I had an “encounter” with 2 bears, finally met my boyfriends father and discovered a fallen WW II airman.
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A few weeks later, while binge-watching “World War II in Colour” on Netflix, I get an email from the Aushwitz Museum.
A Weekend Away in the Woods
What could go wrong?
Well…
…with less than a kilometer to go, 2 bears came to join us on our hike.
My greatest fear. It’s right up there with being burned alive. Or is it, being forgotten? Yeah, I’m going somewhere with this.
The bears nonchalantly walked across the trail from one side of the forest to the other. We were probably never in any kind of real danger, but I can’t be reasoned with when it comes to bears. I was, to be blunt, @#$%ing my pants. I stayed and appeared calm, but it was more like…paralyzed in fear.
It was thrilling for my boyfriend. He thought it was an awesome encounter. Ummmmmmm, no. Once we got back to the trail head and into the car, when I felt safe, I declared I’d never hike again in bear country. NEVER. To soothe my frazzled nerves, many glasses of wine were consumed that evening back at our cabin.
me, Manita, taking in the view on the Centenniel Ridges trail, Algonquin Park, Ontario, Canada, Fall 2017
The Weather
Today was the day.
The drive on highway 35 was stunning. We stopped for lunch and as we made our way back to the car with bellies full of burgers and poutine, it started to POUR.
Noooooooooo.
It wasn’t a drizzle. It was a downpour. The cemetery was going to be soggy and muddy. We had to consider aborting our visit to the cemetery. We continued driving hoping the rain would let up. It didn’t and it was now time to turn off the highway or go straight home.
We decided to take our chances and go.
It was still raining when we arrived at the cemetery, but not as hard. We make our way to the grave and my boyfriend says:
“hey dad, meet the love of my life.”
Awe. 💗
Next to my boyfriends’ dad was his parents, so I got to meet them too. I went behind their tombstone and noticed a faded name…
…Patrick.
This man died in 1943. The first thought that came to mind…did his death have anything to do with WW II? Was he a sibling of my boyfriends’ paternal grandfather?
Who was he?
I asked my boyfriend, but he wasn’t sure.
Who was the man buried in his paternal grandparents grave?
It was still raining so our visit was short and we scurried back to our car.
As soon as I get into the car, I dry off, then grab my smartphone and start researching.
Who’s Patrick?
A date.
A location.
I had enough information to figure out who he was.
After spending about 15 minutes with my friend google, I find this:
This mysterious man, came ALIVE.
He was my boyfriends uncle!
My boyfriends father was only 3 years old when his older brother Patrick went to serve his country. He left his family and rural Ontario farm. He would never return.
27 months later, while scouting submarines (30-June-1943) over the Bay of Biscay, he was shot down.
He was 22 years old.
What were you doing when you were 22?
I was backpacking through Europe when I was 20! Not getting trained to go fight for my country.
Patrick never returned home to his family. His body was never found and in fact, he wasn’t even buried in that grave.
My boyfriends father had no memories of his older brother Patrick.
Would the next generation know about him?
Another Uncle?
…uncle Edmund.
He was 2 years younger than Patrick.
Edmund returned home in poor health. He succumbed to his illness a few years later in 1947 at a Toronto Military Hospital.
That would make my boyfriends father shy of 10 years old when he lost another brother.
One more…
…Joseph.
He was 2 years older than Patrick. Joseph returned home after the war, started a family and lived to the age of 74.
My boyfriends father was the youngest of 15 children. His 3 eldest brothers Joseph, Patrick and Edmund all served in WW II.
Why didn’t my boyfriend know about this?
Was it because his father was too young and had no memory of it?
Regardless, these 3 brave young men were almost forgotten by the next two generations.
Now, my boyfriend, his siblings and nieces and nephews know.
My boyfriend has always respected Remembrance Day. This year, the poppy over his heart is going to feel a bit more personal knowing he had 3 uncles serve in WW II.
Binge-Watching on Netflix
I was looking for something to binge-watch on Netlfix and came across “World War II in Colour.”
While watching one of the episodes, I got an email. When I noticed who it was from, I began to shake. I had been waiting for this email for months!
The father of a 3 year old girl murdered
…I helped my client Denise and her mother Kathleen document their holocaust story. It was an interview style, where I asked questions from behind the camera.
Kathleen was born in Budapest, Hungary and at the age of 3 torn away from her parents during WW II. Her mom returned after the war, but her dad, Leo, didn’t.
The father of a 3 year old girl murdered.
This project evolved from documenting their family story for the next generation to…
Can you find out:
- what happened to my dad (grandpa) and his family?
- if we still have family out there?
As soon as I got home from the meeting, instead of preparing for my upcoming trip to Salt Lake City, I began to look for Leo.
I worked into the wee hours of the night. By the time my head hit the pillow, I had made my way back to Denise’s great grandparents. I also found siblings and other family members.
When I woke up, I had an email response to an enquiry I made the day earlier from Yad Vashem.*
*The World Holocaust Remembrance Center
There it was. The details of what happened to him. Arrested and taken to Aushwitz in 1944.
I called Denise shortly thereafter to share what I had discovered and she had a mixed reaction.
Was Denise overwhelmed by what I found in less than 24 hours?
No, it was too painful to process.
She decided it was best not to share the information with her mom and asked me to hold onto all the records I had found.
Kathleen shared her painful family story with the encouragement of her daughter Denise. Now, Leos’ great grandchildren will know of him and the holocaust.
There’s a Jewish tradition of “Vehigadeta Lebincha” which translates to:
“and you shall tell your children”
A few months go by, and I got this email from the Aushwitz Museum:
And now, over a year later, Denise is planning to go to Yad Vashem, Israel in December 2018 to honour her grandfather.
Two Two Two
Two generations later.
Two lives changed.
How many of you have similar stories and don’t know it?
I encourage you to talk to your family, document your family stories and share them.
Lest we forget.