Last night so many thoughts floated through my mind as I lay awake in bed, some good, some disturbing as usual. I have been frequently talking to myself about the fact that I need to tear down the walls I’ve built around myself, stop being a recluse, and engage more with life. I’ve made genuine efforts in that direction, and at last the PTSD from spousal abuse has subsided, the exhaustion from twelve years of caregiving has been lifting, and my mind more often focuses on the potently beautiful experiences I’ve had in my wondrous life than it does on my sorrows. I’m not feeling so guarded, and I’ve been smiling more often. As I lay there last night reflecting on the fact that my walls were indeed coming down, my mind sleepily wandered back to 1978 when I was 18 years old and visited the Berlin Wall. I was traveling with my handsome German boyfriend, Klaus. We went to West Berlin, and then East Berlin. West Berlin felt so much like home to me that I wanted to live there, but I never succeeded in making that happen.
When we tried to get subway tickets to visit East Berlin, Klaus was detained and periodically interrogated for three hours at Checkpoint Charlie. I sat on the floor in the small packed waiting area. He came out briefly to let me know that he was okay, but that it was going to be awhile before he would have clearance.
It was hot and the air was filled with a sweaty stench that was strangely comforting, just knowing that there were other humans close by. At last we were granted admission to visit East Berlin. We were allowed to buy subway tickets, and exchanged West Berlin currency for about the equivalent of eight dollars in East Berlin currency which we were told we could not bring back with us. We entered the subway train that would take us under the Berlin Wall, not realizing I was about to go on the ride of a lifetime that would forever change me and the way that I looked at the world.
What used to be bustling subway stations in Berlin, were now blocked off and patrolled by armed guards who pointed their guns at our subway train as it slowed to a crawl as we entered each station. Klaus calmly explained that they were looking for people who might be trying to sneak into East Berlin by hanging onto the side of the car. If they were found, the consequences would be fatal. Thankfully, no one was clinging on, except me to Klaus…and very tightly.
Today the doorbell rang at about 12:45pm. I was having a really nice morning, cooking and cleaning as I danced around to Motown music. For the first time in years I was truly feeling more engaged with life. The wall around my heart was coming down at last, and it felt so good.
I answered the door, and when I opened it I was delighted to find my daughter, her husband and my grandson standing there. They didn’t come in at first. They just stood there looking at me with huge grins on their faces. My daughter was holding a large piece of painted rock in her hands. I looked at it quizzically. They finally entered the house and gathered around me as she handed it to me.
She explained that it was a gift to me from her husband’s stepmom. It was strangely pretty, and more like concrete than rock, but not like any concrete that I’ve ever held in my hands before.
“Do you know what it is?” my daughter asked, still smiling.
I shook my head, no. I felt into it. It felt tranquil. It was painted with a gorgeous blue that reminded me of the beautiful stone, Lapis Lazuli.
My daughter stared deeply into my eyes, watching for the impact of her next words, and with a broad smile said softly:
“It’s a piece of the Berlin Wall.”
I gasped, as I felt myself getting weak-kneed and teary-eyed.
My son-in-law’s stepmom had been a pilot in the military, and she brought home pieces of the Wall after it came down.
“She wanted you to have a piece,” my daughter said, “She let me take the biggest one.”
The timing of this, just hours after my reminiscing so deeply about my time at the Berlin Wall, was hard to wrap my head around, and hence my heart was full. I began to caress this piece of history. The concrete was soft but strong, like the West and East Berliners I had met. I flashed back to the moment I had stood on the same platform by the wall in West Berlin where President John F. Kennedy gave his famous “Ich bin ein Berliner!” speech, declaring his solidarity with the people of Berlin. As I stood proudly on that platform in 1978, it was then that I realized that the “wall” was not a wall at all. It was a series of walls, buildings, and a huge swath of land with land mines stretched between the two cities. In reflecting back upon that moment, I couldn’t help but notice how symbolic it was of the wall I had built around my heart over the years.
Back to the present moment, I kissed the piece of the Berlin Wall that I held in my hands and gently placed it by my front door. I reflected upon and said a silent prayer for the thousands of people whose lives were ruined, and the many who died, when the wall went up, and those who were finally freed and reunited with loved ones when that piece of the wall at last came down.
I felt a sense of peace as never before, and a sense of astonishment at the magnificent timing of this gift from the universe.
