Wednesday, September 23, 2015
The Best Gota You Could Wish For
Yesterday I buried my aunt, no- my step-mom, no- my
godfather’s wife…the more I try to describe who Mitzi was, the more I need to
resort to Facebook’s description: it’s complicated.
It all started in 1969 when my mother and an architect
inspected the plot my parents had just
bought in order to build a
country house; as they walked around the property, a woman suddenly appeared at the fence, a
tray with glasses of Austrian Schnapps
in hand, saying: “Welcome, you must be our new neighbours!” This was the
beginning of initially a friendly, neighbourly relationship: when we were in
our house on weekends, we always visited Mr. and Mrs. Dörr. In doing so we
always climbed the fence, and eventually Mr. Dörr decided it was time to cut a
gate into the fence.
As my sister and I reached puberty and the relationship with
our parents became strained at times, the two of them provided an open home and
ear for young people seeking to find their path: never did we fear that our confidences
would be betrayed, nor their friendship with our parents compromised. When it
was time for my confirmation Udo became my sponsor, and from then on we “men”
enjoyed regular chats and mentoring sessions. Once my sister got married and
had children, Udo and Mitzi became godparents and a second set of grandparents
to my three nephews. And all the Servants of the Word I brought to Austria were
quickly adopted by the two of them as well. Eventually my nephews starting
calling her “Gota”, the word for “godmother” in Mitzi’s native slang, and that
fit: this came much closer to the Italian word for “Godfather”, a person with larger-than-life
role in the family.
That Mitzi turned out to be such a friendly, hospitable and
caring aunt was not a given, if one looks at her biography. As a young child
she lost her baby brother in a bombing raid in World War II and soon after her
mom to the consequences of depression. She
was never able to have children, and at age forty her second brother died of
cancer. This would be enough to make a person neurotic, self-absorbed and misanthropic.
That she was none of those things I attribute to three factors: first Udo, her
husband, who was always a perfect complement to her. When she was anxious, he
was almost nonchalant in his trust that life would work out. Secondly God’s
providence which always brought events and people into Mitzi’s life which
helped her journey on. And thirdly her desire to overcome her fears and not be
shackled by her history. A striking example of that was when her husband
decided to go to Santiago de Compostella for five weeks. Eight days into Udo’s
journey, Mitzi called me and told me that she had just been diagnosed with
cancer. I immediately asked what Udo’s reaction was, and she said: “He of
course wants to come home, but I told him he has to keep walking and praying”.
Rather than claiming Udo for herself in that vulnerable moment, she knew this
journey was going to be important for her husband and his faith (which indeed
it proved to be) and she was ready to let him go.
Three traits stand out for me when I remember Mitzi: as
already alluded to, she had a wide-open heart and people knew they would find a
spot in it: while she worked as a receptionist in a doctor’s office, many
patients ended up seeking out her help and council more than that of the doctor
she worked for. And all the friends, nephews and brothers my family threw at
her experienced her warm and kind welcome. Because she had suffered in her life,
Mitzi was also able to help others in their suffering, in fact she almost had a
sixth sense for people in need. I remember that more than once I would receive
a phone call from her, out of the blue, asking: “Are you in trouble? I felt I should
call you.” And more often than not she was spot-on.
Finally Mitzi could be brutally honest, so you never had to
wonder what she thought. An example of that was when she was again in hospital
and the doctors came to do the rounds. Looking at one of them, she said “Doc,
something in your face makes me very uneasy!” This caused embarrassed silence
by the whole team, and they tried to move on as quickly as possible. A few
hours later said doctor came back to inquire what she had meant. She explained
that she sensed that something was out of sorts in the man: very quickly he
poured out his heart about a marriage in trouble, and Mitzi was able to counsel
and comfort him.
They say that every dying person leaves behind one last gift,
and this is also true for Mitzi. First and foremost of course the reminder of
our own mortality and of the need to face it squarely. But also the proof that
suffering and trauma in one’s past need not be defining factor of one’s
character. Rather it is possible, by the grace of God and the help of others,
to overcome one’s history and make fruitful those places of hurt and loss. In
that way she who never had children became a motherly figure, a “Gota” for
others. May that example spur us on to do the same!
