day, but the most memorable, the happiest and saddest, occurred when we went to my father’s village. My grandmother had been told we were coming. The car was left down on the narrow dirt road we had traveled, and we walked up a narrow, winding path. There at the top of the hill was this very old lady, very thin, but standing very erect. Finally, after all the years of wanting to call someone “Nonna” the moment had come! I held out my arms and for the first time said “Nonna, Nonna!” We embraced and I was trying hard not to cry. Then she, instead of calling me by name, looked at me and said “I want my little boy!” Her little boy! This 93-year old woman wanted again that young 19-year old who had given her one last kiss and then left. Did either one realize it would be forever? This was almost 40 years later, and she wanted her little boy back … her little boy who was my 60-year old father. She never saw him again. It was the one and only time that I saw her.
Those of us who were children of immigrants never thought of the tremendous sacrifice that was made, and that we benefited from – it gave us the chance to be born in this country. The sadness and loneliness of those early years, completely separated from their families, must have been so great. And yet, as children, we did not recognize the nostalgia that would come upon them from time to time. This still remains one of the happiest, and yes, saddest experience s of my life. A wish granted – a dream fulfilled.
