by Christine Mcdermott

Created on: July 26, 2009

The day was sunny and bright in the city of Mainz, Germany. We woke up in our hotel suite ready to see all the wonders that my mother and father must have seen. Or maybe not. I forgot for a moment that the time they shared in Mainz was full of bombed buildings, smoke in the air, an an unease within the city. My mom and dad shared a time of war; we were here to see the birth of a love that lasted a lifetime.

As we got ready, my mom, my sister and I talked about events the night before. We had met more of our German relatives: an aunt, her family, and my cousin's new wife. My cousin was out of the city, in Italy, being the artist he has always been. The German relatives decided to take us out to see the nightlife in the city, to a Gasthaus, where we were able to get to know each other well. We tasted many of the local specialties including Nakischewurst (which was raw sausage) and Neuerwein, a wine that had not been fermented yet. We laughed together and felt the warmth of family, along with a closeness that I will never forget.

The best was yet to come, however, when on the next day, my mom's nervousness started to be apparent. My dad had passed away the year before, and one of his last wishes was for the three of us to visit the place where he and mom met. We were going to relive the intensity of their love, which nothing could compare to, even during wartime. My sister, my mother and myself were often called the Three Muskateers because, if given a choice, there was no one each of us would rather spend time with, than each other.

Today was our day, to explore and imagine. As we got into the car, I realized that I had been driving in a foreign country and had not been doing too badly, I might add. I did have a fleeting thought, more a question, as to what the roads may have been like during the war...but kept the thought to myself as we rolled out. The three of us first drove to a small town outside of Mainz, called Gustavsburg. This is where my mother was born and where she had grown up. Tears welled in her eyes as she viewed her birth home while she inspired us with pleasant remembrances of her earlier youth in bloom. I just remember seeing the deeply-pitted bullet holes on the side of the stone house and clutched my stomach, thinking how horrible it must have been.

Then we drove to the center of Mainz to see the cathedral where my mother had been confirmed. Of course, her confirmation happened before the war. In fact, I thought to myself, before

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