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| Woman Untold & Finding My Found |
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” Maya Angelou
If life is a race, then my Mom is the victor. She long-ago sprinted her way across the Finish Line to Heaven. If, however, life is not a race, but rather a boxing match, I'm the one still standing. I remain and know her as the "Woman Untold." The quiet one, with a painful story that she never told me, of being prematurely and forever abandoned by her father. He chose to disappear, to run away, without saying goodbye. To create another life and another family.
I left Mom, for college and marriage, and barely knew her then. When I was a mere 35 years old, she unexpectedly and prematurely departed this world. She did not seem to possess the die-hard spirit. A spirit which should have developed from that which we sometimes take for granted... the rich memory of a father/daughter relationship. That relationship was instead nil and even negative. I sighed and cried a motherless river of tears.
I left Mom, for college and marriage, and barely knew her then. When I was a mere 35 years old, she unexpectedly and prematurely departed this world. She did not seem to possess the die-hard spirit. A spirit which should have developed from that which we sometimes take for granted... the rich memory of a father/daughter relationship. That relationship was instead nil and even negative. I sighed and cried a motherless river of tears.
In an indirect and unexpected way, "Woman in Gold" shares a similar untold story. When Hitler overtook countries and killed Jewish people, he left daughters orphaned. Their roots were obliterated, with heirlooms pilfered as well as identities. He committed more than murder. Horrendous, generational travesties occurred. Sons were left motherless, and daughters were left fatherless.
"Woman in Gold" portrays the heart ache of Maria Altmann, who yearns and strives for her rightful treasures. Her true motivation speaks volumes, through soulful stares and teary eyes. It is heritage connection. Happily-ever-after remains on hold. A tension still exists. An injustice that begs righting. Like endearing possessions of close family members. Treasures and intangibles that should have been rightfully inherited long-ago were stolen. And maybe now, wrongfully, strangers proudly display those soulful artifacts for others to admire.
While others go about their daily business doing whatever they do, an ache remains in the heart. Pieces of the soul were stuffed and snuffed. The pieces I talk about are belonging, and being cherished, and stifled heritage and family stories. Personalities and identity. Anchoring that a mother provides. And Maria feels the understandable tension of guilt. She escaped as Germans occupied Austria. She left her parents, in their most vulnerable hours. But rather than wallowing in guilt, she possesses a die-hard spirit, maybe from strengthening father memories, as well as the help of an advocate. To fight to redeem her story.
My heart yearns, strives, and feels guilt. My generational umbilical cord was suddenly and abortively cut. Could I have done something to prevent it? I piece together my family conundrum, like James Bond in a Sherlock Holmes mystery. At times the attempts resemble final phase three of a 700-piece, complicated Lego project. After careful and tedious hours spent constructing, it is situated and ready to neatly snap together, to its two other larger phases. To create one huge shape. An intriguing 3-D structure of the fragile Wright Brothers 1903 aircraft.
The many arms of an octopus are needed during the final, delicate, meta-locking moment. Two arms and two hands are too few. Lego blocks dysfunction-ally shift and fly across the room. I respond hopelessly. In total resignation I add to the mess by intentionally heaving that which remains in my hands. Like fragments of heritage, scattered. At one point in the movie, Maria felt the same frustration and hopelessness.
"Woman Untold" is now my identity. I am my Mother, and in 3 years my age will reach that which she never attained. I am sad, for the 25+ years we've missed being together, to maybe better understand her fatherless side. Similar to father- and mother- less Maria Altmann, a small portion of my soul was locked up at the time of my Mom's death, years ago, and it yearns for vitality through the golden years. To embrace a resemblance to genuine identity and wholeness. Like my persistent 3-D Lego structure attempts, I will try again. Finding grace in God, which is more precious than gold.
Every Golden Years spirit can strive to "find my found." To identify his or her own unique, untold story. And if the story is weighty, then work through it to move on to the most critical and positive phase. To tweak it to a redeeming story. Which is something Maria Altmann with the help of her advocate fought to do. Sadly, it is something my Mom never did. So I feel the need to press on, prayerfully, for her sake and for mine.
Life is like a contact sport. It can hurt, and we can break. But the ache of the story need not be permanent. Life tweaking is possible with the help of an advocate. My Advocate-of-Choice is The Messiah.
Every Golden Years spirit can strive to "find my found." To identify his or her own unique, untold story. And if the story is weighty, then work through it to move on to the most critical and positive phase. To tweak it to a redeeming story. Which is something Maria Altmann with the help of her advocate fought to do. Sadly, it is something my Mom never did. So I feel the need to press on, prayerfully, for her sake and for mine.
Life is like a contact sport. It can hurt, and we can break. But the ache of the story need not be permanent. Life tweaking is possible with the help of an advocate. My Advocate-of-Choice is The Messiah.
“But what about you?” he [Jesus] asked. “Who do you say I am?”
Simon Peter answered,
"You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”
"You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”
[Peter prophetically identified and confirmed Jesus' ultimate story: To be crucified, AND TO REDEEM.]
(Matthew 16:15-16)
