A Belated Memorial Day Adventure

Yesterday we finally got the chance to do the "Memorial Day" activity that was delayed by the early birth of our 11th grandchild some three weeks early. We took our youngest daughters and our new son-in-law on this trip, which actually was an extended sightseeing tour that we often take. Putting flowers on the graves of my mother and my in-laws, who are interred in the same cemetery, was actually one of the last things we did, but we had a couple of other genealogical moments before and after.

My husband grew up in the area of Washington Park, in Portland. All of our children enjoy going through the park, and through his old neighborhood, recalling the stories he told of growing up there. Our first stop was in Washington Park, taking a walk through the lower park, and into the Holocaust Memorial. More on that later. We then went on to the Rose Gardens, which were disappointing because there were very few blooming rose bushes due to our cold and wet spring. Then we drove up past his old house, which has changed since the family sold it back in 1995. A quick look at our kids' favorite houses in the area--the "Spider House" and the "Castle," then we were off to the cemetery. Even though my twin daughters aren't at all interested in genealogy and family history research, cemeteries have always had a certain fascination for them. We visited their Allen grandparents' graves first, and left flowers. There was a new bench which served as a tombstone for someone buried nearby, that wasn't there the last time we visited. Interesting, and a nice touch. Also on a nearby grave, a picture of the deceased was on the tombstone, which we found interesting. Then we drove down to the Mausoleum just down the hill from my in-laws' grave, and added flowers to her burial site. Our younger three children never knew their "Grandma Irene," but have seen pictures of her and have heard stories. She died a year before our son was born, and three years to the day that the twins were born. They were not quite 3 when their "Grandma Nora" died, and not quite 10 when their grandpa died. Our three younger children carry on their legacy a bit: son is named for both of his grandfather's, the twins' middle names are their grandmother's. My mother always went by her middle name rather than the first, and I could never figure out her objection to my dad being called by HIS middle name instead of his first name (by his family mostly). I'm afraid the oldest twin is destined to pass on the tradition of using "Irene" for the middle name of her daughter--since she's the third generation to carry it herself.

But I digress, my real purpose in writing is about the Holocaust Memorial that is set up in Washington Park. This was our third time to visit, and it is just as sobering the third time as it was the first. Especially this time, because our new son-in-law is of Jewish descent through his mother, who is a full-blooded Jew. We read the complete write-ups on the walls of the Memorial, and wondered how the Nazi's could be so cruel to their fellow man. Son-in-law said that he has heard that there were family members who perished in the various purges of the Holocaust, but his mother and grandmother have been unable to learn any details so far. While I did not lose anyone in the Holocaust that I am aware of, this is especially sobering to me as well, because in the closing days of World War II, the Russian Army came through Pommern, driving all German residents, old and young, weak and well, out of their homes and country that had been theirs for who knows how long. My birth father was born in Stolzenhagen, Pomerania, right in the path of the invading Russian army, I'm quite sure. While he came to this country as a 6 month old baby with his parents and brothers, and his mother's family was already here, I know that my grandfather left a brother there, according to immigration records. I am certain that there were still members of my family there following World War II. What happened to them? I can only guess. Millions died in that purge, according to history books. I can only hope that one day I will be able to locate records for them. And the words in the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 1:6: "Wherefore, I, Lehi, prophesy according to the workings of the Spirit which is in me, that there shall none come into this land save they shall be brought by the hand of the Lord," have even greater meaning for me.