I Light A Candle

It's November, and the air is getting chillier, but I've kept up with my daily walks along the lake close to my house. Recently as I was walking I noticed a clump of feathers lying in the grass. I thought at first it might be a dead bird but on taking a closer look I saw that it was part of a wing, that of a goose. I didn't see any other parts of a goose to indicate it had died. The geese were staging to begin their long journey south. I wondered if a goose with a broken wing would be able to fly. Would the other geese be able to assist it? Probably not.

This broken wing reminded me of someone I knew when we were refugees  in South Germany.  I was a three years old and my little sister was one. Wanda Kellermann was in her early teens and volunteered to help by babysitting my sister and me. We have no memory of that time but our mom often talked about this young girl and how she had enjoyed taking care of us. Although she was only a teen, she suffered from rickets, brought on by lack of proper food. When our family left for Paraguay Wanda was heartbroken and couldn't stop crying. She and her mother and sister stayed on at the camp until they were able to find refuge in Canada. For many years we lost contact with Wanda.

Two bosom pals: Wanda and my sister, Imy.

Years later after I was married and living in Ontario we were visiting with friends. My friend, Helen, received a phone call. When she returned she told me that she had been chatting with someone from Manitoba by the name of Wanda Kellermann. She told me that they had been close friends while at the refugee camp and had kept in contact all these years. My ears perked up. Could it be the same person who loved us and took care of us at the refugee camp? It was! And we had a common friend in Helen, whom I met much later in life. Both of them had that same loving cheerfulness about them and I felt blessed to have known them!

When I moved to Manitoba my sister and I visited Wanda in her apartment. Her arthritis was giving her a lot of pain, but she was cheerful, and so happy to see us! Often we chatted on the phone. She told me that her father had been sent to Siberia by the Communists and she, her sister and her mother had to manage on their own. They made a life for themselves in Canada.

A few days ago I opened the paper to read the obituaries, and to my shock, Wanda's picture was there. She had reached the age of 92 and lived a full and happy life in spite of the daily pain she dealt with. She flew with a broken wing, right into heaven where she had longed to be for some time. Her dear friend, Helen passed away a few years before she did. I hope their spirits have a joyful reunion! I light a candle for the love these two friends had for each other and for the joy they have brought into my life!

We all deal with brokenness and pain, but we can help each other fly! The love we show to even those who are too little to remember is not lost.

A painting by Faith Love-Robertson entitled "Gran & Me"

This little granddaughter is now a teenager. I hope she will fly!