Today is the anniversary date of my Mimi’s (Liselotte) death. It’s fairly easy to remember – she was born on 09.12 and she died on 12.09. We were incredibly good friends, and to this day I still miss her. It would have been fun to have a mature, grown up relationship with her. So I thought today would be a good day to begin recording my favorite memories of her.

I wasn’t the oldest of her grandchildren, although my elder cousin was born only three months before me. But I suppose once I became “old enough” she began to impress upon me how much she wanted to become a great-grandmother. Why? Who knows why many of us want the things we do. Perhaps it was to see the circle of life continue. Perhaps it was because she already felt she was a “great” grandmother and simply wanted the validity of a knowing a fourth generation to make it so.

Whatever her reason, I recall her beginning to have the conversation with me when I was nineteen or so.

“Dori, make me a great-grandmother,” were her words, in the different use of the English language only she had.

“Now?!” I’d respond.

“No, you get married first.”

And so the conversation would continue. When I was twenty. When I was twenty-one. And so on. Always the same three sentences between us. One could say it was a private joke between us, although she was completely serious with her request.

Maybe her desire to become a great-grandmother was a reflection of her own mortality, although Mom says she often joked that having great-grandchildren looked better in an obituary. Certainly, she had seen her fair share of challenges and pain. I often tell the story of my mother calling to check on her well-being during a thunderstorm and tornado activity, only to learn that instead of resting on the couch in her basement, Mimi was sitting on the front porch watching the rolling clouds and hailstorm. Her comment to my mother – “Madie” (my mom’s nickname), “I’ve lived through two world wars, the Holocaust, and survived a near shipwreck to come to this country. I’m not afraid of a little storm.”

The challenges she experienced about the time I was in my late teens included breast cancer. While I’m sure the surguries and treatments took their toll, I don’t remember the diagnosis causing a scare to her. As I recall, it was relatively contained and able to be treated.

But not long after the breast cancer was remitted, the “c” word was back in our lives – this time it was bone cancer. By now she was in her early 80’s, and we could see this was it.

By now, I had married, and sure enough, became pregnant by the time I was twenty-four. Imagine five years of the “Dori, make me a great-grandmother” conversation finally concluding with a happy ending! She was so happy! For me, I think, but in all likelihood, a lot for herself.

It was a time of conflicting feelings as she slowly became more and more ill. My mom travelled to Cincinnati from our home in Muncie to take Mimi to the doctor appointments and to run errands for her. I’m sure it was especially difficult for her, watching her daughter starting a new family, while her own mother’s life was dwindling to a close.

Fortunately, in mid-February, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Joseph. But somehow her German ears did not hear the name “Joseph” and she called him “Jason” for a number of days until she was finally corrected. Why Jason, I’ll never know. But I still roll my eyes with a giggle at that memory.

Thankfully, my Mimi was able to meet Joseph, her first great-grandchild. I remember travelling to Cincinnati just as soon as I was able so they could meet.

Mimi died that same year in December. While the family would eventually grow to include a total of four great-grandsons and one great-granddaughter, Joe was the only child she was able to meet and to hold.