Ghost Stories

My (adopted) Mom has been staying with me these past couple of weeks.
She turns 80 at the end of this week.
I've spent a lot of time listening to her stories of growing up. 80 years of life experiences.

She was 14 when World War ll happened and Germany occupied Holland, the country of her birth. I grew up listening to her stories of the atrocities of war she witnessed but somehow, hearing the stories again with an adult ear, the impact of them is different.

She told me of a tragic event she witnessed one day when she was riding her bike to town. A group of German soldiers forced her to stop and join a crowd that had been forced into a circle. Inside the circle was a beautiful young woman with long dark hair who was on her knees beside a young dark haired man. The Soldiers surrounding them grabbed their hair and forced their heads back. Up top a three story row home a window opened. A young German soldier (whom my mom described as being no older then 18-19 yrs old) stuck his arm out the window. In his hand was a dark haired baby (around 1 1/2 yrs of age).

The couple kneeling on the ground began to cry, pleading. The soldiers ignored their pleas and laughed as the young soldier threw the baby to the ground.

My Mom and I sat quietly after she told me that story. I tried to wrap my mind around the reasoning for such cruelty. I tried to imagine how someone could become that twisted that they could laugh while ending an innocents life as their parents watched.

Even though I have witnessed the darker side of humanity in my 41 years of life, I have no understanding of such depravity.

Not all the stories were as terrible as the death of that child. She told me of heroic deeds performed by simple people who's ties to the people they saved were nothing but the shared value of a life.

We in America have seen such acts in the terrible day of 9/11. Ordinary people reaching out and helping strangers through a dark time caused by depraved men.

I have no answers. I find myself only capable of being a spectator during this event in my lifetime as my Mother was so many years ago in the tiny country of Holland.

Someday I'll pass my stories on to my son. And he will in turn have stories to pass on to his children.

It is the Ying and Yang of what makes up this crazy thing we call, Life.