This past weekend, I spent a glorious amount of time in my office. Cleaning, reorganizing, adding photos to my gallery wall and, most importantly, compiling a list of archival needs so that I can begin organizing my genealogical collection in a way that will make sense to others, and not continue to place documents and photographs in places that only I can decipher.
I also took time to separate, scan and protect my inherited collection of photographs. It was so wonderful and inspiring and warm to see photographs that I’d forgotten about. Like visiting with an old friend over a steaming cup of tea. And, just like with a visit, I was left all the more energized afterwards.
But the best part of all, when I emptied the bag the items had been stored in all these years between inheriting them from my mother and my recent moves, was the discovery of a never before seen Christmas card. The envelope bore a familiar name and address: my mother’s parents, and the address that always feels like home. It felt heavy in my hand, as though there was more inside than just a simple holiday greeting. I carefully, but eagerly, opened the card, excited by what gems lay hidden inside.
The Christmas card was from my grandmother’s sister, Dorothy – known as Dot – (Willert) Stephenson. Three photographs and a folded up note were inside. Five smiling faces of children peered up at me and I turned the photograph over, hoping to see a list of names, ages, and location, but the back of the photograph was blank. The next photo I instantly recognized as that of my grandmother, younger, most likely taken in her early to mid-twenties and I felt tears well as I gazed at her smiling portrait. But it was the third photograph that made my jaw drop.
My mother had spoken to me before about a photo of an old tombstone, so old she didn’t believe it was taken in the states. Whenever we talked about it, she always said that I had a copy of it; that it was inside the bag of photos and documents that she had given to me. Yet I was left feeling confused. I swore that I had been through every photograph there was within the bag. I was sure of it. Perhaps she was referring to a photo within the pages of the Wildrick Family History book. But I had flipped through the pages of that as well and couldn’t recall ever seeing a photo similar to what she described.
Yet here it was. The long-lost photograph. I had been through all the photos that were either stored in protective sleeves or stashed inside old manila envelopes that used to reside undisturbed in my grandpa’s office. Why I never thought to empty the bag is beyond me, but I strongly believe that things reveal themselves to us when they’re supposed to and the time was finally right for it to be revealed.
The photo scan is terribly blurry but it’s an accurate depiction of the original. When I first held the photograph, I thought at first that it was an old cabinet card or carte-de-viste, but upon further inspection, I realized it was simply a print attached to a cardboard backing. I opened the note, hoping for more information. My grandmother’s sister’s scrawled handwriting looked eerily similar to my grandmother’s and I laughed as tears welled anew. Of course , I thought, their handwriting would look the same.
My one and only memory of Dot is from my grandmother’s funeral. I was seven years old. While it was second funeral I had attended, and while I understood that my grandmother was gone, I was so very confused by the sweet woman who looked like my grandmother, who held me on her lap and spoke to me like my grandmother had, and told me that if I liked, she could be like a grandmother to me now. My grandmother was so very dear to me, even now – though I’ve lived more years of my life without her than I had with her – I think of her and our brief time together and I say a quiet prayer of gratitude for the time I was gifted with her, for the quirks that I inherited from her.
I think of this memory of Dot, and how I knew, even at such a tender age that something had shifted, changed and that things would never be the same. Here before me was a woman who was so like my grandmother that I also realized that even as things change, they also stay the same. My grandmother was gone and I knew that no one would be able to replace her. Dot lived far away, in South Dakota, a place distant to the mind of a child. So I knew, too, that her words were just words. But in that moment, they were words I needed to hear.
I’ve always been spiritually inclined, believing that those who leave us are never truly gone, they’re just in a different realm of being, thinking and seeing. My grandmother was gone from this realm, but that didn’t mean I had lost her. She wasn’t gone from my life. She was still there should I need to talk to her, to ask for guidance. In a way, Dot’s words gifted me two grandmothers. Her sweet gesture of allowing me to think of her as a grandmother, as well as the dawning that though my grandmother was gone in a physical sense, that she was still with me. In my child’s mind, I imagined my grandmother was simply in a distant place. Like South Dakota.
I held the creased note delicately in my hands. It said that Dot had received the photograph from their Aunt Mary (Mary Willert Tesch, who lived to be 103! She passed away a year after my grandmother in 1995) and that Dot had had prints made. Since the photograph was in the possession of their Aunt Mary originally, I believe the grave is that of a Willert, or possibly a Sass (Mary’s mother was Dorothea Sass) ancestor.
From the photo, you can clearly see the elaborate cross bearing a crucified Jesus. At his feet is a plaque, the words inscribed are difficult to read. Is it someone’s name? A saying? A prayer? It almost appears to read “Angelique Kr*gelhauser”. There’s a wrought-iron fence surrounding the grave and in the background, a large marble tombstone, also bearing a crucified Jesus and several inscriptions as well as a third crucified Jesus almost directly behind the grave in question. To the right, slightly off film appears to be a cross atop a stone gravestone. There are several trees in the background indicating a wooded area. I would also guess that this grave is located in a Catholic or Lutheran cemetery based on the religious symbols adorning the graves.
My Willert and Sass ancestors lived in the Mecklenburg area of Glaisin before emigrating to the United States. I’ve been told that the family that remained in Germany moved to Grabow. Perhaps the grave is even in nearby Ludwigslust. I’ve tried a few simple Google searches of cemeteries in those areas to see if any similar images appeared but I haven’t had much luck.
So I’m putting this photo into the Universe with hope that someone will be able to help me solve this mystery. I’d love to know where the grave is, if it is indeed in Germany or elsewhere in Europe, it’s exact whereabouts, if it’s even still existing. I’d love to know what’s inscribed on the plaque and know who’s grave it is. Should anyone have any further information, please share!
BRIANNA WRIGHT 