Finding Wolfgang

These last few days in the Black Forest have been filled with both emotion and memories. This is the first time I’ve come to this part of Germany, the area where my family comes from, since being here 7 years ago with my youngest son and my Uncle Wolfgang. Walking the stone streets of Freiburg has prompted recollections of my previous visits and I’ve been struck by the details and impressions which remain from my 30+ years of coming to this beautiful region in the southwest of the country.

After many years of not reflecting on how I came to connect to the maternal side of my family, I’ve surprisingly related the story of making contact with my first German relative a couple of times in recent days. Telling the story reminded me of what a special set of circumstances all fell perfectly into place to have created the opportunity for me to meet my Uncle Wolfgang at the train station more than 30 years ago*

I was traveling in Europe with a boyfriend, flying by the seats of our pants. We had no agenda beyond smoking hash in Amsterdam. We were young adults there for a good time.

After a few days (a week? Who remembers? As I said, we were there for the hash) we decided to head to Germany, a place I had never before been. We took the tram to the end of the line and began walking towards a highway where we planned to begin our journey. Ultimate destination: unknown.

As we made our way on foot, we encountered another American about our age. Aaron, it turned out, was studying abroad and was also on his way to Germany. He was heading south and returning to campus after some time traveling and offered that the dorms are empty in the summer. We could simply find an open room and stay for free.

Free was exactly the right price.

Aaron suggested we join forces and hitchhike together. Because, you know, (cue sarcasm) it’s so easy to get a ride when there are three passengers. The promise of free accommodations and a companion who spoke fluent German, made our decision an easy one. Our trio got into position and began thumbing it south.

All was going well. We were catching rides and covering some distance as we headed to the city where Aaron was studying, Freiburg. After a series of rides, however, dusk approached and our chances of making it that day began to look pretty slim. At this point, we were riding with a very nice man who, although originally Polish, spoke excellent English. He had already told us, over our shared miles, that his wife was still in Poland, but that he lived with his mother in law and they hoped his wife would be able to join them in the near future. He invited the three of us to come with him to his home for dinner and a night’s rest. He would drive us back to the autobahn the next morning.

Since it was 30 plus years ago and a different world, we, of course, said “Yes.”

The details are fuzzy (ibid hash), but our evening and morning together were just as he had described – dinner with his mother-in-law happily scrambling to provide dinner to 5 rather than the two for which she had been preparing. There’s was lots of conversation and homemade schnapps and it was a time that proved to me that people can truly be kind and generous. It was great.

The next morning we returned to our route, arriving in Freiburg in the late afternoon. Within a day or so of when we first got to “our” dorm room, Aaron obtained a regional telephone book and found the phone number of Wolfgang Meder, the man I believed might be my mother’s youngest brother. The one she said always bit her when he was a kid.

She can hold a grudge, that woman.

Aaron, because of his language skills, was given the task of dialing the number. There were introductions made and Wolfgang and Aaron quickly confirmed our familial connection. It was agreed that I would meet Wolfgang the next day at Hauptbahnhof in Freiburg and he would bring me up to the mountains outside of the city, to the home that my mother remembers the family constructing. Cool.

That was my first time visiting Germany.
My first time in the Black Forest.
My first time meeting a maternal relative.
My first time being treated to the care and hospitality of my Uncle Wolfgang.

Since that first meeting, I was fortunate to spend time on many more occasions with my uncle. I can distinctly remember shared experiences in NYC and Amsterdam and Paris and Albany and Normandy and Nuremberg and, Berlin, where I had seen him for the last time shortly before his sudden death in 2017.

This trip to Germany was the first occasion I’ve ever spent time in the Black Forest without Wolfgang and I frequently felt his absence. Even more often, though, I felt his presence. He was everywhere – smiling at me at Lake Titisee that long ago summer afternoon when we met and where, on this trip, I enjoyed a bier under bright blue skies with my love. He was at the Munsterplatz market where I walked one morning to buy my wurst sandwich from his favorite cart and at the restaurant in the Spatburgunder wine region where we had enjoyed a dinner with his soulmate wife and my youngest son and where I returned on this trip with friends for a wonderful Easter Monday lunch.

The fact that I knew about these locations is because of Wolfgang. When I revisited each of them last week, remembering my time spent there with him, I felt his absence deeply. But, even more so, I sensed that a part of him remained in every place we ever visited together because of the moments and time we shared. He was everywhere.

Danke, Wolfgang. I miss you. xo

*intentionally vague about year…1990? 1991??