The clouds hang grey and heavy over Stockholm today, as to set the tone of the same somber sadness I always feel this date in November: 11/9. The date of the beginning of the mass incarceration of Jews in the Holocaust, and the beginning of the atrocities my own grandmother came to become part of. (And the same date, I was taken into custody in Lisbon, based on a Swedish order of extradition.)
God was with me last night in my bedroom. I've felt His presence a couple of times lately. It's a bit scary, not knowing if I need to go with him soon, after feeling pain in the left side of my upper back. To not have to endure more cruelty by other humans.
I cry, when I think of my grandmother, and wonder if she hated being a blonde herself, and my mother therefor, since she said that was why she survived and never became gassed. Imagine someone knocking on your door and offering you a job. And you take it, thinking you could provide more for your family. But instead, you're taken to Auschwitz.
So many times, I myself have started to do something; working at a job, or been positive and eager entering a meeting, only to be met with a weird rage, or total ignorance and negativity with weird sabotages. Why is it a crime to be positive and work for a living? Or was it my grandmother's spirit all along, trying to share what it was like for her? She didn't like talking about it, my mother said, and she passed away when I was only 9 years old, so I mostly remember just what my mother shared about her. It was also when I was 9 years old, that I started to become very skinny and often nauseated. Maybe she tried to bring a piece of my soul with her when she died, or the piece that was hers, that is passed down through our family line. The piece, I haven't been able to integrate and work on healing until now. Either way, today is a day of reflection.
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