Traveling to Germany with my Grandmother, a Survivor.

It was March 25 by the time we landed at the Frankfurt airport. The flight had been excruciatingly long, and I had experienced what seemed to have been a fortnight of sleeplessness and stale air. The wave of fresh German air that greeted our approach to the exit of Terminal Zwei felt like a gift from the gods. This relief was fleeting, as we continued to a flight of stairs, which led down to the parking structures. We were greeted at the bottom by a kind woman, in her mid 50s, and handsomely aging man ,who had kind eyes and a bright white smile. My grandmother ran to embrace the woman, whose cheeks were shining with tears. She and my grandmother began chattering away in their native tongue, walking slowly away from us towards a bright ivory van parked about 40 yards away from us.
My grandmother, who had not visited the town since the late 1960s, let out an audible gasp as the first view of Nemetum’s striking skyline came into view. She grabbed my arm with her soft hands and whispered, “That's where it all began, Spencer.” I didn't reply, because I was in such awe. All my life I had heard about the wonders and the beauty of Nemetum. From my mother, from my grandmother, and my aunt, Still, all these years of waiting and the sight of the skyline was like a punch in the gut.
She may or may have not been aware of her parent’s growing fear of the Nazis, nor the imminent danger that loomed over her and her family. She may or may not have noticed the red, white and black flags that would have appeared in the windows of many houses around town.She may or may not have heard her parents arguing in their room next to hers, or have seen the bags being packed, or the emigration forms on the table in her father’s study. wi And Finally, she may or may not remember the fateful night when she and her family spirited away from the town, her town, the only place she knew, on to a new life, where she would not experience the pain, suffering, and death that would befall a number of her family members.
I cannot attest to what my grandmother was thinking about on that windowsill on March. She never disclosed her thoughts or feelings to me, not that day, nor during our 5day trip, nor afterword when our plane touched down in California.