Gratitude
For Beauty Among The Ruins
“…In
a world so hard and dirty
So
foul and so confused
Looking
for a little of God’s mercy
I
found living proof…”
“Living Proof,”
by Bruce Springsteen
It is night. It is quiet. I am watching Karen. She is not watching me. She is at the computer. On the screen is a partial family tree of her
family. I look at the screen. Words in innocent font have an unimaginable
power:
“Auschwitz”
“Married”
“Father”
“Mother”
“Brother”
“Son”
“Poland”
“1942”
I
look at Karen. Her face bears the weight
of loss, of inhumanity. It is an heroic
face. The face of my wife paying homage to her loved ones lost at the hands of
evil incarnate. The face of one bearing
eternal witness. It is quiet. The
silence has a decibel level of its own. History
and horror ring in my ears. I am
crying. She does not see me. She is seeing in her mind’s eye what no one
should see. On her lap is a Polish
dictionary. She is working to interpret the
birth, the marriage records of her family.
The death records, too. In neat
boxes, they connect through time to her.
I want them to know her. I want them to know they will live on because
of her. I love her more than I thought I
could love. She is the beauty among the
ruins.
She
switches screens. I see scanned photos
appear. The creases and worn edges cut
me. And, my heart is both proud and
breaking when I see her face in those of the lost. My mind goes where no mind should go. Into the lines of the terrorized. Into the world of stark black and white. And, at the most unbearable point, I turn
away. Because I see Karen walking in
those lines. In Poland. In Auschwitz.
And I want to do something, stop everything, protect and defend and
save. And I can do none of it. But, I see Karen. I see love in the work to figure out a Polish
word. I see grace and dignity. I see my wife. And I am grateful for this beauty among the
ruins.
