My Oma was a poet. One of many things I didn't know about her. I believe we all think this and we all want this not to be true and yet it too often is--why didn't I get to know her more when I did spend time with her? I will want to talk about her more now with my mom and my uncle Herre. And I will be happy to hold on to the good memories I have of our limited and complicated times together.

One of the things that I like remembering the most about my Oma is how okay she was with being herself (at least as far as the child me could tell). What did I see? I saw an artist who dressed funny, and had weird stuff in her living room from all over the world. When we both lived in the Netherlands for a few years, I would visit her quite often. She would pick me up--until I insisted I would walk--in some old person electrical carmobile that she terrorized everyone with. She would tell me about all her friends in her building (it was not until much later that I realized she was really lonely) and her "man-friend" (really, that's what she called him) too. She would get me my favorite food.

Once I remember renting some movies with her. And what sticks with me the most from that experience is how she was interested in my movie choice. She watched it with me, and we talked about it. It made me feel like someone important to her, because here was my old quirky Oma, watching my movie with me.

Isn't that what she just wanted too, what we all just want? So she wasn't that different from everyone else and I really just wish I'd been smart enough to figure that out sooner. I miss you Oma.

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You've forgotten my name,
even in the middle of the night.
The stars have disappeared,
I wasn't what you thought.

But inside me I have a big secret,
this much I know:
a little bird that always sings--
it has never forgotten me.

You've forgotten my name,
and that I love you.
I don't dare show you
who I wanted to be.

When I can't stand up anymore,
and the days are dark,
my little bird is there
and lifts my sorrow from me.
-- Atie d'Audretsch-de Zwaan, Bangkok 1977

When the dreams have drifted away,
forgotten with old age,
I search for brilliance in what I see
in the color and love of life.

The strength--once given to me--
disappears with the years.
The small things of each day
have taken over my life.

But with great love,
through children given to me,
I believe in a new dream
and love life once again.
-- Atie d'Audretsch-de Zwaan, Perth, 2005