Sing, O Muse, of the doomed romances of the Eigenlings, the age-withered and war-weary, driven time and time off the course of Love
My family history is lousy with ill-fated romances. I just finished Corelli's Mandolin and I am inspired to relate the story of one of these
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Before my grandfather met my grandmother, he was ground infantry in Europe. He wasn't at Normandy, but his occasional story . . .
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from the Ardennes is enough to cure you of wanting to go to war. He fought all the way to Berlin, and occupied it through demobilization.
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After returning to the US, he met and married my grandmother and had five kids. They were married 60+ years before she passed in 2009.
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This is not her story.
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Some time after my grandmother's death, my uncle revealed a letter he'd come into possession of. It was addressed to Gpa, at an old address.
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By now, you are guessing that the letter came from Berlin; and so it did. Unfortunately, it was not from his wartime paramour.
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After demobilization, he had tried to stay in touch with her; but, Berlin, 1945. They never managed to speak after he left.
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The letter was from Gpa's first daughter, written by her daughter. She was very sick, and wanted to meet her dad while she could.
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And that is the story of my secret German family. Gpa did manage to meet his daughter several times, and the whole clan is lovely.
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This is kind of a silly thread as I'm not sure I can convey the subtlety or force with which Corelli's Mandolin affected me via this context
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I guess the lessons are that history's reach is long, and love will fuck you up. Tune in next time for the story of my grandma's first love
End of conversation
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