Family History and Complicated Feelings

    I never would have guessed the degree to which my relationship with my mom would continue to grow after she was gone.  I constantly understand new things about her - things I don't think I ever would have understood while she was still alive.  I needed some distance.  It's ironic and a bit sad, but also likely common and inevitable.

    I avoid books and films about World War II.  My family history and my mom's identity are all wrapped up in the war, and I'm not ready to go there yet.  There are feelings that for now I still need to put in a box; feelings about Germany; family; history; family history; German history.  It all feels complicated and overpowering and frightening.

    While I've gained understanding of my mom these past 4 1/2 years, I haven't thought that deeply about her mom, my Oma.  I think about her often and fondly, and I cherish the memories of bringing Nick to see her.  But I don't spend a lot of time trying to figure out who she was beyond being my grandmother, or analyzing her actions and her life.  Possibly I need this time to "be" with my mom, or maybe those thoughts are also in that box.

    Tonight, though, I was hit with all sorts of emotion.  I'm reading a novel about a private detective in 1930s London, and the main character is in the midst of figuring out who a young man is - a young man who was a soldier in the First World War.  Various characters describe the horrors of the war and the personal aftermath for the boys (they were just boys!) who fought.  Suddenly it was as though I could see my 20-year-old grandmother and her beloved fiancee; what he must have felt in the fighter plane; how it must have been hearing the news of his death; how those feelings could have led her to fall in love with - or at least form an attachment to - his best friend.  That series of events created our family.

    As I write, I realize that part of what makes it hard to confront family history is that it's my mom who used to discuss it and analyze it.  She made sense of everything and answered my questions.  I've absorbed so much of my mom over these years; maybe I'm afraid of absorbing these complicated things.  Or maybe I'm afraid that I just can't figure it all out on my own.  How do you come to terms with so many things without the person who made sense of them for you?