1.Memories

I knelt beside my father’s grave in Germany as the sun was setting. It was Sunday afternoon, the flower shops along the boulevard were closed, and I regretted I had nothing to leave behind. While reaching into my purse for a tissue to wipe my tears, I pulled out my business card. On the back of it I wrote “Dear Father, I’m sorry we didn’t get to know each other, there was so much I wanted to say.”

After tucking the note into the shrub next to the headstone, I walked away, recalling the last time I saw my father at age eighteen. He had come to the restaurant where I worked, with hopes of talking with me. My heart beat as I saw him get out of his car. In disbelief, I noticed that my mother-- they had divorced when I was eight years old—was seated at the far end of the diningroom.

Not knowing what to do, I hid in the kitchen. My mother had forbidden any contact with him, and by now, her control over me was nearly total. My father realized I wasn’t coming out, and left. I had not seen or spoken to my father since I was ten. He left the restaurant without even nodding to my mother. It would be eleven years later that I received word of his death. There was so much to explain, and now that couldn’thappen.

It was a cruel twist of fate. What if she had not been in the restaurant? Should I have talked with him or called him later? But this was a father I hardly knew. What I did that day can only be understood by those who have fallen under the power of fear. For years afterward I looked for him in every redcar.

In my search to learn about my father, my husband and I made a trip to Germany, now with our little girls. In Munich my father’s German childhood friend and colleague, accompanied us to my father’s grave. After lighting a candle, and wiping away tears, I asked his colleague if my father understood the reason why I rejected him was fear of my mother’s retaliation. “No, he never understood,” was his reply. It was then I knew I had to tell thisstory.

I was in kindergarten when my mother, brother and I were shopping. Waiting in the car I heard someone tapping on the window. It was my father. He had seen me sitting there from the window of his consulting office, while my mother was across the street at a convenience store. I slowly rolled down the window, and watched anxiously to see if my mother was coming. He leaned down and through the o